Page 52 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

TERIANA

Teriana leaned on the ramparts, her eyes staring north. Not at the endless swathes of jungle, but at a vision in her imagination of the Orinok river. A river wider than any in the world, yet not an hour ago, Marcus had ordered hundreds of men to accompany Rastag to its banks.

Where they were instructed to build a bridge.

Not just any bridge, but a bridge over a river that increased to three times its width each rainy season. Which meant that it was a bridge that never had a hope of being completed because it would be washed away as soon as the heavy rains began to fall.

“Could be a floating bridge,” Quintus had offered when they’d heard about the new plan. “Those don’t take long to build.”

Except floating or otherwise, Marcus had ordered the bridge built exactly opposite the Gamdeshian fortress on the far bank. A fortress with catapults that would make short work of any construction that reached past the midpoint of the river.

Even Quintus seemed worried. He no longer clung to his unfaltering faith that no matter Marcus’s flaws, he’d never lead the Thirty-Seventh astray.

This was unease that was clearly shared, for through her tent walls, Teriana heard mutters about the lunacy of it all.

Most of it came from the Forty-First and Fifty-First, but the unease in the Thirty-Seventh was palpable even in their silence.

Marcus was the reason they were considered the most dangerous legion in service, ever undefeated, but if he’d lost his nerve, that would swiftly change.

It was as though in their erosion of faith in him, they’d lost faith in themselves.

While on duty, they seemed calm, but the moment the legionnaires were left to their own devices, violence ensued.

Most especially when men ventured into Aracam.

She’d have thought it because of the tension of the war they all knew was coming, but the civilians were as bad, if not worse.

She’d heard that last night the legions had broken up dozens of fights, and this morning, no less than six bodies had been found in alleys.

Friends killing friends.

Husbands murdering wives.

Mothers turning on children.

To top it off, disease was taking a toll. Not on the legion camp, but on the civilians, and Teriana had heard that Racker and his medics frequently went into Aracam to treat illnesses common to the Empire that had never been seen before in the West.

Because all the healers were absent.

All the marked were absent.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Teriana returned to watching the Thirty-Seventh train the Fifty-First.

It was the one thing that did seem to be going right in a sea of wrong, and Teriana thought that might be because it was the one order Marcus had given that made sense.

They’d spent the day in endless exercises and drills, the older legionnaires seeming to take their duties to the boys as a personal mission after Marcus’s speech late that morning.

The boys had come out of Lescendor supposedly knowing everything, but even her inexperienced eye could see the superior skill of legionnaires who’d been blooded in battle more times than they could count. “Could they win a battle on their own?”

Quintus yawned. “That’s too vague a question. Give me a situation. Numbers.”

“The battle on the plains beyond the ridge.” She shoved her hand in her pocket, gripping the hair ornament, the tiny mast digging into her palm. “When the Thirty-Seventh was attacked from the rear.”

“Wasn’t there,” Quintus said with another yawn. “I was getting stitched back together.”

She opened her mouth to mumble an apology for her poor choice of example, but then a voice said from behind, “If they kept their nerve.”

Nic, his bodyguard shadowing him, moved to stand next to her at the wall.

“Any updates?” she asked, squeezing the ornament again.

Nic shook his head. “He met with Rastag and Felix in private. What I know is only what everyone else knows. That his new plan is to build a bridge over the Orinok. When it is complete, we’ll invade by land.

That this entire camp, including the engineers, knows that building a bridge there is impossible doesn’t seem to matter to him. ”

“He’s got a plan,” Quintus said. “He’s not stupid, you know.”

“Or it’s busy work because he doesn’t have a plan. Or doesn’t have the nerve needed to invade Gamdesh and this is his way of delaying.”

“Sir!” Pullo hissed, and Teriana turned around to find Marcus standing behind Nic’s bodyguards, his arms crossed over his breastplate and his expression unamused.

She squeezed the ornament in her pocket, wincing as the mast cut her palm.

This was the first time she’d seen Marcus since last night, and it felt hard to breathe in his presence.

I need you to stop. Please stop, Teriana. She flinched as his voice filled her thoughts, then shoved her hands in her pockets to cover the reaction.

“Thank you for your defense of my intelligence, Quintus,” Marcus said. “Though I understand your sentiment is not shared.”

Quintus shrugged even as Nic stammered, “Sir… I wasn’t… I didn’t…”

Anger flooded her veins, and Teriana stepped between Nic and Marcus. “Don’t you dare punish him just for talking to me. He didn’t say anything that everyone else isn’t saying.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them, but Marcus only glanced over his shoulder at the camp. “Yes, I’ve heard the gossip.”

No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe.

“That’s the reason I’m here,” Marcus finally said. “We’re just going to do an exercise. One I think you could stand to participate in, Teriana.”

He exuded an almost frenetic energy, blue-grey eyes slightly bloodshot. Yet he was steady on his feet.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I have nothing better to do.”

“Let’s go.” Marcus motioned them to follow him down the steps. Gibzen and his men pressed around them as they exited the gate, the primus eyeing her coldly. An expression she returned, for while Marcus seemed content to forgive the man for nearly bashing his head in with a rock, she was not.

As they entered the muddy plain, the men training all ceased what they were doing and saluted.

“Austornic,” Marcus said. “Three hundred of your finest, if you would. Four lines.”

Then he called to Servius, who was watching over the training. “Five hundred.”

“That’s not fair,” Teriana snapped. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t. You can make whatever point you need to make another way.”

Marcus ignored her, and Nic, looking like he was ready to be sick, motioned for his men to approach.

Marcus gave a slight nod to Nic, who called out an order, and boys moved into tight ranks, shields interlocked and spears bristling outwards.

It was all done within moments, with the coordination of a well-trained dance troupe, every boy knowing exactly where he was supposed to be.

Nothing Teriana hadn’t watched a dozen times or more from atop the wall, but it felt different down here on the ground.

Despite knowing she was in no danger from them, her pulse escalated.

Marcus motioned for her to walk in front of them, and a bead of sweat rolled down Teriana’s spine as she stared into a mass of razor-tipped spears, steel shields, and gleaming armor.

Gone were the faces of the boys of Nic’s legion, only hard eyes visible beneath their helmets as they stared her down.

“Would you attack them?”

“Obviously not,” she grumbled, glancing sideways at Quintus, who stood a dozen paces away, watching with his arms crossed. “I’m alone.”

“How many soldiers would you need surrounding you to charge that line?” Marcus asked. “Fifty?”

She snorted. “Not unless I’m at the back.”

“Let’s assume you’re at the front.”

“Then no.”

“One hundred?”

Teriana looked at the razor-tipped spears pointing outwards and shook her head. “Everyone in the front will get impaled.”

“Only if Austornic’s lines keep their nerve and don’t break. But answer the question. How many men would you have to have to charge them with some certainty that you’d survive? Five hundred? A thousand?”

Her fingertips felt like ice, for it seemed no number would make running into those sharp points safe. “I’d go around. Attack them from the rear.”

“Let’s make it interesting and attack them from both sides. Austornic, your men are your own to command.”

Nic called an order, and with terrifying precision, the last rows turned to face the rear. It took them seconds, which meant unless they were truly caught by surprise, they’d meet the attack.

“What’s the point of this?”

And why does Nic look so worried?

“My point is that sometimes it’s not about size or numbers or skill, it’s about nerve.

And nerve is something I understand to be the forefront of everyone’s minds these days.

” Marcus walked the length of the line, then turned to the mass of Thirty-Seventh.

“You all know this exercise. No weapons. They break, you can give a good thrashing to everyone you get your hands on. As usual, anyone who gets overenthusiastic and maims someone will be docked six months wage. Clear?”

The Thirty-Seventh all nodded, even as Teriana blurted out, “Pardon?”

Marcus ignored her, turning back to the Fifty-First. “They are going to charge you. A few are a bit thick in the head, but generally speaking they won’t impale themselves for the sake of an exercise.

So if you hold your lines, it will be them who lose their nerve.

Of course, if even a few members of your line break and make a run for it, you’ll have gaps that these men are experts at breaching, never mind what they’ll do if your lines get snarled.

That said, if you do choose to run and make it to the wall, you’re free and clear.

You’re all young and nimble, while this lot,” he gestured to the Thirty-Seventh, “have years of war injuries. You might be able to outrun them, but if they catch you, well…”