Page 106 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)
MARCUS
He stood on the fortress ramparts, staring out over a sea of men standing in organized ranks. Nine legions. Over forty-five thousand trained legionnaires, all experienced. All hardened by combat in nearly every province of the East.
All his to command.
Felix and Zimo stood with him, both men silent.
“These stems are our lifeline to the Empire,” he said to Zimo, whose legion would remain. “At all costs, the Thirty-First will keep the Emrant, Imresh, and the Arinoquian stems secure, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Zimo answered, watching Astara circle overhead. “Though in truth, you’re the one who has the fight ahead of you. Kaira is in Revat marshaling all of Gamdesh’s forces. Her numbers are significant. But there is also the force she left behind to watch us.”
“I’ve read the reports.”
“It’s too early to move on Revat.” Felix crossed his arms. “Even with this many men, we put ourselves at incredible risk having our supply chain extended across such a long stretch of land. We should entrench. Secure the support from those living in the region. Establish solid trade arrangements between merchants on both sides of the Endless Seas. Do things the way we always do rather than by force . Force means lives lost. Force means starving civilians who hate us and try to kill us whenever our backs are turned. Cassius would have us turn Gamdesh into another Bardeen, into another Chersome, and you seem content to do it.”
For days, Marcus had felt numb. The towering black walls that had formed in his mind held back emotions he did not care to feel. Yet Felix’s words reached across the walls, drawing up fear and guilt and doubt, and threatened to unleash them.
Marcus’s heart started to race, thundering in his chest like he was fighting for his very life. Felix wasn’t wrong. Doing this put the lives of all the men arrayed before him in danger, whereas if they moved more slowly—
A stab of pain lanced through his skull, and the voice snarled, Revat is a threat that needs to be destroyed!
“The risk is too great,” he muttered. “The cost is too high. Better to wait.”
Glory does not come to those who wait.
“I don’t care about glory.”
What about vengeance against the one who destroyed everything that mattered to you?
The words scraped through his head like claws, and Marcus pressed his fingers to his temples. It felt as though the voice was punishing him for arguing. Which was madness given that the only voice inside his head was his own.
“Neither the Sultan nor Kaira will allow us the opportunity to entrench,” he finally said, aware that the others were watching him with furrowed brows. “Already Kaira is gathering resources with the intent to attack. I offered them peace and they chose war, so war it will be. But on our terms.”
Time is of the essence.
Marcus rubbed at his temples, struggling to understand the urgency burning his skull, but thinking about it only brought more pain. “Every hour we delay allows them to grow their armies. To rebuild their fleet. To secure more allies. We can’t afford to wait.”
Felix scowled. “Their greatest ally is at war. Mudamora is beset with blight and a pestilence that is killing them by the thousands. How long until that spreads over the narrow strait and into Gamdesh? Seems to me wise to see how it progresses before we venture farther north.”
Gamdesh is distracted. The voice was like thunder inside his skull, and Marcus asked, “Why? To give Mudamora time to solve their problems so that we will be facing down two armies when we finally grow the balls to take on Revat? No.”
“It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” Felix snapped. “You’re pissed off about Teriana, and despite the fact you reaped what you sowed with her, you’re going to make everyone around you pay.”
She brought you nothing but suffering, the voice whispered. You did everything she asked of you and then spit in your face for something that wasn’t your fault.
“It was my fault,” he told the voice, and though he could see Felix frowning and speaking, all Marcus heard was a drone of noise as pain shot through his skull. He tasted blood, and wiped at his nose, his hand coming away crimson.
“It is what it is, Felix.” Zimo’s voice cut through the drone.
“Cassius wants this fight. The Senate wants this fight. We either do what they want or hang for treason while someone who follows orders picks up the reins. Every single one of the legati that Cassius sent is twenty plus years deep into service, and any resistance they ever had to the Empire’s methods has long been beaten out of them.
Drusus’s Eleventh were supposed to be retiring this year, and now they find themselves here.
He’s not going to do anything that jeopardizes his standing with the Senate.
We either do what they want or lay down and die. ”
“Fuck Drusus. He’s a lazy old bastard,” Felix snapped. “I’m not suggesting that we don’t follow orders—I’m suggesting that we do so in a way that ensures the least risk.”
Marcus didn’t hear how Zimo responded, because the voice shouted, She told you all would be forgiven! That the past didn’t matter! She lied!
“Some things are unforgivable,” Marcus mumbled, wiping away more blood with the edge of his cloak, the taste of copper thick on his tongue.
“Do you need Racker?”
You risked the lives of your men for her. The lives of your family. Your own life.
“My life doesn’t matter.”
Felix caught hold of his arm. “Marcus? Someone find Racker.”
How were you supposed to know that Lydia mattered to her? She was nothing. No one.
Marcus recoiled from the statement, because Lydia had been everything to Teriana. And he deserved to hang for killing her. Should return to Celendrial and confess his crimes, accept his fate, and give Teriana that peace. “I need to go back.”
The voice screamed at him in wordless rage, and Marcus staggered sideways under an onslaught of pain.
It was like being attacked from within, the voice clawing the inside of his skull as punishment for defying it.
Marcus caught hold of the battlements, feeling compelled to hold on to the certainty in him that this was the wrong path, but the voice was stronger.
Under the onslaught of pain, his will to fight drowned beneath a flood of hurt and grief until he finally conceded.
The black walls reared again in his mind, everything that mattered once again locked behind them. And then there was no pain at all.
Marcus straightened, the ranks of men once again crystal clear before him and his thoughts sharp.
Felix had him by the arm. “I’ve sent for Racker.”
“I don’t need him. It was just a headache.” Marcus pulled away. “You should be with the Forty-First, not standing around arguing with me. Zimo, Imresh and Emrant are yours.”
Turning away, he strode to where Gibzen waited with the rest of his guard, his primus nodding at him approvingly. “Everything is in order, sir. Your horse is waiting below.”
Marcus’s cloak swirled on the draft rising the stairs as he circled down the steps and through the fortress that had been both salvation and damnation, mounting his golden mare the moment he reached the courtyard.
She frisked beneath him, tossing her head, and he rested a hand on her neck.
“Easy, easy. This will be a short journey.”
Felix silently mounted his horse, then, surrounded by Gibzen and his men, they trotted through the gates and across the bridge. Above, Astara circled far out of reach of arrows, watching their every move.
Marcus gave the slightest nod, and from the ramparts of the fortress came the retort of a crossbow being deployed. Above him, a shrill shriek of pain broke the silence.
“Got her,” Gibzen said, and a second later, the massive hawk struck the ground before them.
Its shape shivered and shuddered, then transformed into a nude woman with long dark hair.
Her thigh was speared through by the bolt, and she was injured from the fall, but Astara still turned her head to look at him.
Marcus met her gaze and said, “Have Racker see to her, and then lock her in irons. She’s coming with us. ”
“Want her put to question?” Gibzen asked, his eyes bright. “She will know Kaira’s plans.”
“Kaira’s plans won’t matter in another day, but a hostage might,” Marcus replied. “Tell Racker I want her alive, and give the order to march.”
Signal flags waved and horns blew as he rode through the ranks to join the Thirty-Seventh. His men pivoted, then began to file down the road in neat rows, the crimson and gold banners flapping on the wind. Behind them, the other legions fell in to form a deadly serpent winding itself north.