Page 145 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

MARCUS

“The Dictator and the Senate are running out of patience.” Drusus tossed the latest letter from Cassius down on the table. “We need to start making the motions of readying to sail to Mudamora to satisfy his spies or there are going to be consequences.”

“He’s not going to punish us for moving slowly.” Felix picked up the letter, scanning the contents. “We’re negotiating to get what he wants to avoid marching onto poisoned ground. He has to understand that we’re being cautious in order to avoid high casualties.”

Drusus scoffed. “He understands the whys just fine—he just doesn’t give a fuck if half of us die as long as he gets his gold.”

The other legatus rested his elbows on the table, head in his hands, and it struck Marcus that the Eleventh’s legatus looked old. Old far beyond his years.

“We were supposed to be done,” Drusus muttered.

“We were supposed to retire at the end of this year. Paid out and given land and a chance at life. Now it looks as though half of my legion will die puking on foreign soil, poisoned by rotten ground, so that the other half might have a chance at what we are owed. All so that Cassius can get the gold he so desperately needs for his quest to control all of Reath.”

Marcus took the letter from Felix, again reading Cassius’s orders to move to take control of Mudamora.

There was a hint of desperation in the prose, obvious only because it was so uncharacteristic, and it spoke to the truth of Drusus’s words.

This campaign had been costly beyond measure, and threats and machinations would only work so long to keep Cassius in power if the coffers ran dry.

War cost money, and this war was like nothing the Empire had ever waged.

“That’s the deal he made you, then?” he asked Drusus. “Get him the Rotahn gold mines and the Eleventh can retire?”

“Yes.” Drusus lifted his face from his hands, meeting Marcus’s gaze.

“We were supposed to be done. And now we face either life in service or stepping onto poisoned ground. Death either fucking way.” He barked out a laugh.

“Likely because he can’t afford to pay us out, and he doesn’t want the legions surrounding him to know his coffers are empty.

Because they might start to question his ability to pay them . ”

Yet more proof of Cassius’s growing desperation. Desperation often made men weak and foolish, but in this instance, it only made the Dictator more dangerous.

“My men will be back today,” Marcus said by way of answer to Drusus’s concerns. “With luck, we’ll have an agreement signed by Queen Helene, as well as the bride whom Cassius misplaced. The Eleventh will have its retirement, and Cassius will have the gold to fund his obligations. A happy ending.”

“We don’t get happy endings.” Drusus’s eyes sharpened.

“The Dictator has lit a fire under the ass of every legatus under your command, Marcus. Some with threats. Some with rewards. Consensus is that he doesn’t trust you to give him what he wants, which doesn’t make sense given you alone seem to have voluntarily cast your eyes north.

” His head tilted. “Unless even the prodigy has skeletons in his closet that might be used against him.”

Marcus didn’t answer, only traced the rim of his glass.

“Right.” Drusus gave a soft snort, then shook his head. “You just like the challenge.”

Gibzen entered the room, sandals clacking against the tiles as he approached. “One of our ships has been sighted.”

Marcus’s skin prickled. “Just one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t think luck is in our favor,” Drusus muttered. “Nor that this will be a happy ending.”

Marcus didn’t answer him, only said to Gibzen. “I want an immediate report and the… asset brought here.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was a struggle not to pace the room. A struggle not to abandon the room entirely and race down to the harbor to finally put an end to the woman who had caused him so much trouble.

Instead, Marcus went to the window and gazed up at the black tower, the tension it seethed infecting him as legion officers filtered into the room, all of the men speculating in low voices as to whether the gambit had worked.

Then everyone fell silent. Marcus slowly turned, anticipation choking him.

Centurion Qian stood with Gibzen. Of Lydia, there was no sign.

“Report,” Marcus said softly, though he already knew in his heart how this had gone.

Qian didn’t meet his gaze, the centurion’s eyes locked on Marcus’s breastplate. “It was a ploy, sir. A trick.”

“Explain.”

“As planned, the first ship anchored close to shore. Two hundred went to the meeting and a hundred remaining on board, while I kept my vessel well back, as was agreed. We were too distant to see clearly, but they met on the beach and conversation ensued. Then it all went to shit. Giants climbed out of the water and boarded the other ship, attacking and killing all aboard before setting it ablaze. On the beach—” He broke off, throat moving as he swallowed.

“A whole other force exploded from the sand beneath their feet.”

Marcus listened in silence as Qian detailed numbers and formations, the centurion’s voice shaking slightly as he said, “If they’d held together a little longer, we’d have been able to reinforce, and we had numbers enough to match the Mudamorians.

But our men broke apart like they were attacked from within—like it was the woman who attacked them.

She had no weapon, sir, but with the speed she moved…

The only time I’ve seen the like of it was the corrupted, Ashok, who killed Titus in Aracam. ”

Marcus had a strong suspicion of why a healer might possess that speed given his own experiences with Ashok, but he only said, “Continue.”

Qian gave a sharp shake of his head. “Our boys fought hard, but they were outnumbered, sir. Badly so, especially when the giants that had attacked the ship joined the fight. The Mudamorians and their allies cut them down to the last, but there was one man who killed the most. Tall, dark hair, olive skin—I’ve never seen anyone fight like him, not even Kaira. ”

Marcus had heard that description before. Killian Calorian.

“Two hundred men on the beach,” Marcus said. “Another hundred on the ship. All dead.”

“Yes, sir. It did not seem prudent to engage, given the odds would have been in their favor with us coming in from the sea.”

“It was the right choice, Centurion.” Felix’s voice had a slight shake to it. “If you’d attacked, your own numbers would have joined the casualties.”

Behind the walls in his mind, Marcus heard screams of grief, but the emotion didn’t touch him. “A ploy,” he murmured. “A trick. But to what end?”

“What do you mean, to what end?” Servius demanded. “They slaughtered three hundred of the Thirty-Seventh and burned one of our ships. That’s a significant blow.”

“Not in the scheme of things.” Then, seeing how Servius’s expression hardened, Marcus added, “From their perspective, not ours.” He rested his hands on the table, head lowered so they couldn’t see his face or the lack of emotion he suspected was on it.

The silence stretched, and when the tension had grown thick, Marcus straightened and began to pace around the table.

“We must set our grief aside and consider the Mudamorians’ intentions.

On the surface, all they have succeeded in doing is poking the dragon that sits outside their doorstep.

What did the feigned negotiations on behalf of that vacuous idiot who wears their crown achieve besides the death of three hundred men and the loss of one ship?

Three hundred out of tens of thousands, I’ll remind you. ”

No one spoke, and as Marcus’s eyes tracked over the best and brightest minds in the Empire, he did not fail to notice how none of them would meet his gaze.

Drusus cleared his throat. “Time.”

“Yes, time.” Marcus continued to circle the table. “But time to do what? What have they gained by delaying our attack?”

“Allies,” Felix answered. “The giants of Eoten Isle have clearly joined their forces, as well as the soldiers who Qian saw on the beach. An alliance with Anukastre, perhaps.”

“Likely, yet this was not the strategy of an enemy who has gained enough allies to turn the tide.” Marcus took the glass that Gibzen handed him, sipping from it.

“This is something else. What have they gained that is worth destroying any chance of negotiation? That is worth sacrificing any chance of mercy? What has Killian Calorian gained that is worth pissing us off? ” He threw the cup of wine across the room, the liquid spraying the tile floor.

Silence filled the room, and in it, Teriana’s voice filled his head. We’re going to war, Legatus. And I think it’s time you had a taste of what it’s like to lose. “What have our spies seen of the Maarin?”

Felix cleared his throat. “The Quincense was spotted briefly in Serlania, as were several other Maarin vessels, but all have since departed, destinations unknown.”

She was a part of this, the voice whispered. She declared war on you. She’s allied with those who killed your men. “See what the Katamarcans can discover.”

“Yes, sir.”

Marcus went back to the window to stare at the tower, watching night fall over Revat as he silently waited.

“Now what?” Drusus finally asked. “The gambit didn’t work, but the orders remain the same.

The Dictator wants the gold mines and he wants them now.

Let’s not pretend that every man here doesn’t have skin in the game as far as giving Cassius what he wants, even if it’s just glory.

What’s the plan, Prodigy? What brilliant strategy do you have tucked up your sleeve that’s going to ensure Cassius is satisfied but won’t cost us half our men? ”

“We shouldn’t rush into this,” Felix said. “Mudamora has a big enough army that just making a beach landing will cost us in blood, never mind the complication of running supplies into a land where the very water itself might be poison.”

“Shut up, Felix,” Drusus snapped. “We all know the risks, but the Dictator has our backs up against the wall. We have to do it. What we need is a plan that will ensure we survive getting Cassius his gold.”

Behind Marcus, the throne room devolved into arguments and shouts between legati and officers, everyone having various opinions on how this should be done, but Marcus only cast a glance at Gibzen, who nodded, then left the room.

Everyone fell silent when the primus returned, and Marcus turned as two dozen of Gibzen’s men entered the room with crossbows leveled at the man they had with them.

A man whose eyes were black voids rimmed with flame.

“Stand down,” Marcus said to his men, which they did with obvious reluctance.

“Evening, Legatus,” the corrupted said. “Word in the sky is that you and yours had a run-in with Killian Calorian. I imagine that my queen’s offer is looking mighty fine right now.”

“Good evening, Sly.” Marcus circled the table and rested a hand on the corrupted’s back, then shoved him down on one of the chairs.

“Why don’t you explain to everyone here exactly what you told me.

” Drawing a map in front of the man, he added, “Let’s start with xenthier paths from Gamdesh to Mudamora. ”

The corrupted set to explaining what Rufina had offered, but Marcus only gave his words half an ear. He knew the deal, because he’d negotiated it on the chance the Mudamorians would prove difficult. One of his many contingency plans.

As Sly named the amount of gold that Rufina would pay for the alliance, the other legati leaned in, but Marcus’s eyes went to the window and the distant strait.

His enemies had won the first battle.

But the war was yet to come.