Page 38 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

MARCUS

Marcus rubbed at his temple, his head throbbing, but he ignored it in favor of drawing a piece of paper in front of him. Tapping a pencil against his chin, he wrote: To Her Royal Highness, Princess Kaira.

He stared at the line for a moment, the words splitting into two, then three, then scratched it out and wrote: General Kaira .

Writing in Cel, he detailed the Empire’s belief that a terminus stem was located in Emrant and the Senate’s desire for it to be opened to traffic for trade, which would be mutually profitable for both nations.

He finished with a few sentences explaining the Senate’s hope to achieve a peaceful and lasting alliance with Gamdesh.

Lies.

A sudden chill passed over him, and Marcus shivered, reaching for his cloak right as a knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

Atrio stepped inside. Dressed in standard legion kit, the good-looking young man appeared much like any other man in the Thirty-Seventh but for the fact that his dark brown hair was longer than regulation.

Yet beneath the armor was a more significant difference in that he bore no legion tattoos on his brown skin.

Chosen for this duty before graduation, he’d not been marked with a legion number as the rest of them had been, and he’d also had the tiny identification number that had been placed upon him when he arrived at Lescendor removed.

Atrio was a chameleon who learned languages at shocking speed, his ability to mimic accents and mannerisms almost unnatural.

He’d also been deployed in civilian garb to Gamdesh within days of their arrival in the West, where he’d remained until recently, making him one of Marcus’s most valuable resources.

“Sir.” Atrio saluted and removed his helmet.

“How do you fancy returning to Gamdesh?”

Atrio shrugged. “I got a girl in a port town just north of Emrant. She thinks I work on merchant ships that trade down the east coast of the continent. It’s just a matter of me sailing into her harbor with a gift or two from my travels.”

What made the spy good at his job was his ability to create relationships, but Marcus had never envied him his many false lives. Though if Atrio worried about the broken hearts he left in his wake, he never showed it.

“What’s her name?”

“Astara, sir. She lives in the garrison in a fortress known as Imresh north of Emrant. I was working to find my way inside before I was recalled by Titus, but the Gamdeshians have Imresh locked up tighter than the virtue of a Senator’s daughter.

It’s where Kaira is stationed, and I’d hoped to get eyes and ears on her. ”

Marcus frowned. “Don’t get too close to Kaira. Her instincts are… acute .”

“That’s well known, sir. And to be frank, no concerns there. Kaira’s one for the ladies, and besides, Astara might tolerate my absences, but she doesn’t tolerate me looking sideways at other girls. Given she can turn into a giant hawk, I do my best to remain on her good side.”

Marcus blinked. “Pardon?”

“Sorry, sir. I’m used to you knowing more than I know myself. Everyone is, which is likely why no one has mentioned her.”

Marcus’s teeth clenched, because he was also used to being the best informed. “Perhaps you’ll do me the service of rectifying my ignorance.”

“Of course, sir. There are people in the West with special powers gifted them by the gods, and—”

“I’m aware of the god marks.”

“Right.” Atrio rocked on his heels. “At any rate, Astara is marked by the god Lern, so she can turn into an animal. A hawk, specifically. She works for Kaira as a spy.”

A shifter spy.

Atrio patted the helmet under his arm. “Astara is why I keep this on. She spies on our camp regularly, and her eyesight is keen. She comes and goes, but I heard her wings overhead earlier.”

There was so much information Marcus didn’t know, days and days of reports to read, but he didn’t have time.

“Do you know how quickly she can make the journey between Aracam and Kaira’s fortress?”

“She’s fast,” Atrio answered. “Anything that can be seen, you best be sure Kaira knows about, and then some. Felix keeps men on the walls whose sole duty is to try to shoot her down, but Astara knows their range.”

“She a talker?”

Atrio blew out a breath of frustration. “No, unfortunately. I had a room in the village outside of the fortress and she always came to me. Everything I know about Astara’s duties I discovered through looser lips, and that isn’t much.

Though she’s often in Emrant, Kaira returns every night to Imresh.

Must be worried about assassination attempts, because the garrison in that fortress has twice the number of men they need. ”

“If there is opportunity to learn more, do so. But I’ve a bigger priority for you.” Marcus swiftly explained about the walled-in terminus in Emrant. “I want certainty that it’s good before we take steps to secure it.”

“How do you want me to do that?” Atrio asked. “If it’s walled in, as you say, then my guess is the city guard will have something to say about me taking out a piece of said wall to determine whether it’s a tomb for ill-fated path-hunters.”

“I want you to listen.”

Atrio’s eyes widened. “Listen for… for screams? With respect, sir, that’s grim given it’s unlikely we could rescue them in time.”

“Not screams.” Marcus explained his plan, the corner of Atrio’s mouth turning up in a half smile.

“Clever.”

“It’s only clever if it works, you know that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Marcus shoved his draft letter in front of the spy. “Can you translate this?”

The spy read the letter, then swiftly scribbled a translation on another scrap of paper. “You know the Gamdeshians won’t agree to this after what Titus did to the god towers in Aracam and Galinha, right?”

“That’s my problem, not yours.”

Atrio shoved his helmet down on his head, then saluted. “I’ll get underway quick like, but it might be a day before I sail out of Aracam. There are spies from every nation in the West in the city now, and this will all be for naught if I’m discovered.”

“Be safe.” Marcus watched the spy depart before taking both letters and holding them to the lamp flame, knowing that Atrio would reveal at least some of what he’d written over drinks around the fire tonight.

He tossed them in the bowl on the table, watching the paper burn before drawing another page in front of him.

Writing swiftly in Gamdeshian, he explained Teriana’s situation, the threat to the imprisoned Maarin, and the requirements for setting them free.

The Senate requires pathways that are safe and secure for trade, but with your cooperation, we can fabricate a pretense that I hold the stems under legion control.

Once the Maarin are freed, I will withdraw from Gamdesh’s territories.

It is no permanent solution, for the Senate will soon discover my duplicity and remove me from command, but it will buy you time while also saving the lives of your Maarin allies.

Lest there be any confusion, if you refuse to work with me now to save the lives of Teriana’s people, you will war with me later.

He signed the page and sealed it with wax stamped with Celendor’s dragon, the creature staring up at him with mocking eyes.

The Senate would hang him for this, of that there was no question.

But Teriana would be free. Her people would be free.

And if all worked as he intended, it would aid those allied with his sister and her husband who were trying to wrest power from Cassius, because the voting citizens would not support a consul behind such a costly failed campaign.

Marcus stared at the wall, allowing himself a moment to imagine Felix receiving a message from a newly elected consul ordering the legions to withdraw to Celendor once summer arrived in Sibern. Not quite the dream he’d hoped for but better than the alternative.

Yet he still needed to plan for the alternative, because it was not lost on him that everything hinged on Kaira agreeing to his scheme.

Her willingness to set aside the not-undeserved prejudices against his character that the Maarin would have revealed to her.

Her willingness to risk Gamdesh for the sake of five hundred souls.

It was a roll of the dice that he desperately hoped would work, but he’d not gotten this far in life by not planning for failure.

And planning for that failure necessitated communication with the Empire.

It had to be done. Not only because he needed Wex for his contingency plans to work, but because if he didn’t send communication soon, Cassius would only send someone capable of forcing the issue through the Bardeen stem.

The Empire had its claws dug into the Southern Continent, and pretending otherwise would do no one any favors.

Picking up his pen and dipping it into the ink, Marcus drew a fresh piece of paper in front of him and began to write an update.

He then moved on to a directive of specific instructions for Wex to undertake in relation to the potential stems in Gamdesh, the Commandant the only one he trusted to correctly execute the work.

When he’d finished, Marcus retrieved wax wrapping, which he used to carefully protect the letter from the water it would be immersed in, along with a water-tight box painted brilliant red that would bring the missive to the surface of the lake.

Strategies taught to all legions, for termini were often located beneath water.

Then he sat staring into space, his head throbbing, each pulse saying six months.

“It’s time enough,” he muttered. “Kaira’s reputation is good. She’ll agree to this for the sake of the Maarin, if nothing else.”

The “nothing else” being the thing he did far better than diplomacy.

Picking up the letter to Kaira, he considered how best to deliver it to her knowing that it would surely be read by any messenger.

She spies on our camp regularly, and her eyesight is keen.

The room swam as Marcus stood, forcing him to grip the table until he could see straight.

You just need sleep.

Marcus packaged the letter with wax wrapping then tucked it into his belt pouch before picking up the box containing the message to Wex.

Leaving the command room, he handed the box to one of the guards.

“This needs to be delivered through the stem mapped to Atlia. Extra security to ensure no interference.”

“Yes, sir.”

Continuing on through the fortress with Gibzen and the rest of his guard at his heel, Marcus left the building, ignoring the vertigo that joined his headache as he descended the steps.

The camp was quiet, only a few men sitting around fires, the Fifty-First all abed as per the curfew imposed upon the younger legion if they weren’t on duty.

Striding through the camp, he ascended the wall that encircled it, the guards on duty saluting at the sight of him.

Approaching the centurion, he said, “I understand that we are under watch by a rather large bird. How often does she circle overhead?”

The man scowled. “Astara, you mean? She’s here tonight.” He gestured to his shoulder, which had residue of what Marcus strongly suspected was hawk shit on his armor.

“Perfect.” Marcus took the loaded crossbow that the centurion had resting against his shoulder. “I need to borrow this.”

“She keeps well out of range, if you’re of a mind to shoot her.”

“I intend to use her as my messenger.” Rain fell from the cloudy skies, moon and stars obscured.

Cognizant that hawks were daytime hunters and that her vision in the dark was likely little better than his own, he cleared his throat and then shouted in Gamdeshian, “Astara, are you with us tonight? I’ve a message for your general! ”

A shrill shriek filled the air, the volume speaking to the size of the bird above, which was likely more than capable of killing an armored man.

Ignoring the faint thrill of fear that thrummed through his veins, Marcus extracted the letter and fastened it securely to the crossbow bolt.

He could feel the curious eyes of all the men on duty, along with those in the camp who were awake to hear him shouting at the sky.

“She might not catch it just to piss you off, sir,” the centurion said. “That’s her personality.”

Marcus shrugged. “Then I’ll send it by ship, and she can explain to Kaira why it took ten times as long to reach them. Her choice.”

Wings flapped high above, and holding the crossbow so that it was pointed at the sky with a trajectory that wouldn’t see it coming down on their heads if Astara proved difficult, Marcus released the bolt.

Then held his breath, sucking in air only when his ears caught the crackle of claws catching wax wrapping, the hawk shrieking to indicate success.

Only, rather than heading north, she continued to circle above.

Watching.

“I want a report on all her habits,” Marcus murmured. “Daily logs of sightings by every centurion. I want to know how fast that woman can fly.”

“I’ll spread the word, sir.”

A sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over him, along with the need to close his eyes and escape from everything for a few hours.

“I’m done here,” he said to Gibzen, blindly following the primus as he led Marcus down from the wall and through the camp. He barely saw the men saluting him as he passed, his attention so fractured that he nearly walked into Gibzen’s back when the other man abruptly stopped.

“Move!” the primus snarled, and Marcus stepped sideways to find that Gibzen was facing off with Quintus and Teriana.

Quintus gave a smile that was all teeth. “Say pretty please.”

Gibzen lifted a fist, and Marcus caught his arm even as Teriana hauled Quintus to the side.

Their eyes locked, and the sudden compulsion to fall to his knees before her and beg forgiveness swept over him. To say whatever he needed to say to have her back.

You’re being watched. And you don’t deserve forgiveness.

He tore his eyes from hers and trudged down the boardwalks that kept the camp out of the mud until he reached the fortress, where he headed straight to his room. Dismissing Amarin, he left his armor and clothing in a pile on the floor, and then crawled onto his cot.

It was better this way.

Sleep, he screamed at himself. Just sleep.

Yet he couldn’t silence his mind, couldn’t stop the throbbing ache in his skull, and the desperation to escape it made his heart hammer and breath race until he could take it no more.

Scrambling to his feet, he fell to his knees next to his pile of clothes, digging into his belt pouch until his fingers found glass.

One drop.

Two.

But when he tried to shake out a third, nothing came.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. You don’t need it.

The pain in his skull receded but his mind remained restless, circling through every nightmare he faced until dawn lit the sky, and the first order he gave was to Gibzen.

“I need more.”