Page 126 of Scorched Earth

Where was he?

“Giving last-minute orders,” Quintus answered, and Teriana realized she’d spoken aloud. “He won’t arrive until everyone is in position.”

A practiced routine, and sweat dripped down her brow as she considered the number of times they’d done this. The number of battles they’d fought. The number of nations they’d invaded. This was the well-oiled machine that ruled the East with organization and an iron fist, and though she’d eaten and drunk andlivedwith them for a year, this was the first time she was truly seeing why the Empireruled.

She’d made a mistake.

Unleashed a force she hadn’t really comprehended.

A force that couldn’t be pushed back, couldn’t be stopped.

Teriana’s body trembled as she watched the slope below her filled with men. Filled withlegion.

The Forty-First.

The Thirty-Seventh.

And lastly, the Fifty-First, who formed a perimeter of defense around the pavilion, no longer children but smaller versions of the men arrayed before them.

They all fell still, no one speaking a word, not even a whisper, the only sound the faint rushing of the Orinok and the wind blowing through distant trees.

Then she heard the drum.

A repeated rhythm, ominous in its simplicity, and as Teriana watched, a drummer leading a procession of mounted legionnaires appeared.

Astride the golden horse, Marcus followed the drummer, Nic and Felix behind him, the rest of their officers following, but Teriana barely noticed them, her eyes all forhim. His crimson cloak billowed behind him on the breeze, golden dragon dancing as the ranks parted to make a path before stepping back into position after the procession had passed. His expression was hidden by the nose and cheek pieces of his helmet, but his posture was confident. Relaxed. As though he were on a ride through a park, his only care what food had been packed for a picnic lunch, not the thousands of men about to cross a river in a battle that was sure to turn the water red straight down to the sea.

“What’s he doing?” she muttered, for while Nic and the others were making their way to the pavilion, Marcus had continued riding through the ranks. “What’s the point of this?”

“Showmanship,” Quintus replied. “A show of confidence that boosts morale of the men, while at the same time putting the fear into the enemy. Look.” He lifted her hand and aimed her spyglass toward the northern bank. Teriana’s chest tightened, for the Gamdeshians had stopped their flurry of activity and were silently watching, arms slack at their sides. “I hate this,” she said, ignoring the officers dismounting their horses and walking into the pavilion. “Why is the world this way?”

“Greed.” Quintus’s eyes tracked Marcus as he finally began to weave his way up the slope toward them. “Men who seek power and wealth and glory are never satisfied. They only want more, and they believe it is their right to walk upon the backs of those they use to achieve it, for it keeps their feet out of the mud.”

Teriana bit her lip, silent as Marcus reached the open space before the pavilion. He dismounted, handing the reins to Amarin and moving to stand at the edge of the ridge, surveying the gleaming ranks of his army.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

All the world seemed to be holding its breath, the only motion the ebb and swirl of Marcus’s cloak in the wind, and the only sound Teriana’s thundering heart.

Marcus cleared his throat, then said, “Proceed.”

The hornblower standing to the side lifted his instrument to his lips.

The sharp blast echoed into the river valley, and as its note faded, Marcus turned on his heel and strode past Teriana and Quintus into the pavilion.

“He isn’t going to watch?” she hissed, torn between gaping at the flow of ranks moving down to the water’s edge and Marcus, who had handed his helmet to Amarin and then seated himself on one of the stools.

“Doesn’t need to.” Quintus drew her forward so they stood on the ridgeline. “There will be a constant stream of reports. Besides, watching implies interest, which suggests concern that the battle won’t go exactly to his plan, which gives the enemy confidence. Even if everything is going all to shit, to the enemy’s eyes, he’ll always appear cool as a cup of water on a hot day.”

Marcus might be cool, but Teriana was dripping sweat. Below, the first ranks were already in the boats, oars in hands as they pressed laterally across the river. The rest of the army remained still and unmoving as statues.

“What’s interesting,” Quintus said, “is that he told the Forty-First that they were the vanguard, but it’s our boys getting into those boats. Also, we appear to be missing a century of men.”

“What does that mean?”

Her friend shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon. This won’t take long.”