Page 23 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)
MARCUS
The horns sounded again.
“Those are legion horns!” Felix shouted. “Scout reports! I want an explanation for why there is another legion on our doorstep, and no one fucking noticed!”
Someone shoved through the masses of the Thirty-Seventh, bellowing, “Empire banners and marks of the Fifty-First.”
Austornic’s legion.
Marcus released a ragged breath, but didn’t move a muscle, for not one of the men had dropped the rocks they held in their hands.
“Fall to command,” Felix roared. “He’s not going anywhere, but your chance for vengeance will be lost if this is an enemy trick. To arms!”
Training took over, and the Thirty-Seventh was once again the well-oiled machine Marcus had created, moving without hesitation to defenses even as more scouts brought reports confirming that the army on approach was, indeed, Cel in origin. Was, indeed, the Fifty-First.
“Stay down,” Felix said under his breath. “I don’t want anyone to get any ideas if they see you on your feet.”
Marcus’s knees ached from kneeling in the mud, but he did not so much as twitch as the gates to the camp were opened wide and a group of young legionnaires with a 51 stamped on their breastplates marched inside, the crimson and gold banners they carried flapping on the wind.
They came to a halt, fists slammed against chests, and then they parted to reveal Austornic.
He wasn’t alone.
All the world fell away as Marcus took in Teriana, her black braids swaying as she moved, her eyes turbid seas of distress. His chest filled with every emotion, the swirling storm inside him making him want to be sick.
No.
She can’t be here.
She can’t. Be. Here.
“Fifty-First Legion of the Celendorian Empire reporting to duty, sir.” Austornic gave Marcus a smart salute with no regard to the fact that Marcus was in civilian clothes and on his knees in the mud.
“We bring new orders from Consul Lucius Cassius and the Senate, as well as an update on information that has changed since you met with them last week in Celendrial.”
The entire camp went still, the only sound the faint whisper of Austornic’s words being repeated through the Thirty-Seventh.
Marcus barely noticed, his eyes all for Teriana and the same questions repeating in his head. How is she here? Why is she here? Her lips parted as though to answer his unvoiced questions, then she shook her head and remained fixed at Austornic’s elbow.
Felix’s hand closed on his wrist. A knife sliced through the ropes binding him. His knees screamed as he eased to his feet, muddy water dripping from the clothes he wore. Marcus ignored the discomfort and cleared his throat before shouting, “Show the Fifty-First an appropriate welcome!”
Silence.
Then Felix slammed his fist to his chest and bellowed, “Hail the Fifty-First!”
The Thirty-Seventh seemed to take a collective breath, then unleashed a deafening roar of, “Hail the Fifty-First!”
Austornic inclined his head. “Hail Thirty-Seventh. It is our privilege to join you on this historic mission.”
From behind him, more than five thousand young voices screamed, “Hail Thirty-Seventh! Hail Forty-First!”
His legs were shaking beneath him, but Marcus looked to Servius.
“See to it that the Fifty-First are well accommodated. It is the Senate’s wish that we complete their training, and they are to be treated with respect.
” Motioning to Austornic, he added, “I’ll take your report in the privacy of command. ”
Marcus turned toward the fortress at the center of the camp and started walking.
No one acknowledged that he’d been a hairsbreadth from being stoned to death by his own legion. No one said so much as a word. As his eyes fixed on Titus, who stood encircled by his men, Zaide at his side, Marcus didn’t hesitate. “Coming, Titus?”
“Yes, sir.” Though Titus’s voice was emotionless, he radiated frustration and trepidation.
“Let me kill him.” Felix spoke so softly that only Marcus heard, and it was a struggle not to say yes. A struggle not to take the knife belted at Felix’s waist and embed it in Titus’s face over and over until he was unrecognizable.
But that would be a mistake.
The Forty-First was loyal to their commander.
If he killed Titus out of turn, they would retaliate, and he’d have a fight on his hands.
Though he knew that Titus was guilty, Marcus had no concrete proof.
To take down Cassius’s son, he needed his accusations to be ironclad.
Yet Marcus couldn’t help but murmur, “Soon enough.”
Felix led Marcus inside the stone fortress. As they passed the guards on duty, all Thirty-Seventh, he said, “Officers only. No exceptions. No interruptions.”
“Yes, sir.” They both saluted sharply, though their faces were pale beneath their helmets. Rattled. With his legs barely holding him up, Marcus knew how they felt.
Just as he knew the only person that his men would actually prevent from entering was Teriana. His heart gave a few unsteady beats as they blocked her path, Austornic ordering his men to keep guard over her, but Marcus didn’t look back. Couldn’t look back.
“Welcome home,” Felix said, the doors embossed with the Cel dragon swinging open in front of them.
Created using Cel-style construction, the interior was blissfully cool and dry, the architecture the familiar blend of beauty and function. “Rastag did good work,” he said, recognizing the hand of the Thirty-Seventh’s engineer.
Felix grunted an affirmative. “We were able to use the same quarry that was used for Aracam. Good stone, he says. The camp’s drainage system is also well underway.”
“That should please Racker. The damp breeds disease.”
“Nothing pleases Racker.”
“Truer words never spoken.”
It was such a bland conversation given what had just happened, and though it was his tongue that was doing the speaking and his ears the listening, it felt as though he were watching from a distance.
A sense of surreality struck him because he was alive, he was in the Thirty-Seventh’s camp, he was back in command of a mission to conquer the western half of the world.
And Teriana was here.
Why? he screamed in the depths of his mind. Why did you follow me?
They reached a pair of doors manned by two guards. Both men saluted, then opened the doors to reveal the center of the legions’ command.
Marcus stopped in his tracks, his lip curling in disgust at what he saw.
Rather than the austere and functional setup he’d left behind, the command room was lavishly decorated with thick carpets, heavy wooden furniture, and an excessive amount of red velvet and gold thread. Blowing out a slow breath from between his teeth, he said, “Amarin—”
“It will be put in order for you, sir,” his servant’s familiar voice said, and Marcus turned to find the older man standing behind the group of legionnaires, a uniform folded in his arms. Amarin’s bronze skin seemed to have gained wrinkles, his hair more silver than brown.
“It is good to see you back with the Thirty-Seventh again, sir. You’ll have everything put right in no time. ”
The surreality abruptly vanished and Marcus felt his mind dragged back into the moment, the insulation of distance vanishing even as the weight of all that had happened and all that would happen pressed down and down.
Moving into the room, he sat heavily on one of the chairs, Felix, Austornic, and Titus taking seats.
“I unfortunately bring bad news,” Austornic said. “When we arrived from Bardeen, we discovered everyone stationed at the terminus camp was dead.”
“What?” Titus was back on his feet in a flash. “Those are my men!”
“Attacked when ?” Marcus asked, unease building in his chest. For while he wouldn’t put it past Titus to order his men to lie, the Titus he knew wouldn’t stoop to killing his own men just to keep a secret.
But much had changed in the time he’d been gone, so who was to say what lengths Titus would go to secure his power.
“After you arrived.” Austornic extracted Wex’s missing letter, setting it on the table, along with one of the leather-bound logbooks the centurions used.
Its cover was stained with blood. “Evidence that the Forty-First witnessed you coming through the stem, sir. Unconscious and deemed xenthier-sick by the centurion in command.”
Evidence that Titus had lied about where Marcus had been apprehended. Austornic hadn’t said it, but he didn’t have to. Everyone in the room heard the accusation.
Marcus didn’t move to read the logs, instead watching as Titus snatched up the book, flipping to the last entries, all the color draining from his face as he read, because it was concrete proof of his deception.
Marcus held his breath, waiting for the other legatus to begin casting blame. To backtrack his way out of the hole he’d dug. Instead, Titus said, “Felix, did one of my men bring word that Marcus had arrived from Bardeen?”
Felix picked up the book and read the logs. “No. We’ve had no word from the terminus camp in some time.”
Silence.
Marcus said nothing, watching Titus’s nostrils flare, the pulse at his neck rapid, then he stormed out the door.
“I think we have grounds to arrest him,” Felix said. “This is damning proof that even the Forty-First can’t contest.”
This was exactly the proof Marcus needed to bring down Titus, but through his exhaustion and aching skull, his instincts were screaming a warning. “Not yet.”