Page 155 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

“Hostus knew information about my strategies, which nearly got me killed. I never did discover who ratted me out to him about my plans with Grypus. Which means the rat never got caught.” Quintus had reached them, expression murderous, but Marcus held up a hand for him to pause.

“And that rat went on to do what rats do best.”

Gibzen went very still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Was Hostus paying you off?”

Such a good dog, Hostus’s voice echoed up from Marcus’s memories. He’d make an excellent replacement for your deserter. “Or did he just promise to help you move up in the ranks?”

“This is bullshit.”

“You hated Agrippa. Everyone knew it.”

“Yeah, because he always made you look bad. Doesn’t mean I tried to kill him.”

“I know, but you did watch someone else try to kill him and did nothing to help.” Gibzen opened his mouth, but Marcus cut him off.

“I can’t prove you knew the truth, nor that you were on the take with Hostus, but I can’t help but be suspicious given that Titus told me he’d paid off someone close to me for information.

Someone he’d promised to help move up the ranks. ”

The men close enough to hear stiffened in shock, and Gibzen didn’t miss their reaction.

“Wasn’t me.”

“Someone took that freshly minted gold from Titus and made a deal with the enemy. With Ashok, who was Urcon’s puppet master. Someone who wanted Teriana dead so things could go back to normal. Someone stupid enough not to realize just how the enemy might use her against me. Against us.”

The Thirty-Seventh were all pressing closer, faces hard and eyes growing darker with each one of Marcus’s accusations, his words repeated back through the ranks.

“Who knew the exact hour Teriana was returning that day?” Marcus raised his voice so that it carried over the listening men. “Me. Titus. Felix. You. ”

“You can’t be serious.” Gibzen’s eyes jumped from Marcus to the men pressing inward, the Thirty-Seventh’s lines and protocols abandoned in their desperation to hear the truth. “Those were my men who Ashok killed.”

“No, they were Agrippa’s men,” Marcus said. “Over the years since Hydrilla, you’ve weeded all one hundred of them out of your ranks with excuses, accidents, and deaths. Don’t think it hasn’t been noticed.”

“So? I made my century my own. Every centurion does.”

“How did you find Ashok’s trail so quickly? How were you lucky enough to find one of Teriana’s hair beads so as to prove she’d been taken?”

“It’s my job!”

Marcus had no concrete proof, not really, and while the thousand little coincidences and rising patterns painted a damning picture, Marcus wanted the gods-damned truth.

“Gibzen, you’re out.” He motioned to Servius.

“Get Racker back here. Burn the Thirty-Seventh’s mark off him, then strip him and send him on his way.

I’m not keeping someone in my ranks who isn’t loyal to me. ”

“Have you lost your mind?” Gibzen twisted in a circle, looking like he might run, but the shields around them locked, spears lowering.

“Be glad I’m not hanging you for treason,” Marcus said. “Instead, I’m going to allow you to make your own way. No longer primus. No longer Thirty-Seventh. A man like you is of no value to me.”

Gibzen’s eyes bulged. “You’d be dead a dozen times over without me! You’d never have made it out of Lescendor alive without me!”

“Perhaps.” Marcus lifted one shoulder. “But any man can do what you do. You’re muscle, Gibzen. Replaceable. And I don’t want someone under my command who I can’t trust.”

Racker pushed through the shields surrounding them, his roll of surgical blades tucked under one arm. “I’ll need a brazier,” he said, sounding annoyed that one wasn’t waiting. “Let’s get this over with.”

Gibzen moved to draw his blade, but Quintus and Felix were on him in a heartbeat. Closing the distance, Marcus took Gibzen’s gladius and tossed it aside, then took his helmet and armor, casting them in the same pile. The smell of smoke from the brazier blew over them, and Gibzen visibly tensed.

“It’s a good deal.” Marcus knew his tone did not match the simmering rage that boiled his blood.

“Lose a couple of tattoos in exchange for your life. I bet there’s any number of men in our ranks who’d volunteer for the opportunity.

No more war. No more battles. No more killing.

No more bodies. It’s a better life that you can look forward to. ”

“You need me. You need me!” Gibzen screamed as Felix and Servius forced him to the ground, tearing off his tunic.

“Why do I need you?” Marcus glanced at Racker, who’d removed a glittering scalpel.

“Keep him steady,” the surgeon muttered. “Don’t want him to bleed to death and waste this effort.”

“To protect you!”

“I’ve hundreds of men who can do that.” Marcus leaned over Gibzen and smiled. “Quintus would make a fine primus, I think. What do you say, Quintus? Fancy a promotion?”

The man in question didn’t respond, only watched with feral eyes.

“No!” Gibzen’s eyes tracked the scalpel, not fearing the pain, but what the surgeon was about to take from him. “You need me to protect you from yourself!”

Marcus caught hold of Racker’s wrist just before the surgeon could cut. “And why do you think that?”

“You’ve got too much softness,” Gibzen said. “Not your fault, but you need someone to keep you straight or you bend for people who don’t deserve it. You need someone to get rid of the problems so that you can think with a clear head.”

It was hard to see straight, Marcus’s rage was so intense. “And how did selling me out to my enemies factor into your way of thinking?”

“Because you didn’t understand what I was doing for you!

” Gibzen shouted. “I needed to be closer, needed to have more power, but you kept giving it to men who couldn’t do what I do.

Hostus said he’d get me promoted. Titus promised the same.

So I took their gold and gave them information because I knew the cost was worth the reward.

You just need to think about it, and you’ll understand.

You’ll see everything I’ve done was for you! ”

Marcus picked up Gibzen’s belt pouch and rifled through the contents.

Gold Cel dragons. Vials of narcotics. And Teriana’s hair ornament, the gold of the Quincense’s hull glittering in the dying sunlight.

Grief rolled over him like a tide, but Marcus clenched the tiny ship and let himself drown in it. “Let him go.”

Felix gave him a look of confusion, but obeyed and pulled Quintus away. Gibzen rose to his feet, dusting dirt off himself. “I knew you’d see reason, sir,” he said. “I knew you’d understand.”

What Marcus understood was that Gibzen was a monster.

A monster that, instead of putting down, he’d used to achieve his own ends, never once realizing that the monster was using him for the same.

He was complicit in all that Gibzen had done, which meant he was responsible for so much more than just putting an end to him.

Reaching down, Marcus picked up a fist-sized rock, seeing the ranks of his men do the same. “I understand perfectly.”

What came next was legion justice. It was bloody and painful, but anger made it swift, and when it was over, Marcus retreated into the command tent, knowing that it would not be long until the other legati descended upon him, wanting answers.

Wanting a solution for their predicament.

For while all had pushed for this step of the campaign, Marcus commanded this army.

Which meant he needed to dig them out of this mess.

They could not fall back .

Teriana had ensured that much, but she’d also learned the art of war from him. She knew that boxing an army in meant a fight to the death, and casualties weren’t what she would want. Which meant she’d left him a way out, if he had the guts to step toward it.

“Felix,” he said, wiping blood from his face. “Swap me cloaks. And get me a white flag.”