Page 151 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

LYDIA

Lydia’s horse shifted restlessly beneath her, though she wasn’t entirely certain whether it was because the animal was unnerved by the steady thump, thump, thump of marching men or because it sensed the anxiety the noise provoked in Lydia herself.

Both was probably the answer.

An hour past, Lydia had received information on their allies’ progress as they readied to destroy the xenthier stems, though the news was woefully dated.

The messenger said that Teriana had secured an alliance with the rebels in Bardeen, that Sultan Kalin had rejoined his people on the western coast of Gamdesh, that Sonia had made contact with an Arinoquian warleader named Ereni, and that Vane had met with the Queen of Katamarca, who was apparently not nearly as entranced the Empire as she’d led everyone to believe.

All parties had agreed to unite to fight back against the Empire’s incursion.

By now, all should have successfully organized attacks to steal stores of the legion’s explosive powder, and they should all be readying for a united attack against the legion’s supply lines with the aim of destroying the xenthier they depended on.

Should , being the operative word, because Lydia had no news as to whether either step had been successful. And even if her allies had been victorious, it was too late for Mudamora.

Because the legions were here. Even without Marcus’s gruesome message, there was no doubt that the Cel were here for blood.

Astara had ascertained that the legions had traveled to Mudamora via a xenthier terminus south of their position. As to how they’d discovered it, the assumption was that Rufina had provided the information as part of her alliance with the Empire.

Agrippa had taken the development particularly poorly. “It’s my fault,” he’d muttered. “I was the one who told her about how the legions use xenthier. I was the one who put it in her mind that they could be used effectively for conquest.”

And with endless undead blighters at her disposal, it had been no doubt easy for Rufina to send path-hunters through stems they discovered without concern for their lives. Not that Lydia thought the Queen of Derin would have shown any compunction over using path-hunters who still lived.

Regardless, what was done was done. The delays they’d bled for to give Teriana more time had not been enough, because even as Marcus had negotiated with Helene, it seemed as though he had also been negotiating with Rufina.

Every bit the Empire’s perfect commander.

He’d outplayed them, and now Lydia’s army—Mudamorians, Anuk, and giants—was now pinioned between two enormous, united, and incredibly dangerous hosts. The chance to get to Deadground was lost. The only options now were to fight.

Because to surrender only meant a slower death.

Dareena and Xadrian held the line against the blight, their soldiers working nonstop to hold back the flow while Lydia and Killian stood before the giants and the Mudamorian cavalry, making ready to meet the might of the Empire.

Every possible preparation had been made, and now they stood on a ridge overlooking rolling hills of pastureland. On it stood a lone white tent, Celendor’s banners flying to either side, though Lydia had seen no one go in or out of it.

Killian sat slouched on Seahawk’s back, and next to him was Agrippa with Malahi on his right. For what felt like the hundredth time, Lydia reached up to touch the crown sitting on her head, for she hated the weight of it.

Seldrid had addressed everyone after the fight against the Thirty-Seventh on the beach, and his words filled her mind now.

In the coming weeks, what matters is unity.

If we cannot stand together and win this, who holds the crown will not matter.

Who holds anything will not matter, because all will be taken either by Celendor or the blight.

Whoever wears the crown is not only a figurehead for our armies to follow but also a target for our enemies.

Who here wishes to stand in that role in the fight to come?

Not one of the High Lords, not even the vainglorious Pitolt, had stepped forward, and when eyes had gone to Helene, she’d burst into tears and had to be taken away to calm down.

Lydia hadn’t wanted to take the crown, either, but Malahi had spoken to her before the meeting began.

“It has to be you,” her friend had said.

“Not only are you the twice-marked chosen of Hegeria, you know both our enemies better than anyone else.”

“You know them nearly as well,” Lydia argued. “What’s more, you are more disposed to rule. I make every choice for those I love. To help others survive in the moment, even if I risk everyone to protect them. I’m not meant to wear a crown, Malahi.”

Malahi had looked away, her face drawn with shame.

“If the Cel were our only foe, that might be true. But Rufina…” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

“I’m terrified of her. And even more terrified that when it comes down to it, I’ll concede to the legions to evade her.

Whereas you are not afraid. Please, Lydia. Please do this.”

And so Lydia had stepped forward and formally accepted the crown and every burden that came with it, none of them sitting easier as she stared out over the pastureland.

The only sign of Malahi’s apprehension was a slight tensing and untensing of the muscles in her jaw. Agrippa, however, was fidgeting like a child who’d been forced to sit too long, his mount pinning its ears in irritation.

“Why is he taking this risk?” Agrippa muttered.

“Gamdesh was a prime jewel that would have sated the Senate for years, and he left half of it unconquered and millions of angry Gamdeshians ready to attack his rear. It doesn’t make any sense.

Why is he fighting Rufina’s battle for her? Why is he risking the blight?”

“Revenge.” Lydia coughed to clear her throat. “We killed his men.”

“He’s not going to risk all the rest of them in a foolish move for the sake of revenge. He’s not like that.”

“My gold mines,” Malahi said. “We know Celendor wants them. Perhaps even needs them, given the costs this invasion will have incurred.”

“I have no doubt they want the gold, but what good are mines that are overrun with poison? Everyone they send to mine them will die and rise a blighter, then join Rufina’s army.”

“Lydia,” Killian muttered. “He’s made no secret of his desire to see her dead.”

“Then send assassins, not your whole damned army.”

Lydia sighed. “The answer is evil, Agrippa. Both the Corrupter and Lucius Cassius desire to rule Reath, and they care little for the costs that come with doing so. Indeed, I think they relish it. Just as Rufina is the Corrupter’s general in this fight, so too is Marcus that of Lucius Cassius.

Caught in the thrall of their masters, though in truth, I think their masters are becoming one and the same.

The blighters do Rufina’s bidding because they must. So too do the legions. They are same.”

It was nothing she hadn’t said before, but even now, Agrippa struggled to believe the men who’d once been his brothers were under the influence of evil. That they would be the hammer against the anvil of the blight.

Yet as the thunder of marching men grew louder, Agrippa fell silent, the truth now impossible to deny.

The first ranks crested the hill, thousands upon thousands of men walking in neat rows, armor gleaming, and crimson and gold banners flying overhead.

Centurions and the other officers rode horses, all of them straight backed, helmets concealing their faces.

Drums sounded a slow, ominous beat, and behind her, Lydia heard her soldiers shifting uneasily.

“The Six have mercy,” Malahi said softly. “There are so many of them.”

“That’s a gods-damned work of art,” Agrippa said by way of answer. “Look at those ranks. I can barely get my men to walk in the same direction, much less in a straight line. We’re fucked, by the way. This is what it looks like to be well and truly fucked.”

Killian cleared his throat. “Is that him?”

Agrippa was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “Yeah. The Thirty-Seventh is the vanguard, and Marcus is the one wearing the red cloak riding the gold horse. I’d recognize that massive ego anywhere.

That’s Felix next to him. The big one with the standard is Servius.

I was sure they had to be dead for him to have fallen this low—they’ve always tempered his tendencies. ”

Lydia had already seen Marcus, her eyes drawn to him the moment he’d crested the slope.

He rode as straight-backed as his centurions, but he kept his horse to an ambling walk, radiating a total lack of concern even across all this distance.

The nosepiece on his helmet hid his face, but Lydia could picture it easily in her mind’s eye, her heart beating a rapid staccato as old fear rose in her chest.

More and more men poured over the hilltop, marching in their perfect lines, the front ranks parting in flawless synchronicity to move around the white tent. Marcus and his mounted officers and guard reached the tent, and he drew his golden horse to a stop, holding up one hand.

Horns blew, rippling over the sea of men, and as one, the marching men stopped.

“Showoff,” Agrippa muttered. “He’s showing off, and the worst part is that he’s doing it well. I hate this. I hate all of it.”

Not one of the legionnaires among the tens of thousands moved, standing still as statues as Marcus dismounted. Without a backward glance, he walked inside the tent.

One minute passed. Then two, then three, and not a single one of the legionnaires shifted from the position he’d put them in. Almost as though Marcus possessed the same power as Rufina did over her army of the dead, though Lydia could see that every one of them was of the living.

“Thoughts, Agrippa?” Killian asked, and Lydia looked sideways at him.

Killian absently twisted a lock of his horse’s mane around his fingers, showing none of the agitation the rest of them were displaying.

But she could feel his anger simmering beneath the calm surface.

The desire to ride down and have vengeance on the one who’d done her such harm.

Who’d done harm to so many people who Killian cared about.

“Slaughtering our rear guard must have sated his need for revenge, because he’s giving us the opportunity to treat,” Agrippa finally answered.

“But what he’s expecting is for us to surrender without a fight.

He’s putting his full might on display; no tricks, no ruses, because he wants us to see that we can’t win this.

That to fight would be the greatest form of stupidity.

You can call it intimidation, but that’s not really it.

Intimidation is a strategy for an uncertain victory, and Marcus is, right now, entirely assured that he can win this. ”

“Fair.” Killian shifted his weight in the saddle, narrowing his eyes at the gleaming ranks.

Lydia could smell the scent of sweat and men as the wind blowing over the legions reached her, humanity at its most deadly, and she wanted to scream and scream and scream because they’d fought so hard, and it had still come to this.

“Marcus speaks Mudamorian fluently, because it’s a common trade language in the East,” Agrippa said. “So you can send anyone. He’ll give them terms and then send them back to report everything to you. Waste of time because I can tell you what he’ll tell them.”

Killian shifted in his saddle. “Which is why you’re the one who is going to go talk to him.”

Agrippa stiffened even as Malahi gasped, “No! Absolutely not!”

“She’s right,” Lydia said, feeling Malahi’s rising panic. “Agrippa is a deserter. At best, they’ll take him prisoner. At worst, they’ll kill him while we watch.”

“No, they won’t.”

Agrippa’s horse began pawing the ground, ears pinned to its head as Agrippa said, “You know I’m not one to back down out of fear, Killian, but Lydia’s right.

The second the Thirty-Seventh realizes it’s me, realizes that I’m fighting on the side that just killed several hundred of their ranks, they’re going to come for blood.

I’m not going to learn anything interesting for you, because I’m going to be nothing more than a red splatter across that nice green field. ”

“You’ll be fine.”

“No!” Malahi rode her horse in front of them, her back to the watching legion. “No, Killian. I’m not allowing you to send Agrippa to his death because your gut says it will be all right. I’m not risking him when you could send anyone with total surety that they’d come back alive.”

“Marcus believes he knows everyone’s hands,” Killian said. “He’s confident, and we need to shake that confidence with something unexpected. Something he didn’t predict.”

“Teriana is our wildcard.”

“We’ve already played that card. We need to play another. We need to rattle him.”

Malahi was shaking, and as her imploring eyes turned on Lydia, she fought the urge to tell Killian it wasn’t worth the risk. That Agrippa’s life was worth too much to throw away on a gambit. Instead, she turned to look at the man in question. “It’s your choice, Agrippa.”

The ex-legionnaire shook his head. “I know everything about how they fight. Having me on your side is an asset, and even if Marcus isn’t inclined to execute me for desertion, he’s going to recognize that having me on the opposing side is a liability.”

Killian shrugged. “If his victory is assured, then he can afford to let a liability walk away to maintain face in front of his men. Killing you will only prove he’s not half as confident as this little performance indicates.

You aren’t betting on my gut, Agrippa. You’re betting on your interpretation of Marcus’s show. ”

Agrippa looked up at the sky, countless emotions warring across his face, then he pulled off his helmet and tossed it behind him. “All right, then. Get me a white flag.”