Page 58 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

Quintus sighed. “What Katamarca faces is something I’ve only known from the side of the conqueror.

It has been so long since anyone attacked Celendor that, if not for history books, it would be lost to memory.

We are always the attackers, always the invaders, always on the offense, so we don’t even think of what it’s like to be invaded.

What it’s like making choices to protect our own people.

What it feels like to protect. That said, my gut tells me that Erdene took a look at the odds, and this is her roll of the dice. ”

Teriana watched the Thirty-First slowly board the massive ship. There were ten vessels, all of which would cost a small fortune to build. Katamarca hadn’t rolled the dice—they were all in. The only uncertainty was how Marcus intended to use them.

Though no matter his plan, the results would be the same. Kaira had refused to deal, which meant a battle was coming. The ships would sail north, would land, would fight the Gamdeshians until one side was defeated. In her heart, she knew who would lose.

How many would die?

How many people were going about their lives, entirely unaware that these coming days would be their last? Unaware that their end was near, whether it be by hunger or on the tip of a legionnaire’s gladius or beneath the heels of a thousand feet.

What are five hundred lives compared to the millions in Gamdesh?

They’re everything.

They’re—

A piercing shriek from above ripped Teriana back into the moment. Her heart leapt to her throat as the giant hawk circled low above the massed legions with no care for the danger they posed to her.

Marcus glanced upward, then shouted, “Shoot her, you idiots! She’s a spy for the enemy!”

The legionnaires within earshot were all boarding, but they scrambled for weapons. Arrows were fired, but all too late, for Astara had already soared out to sea, heading north to report what she’d seen to Kaira.

“Interesting that he didn’t anticipate she’d be watching,” Quintus murmured. “Now if I were a betting man—”

“Which you are,” Teriana snapped.

“—I might suggest that he wanted her to fly north to give Kaira a report on our activities.” He hesitated, then nodded and pointed. “Look.”

A flicker of light flashed across the sky, as though a bit of glass were catching the light of the setting sun.

“Past the first scout.” Quintus lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun, nodding as another light flashed. “And the second.”

Teriana’s eyes moved to Marcus, who was berating the legionnaires boarding the ship for sluggishness and seemingly not paying the slightest bit of attention to the scouts’ signals.

“And the third,” Quintus said.

Felix reached out to touch Marcus’s arm, and what had obviously been false outrage at the men’s failure to shoot Astara disappeared.

He and Zimo exchanged swift words. Zimo nodded with an approving expression, then he called out orders and a centurion strode up and down the dock, screaming more commands in the aggressive fashion every man of that rank seemed to use.

Teriana felt the shift.

Where they’d been dragging their heels, now the Thirty-First moved with the speed and efficiency the Cel were known for, every man knowing exactly what he was supposed to be doing and where he needed to be, all while Marcus continued to instruct the officers, each of them nodding in approval of what she could only assume was his explanation of his real plan.

It was happening.

Gods help her, it was happening.

Teriana’s heart was in her throat, pulse roaring, but there was nothing she could do but stand there as Marcus and Zimo clasped arms. The latter laughed with obvious delight as he turned on his heel to stride up the gangplank, the ships at the neighboring docks already running out sweeps to move the vessels into deeper waters.

The underloaded ships.

Rather than the waiting vessels moving into empty berths to be filled with more legionnaires, they raised their sails. “What is…”

She trailed off as Marcus started walking down the dock, Nic and Felix following at his heels.

The wind from the water caught at Marcus’s crimson and gold cloak, sending it floating out behind him as he walked.

Face expressionless, he said something to Felix, who lifted an arm.

A signalman from the Thirty-Seventh hurried up the dock, listened to Felix’s orders, and then lifted a signal flag, the fabric slashing this way and that in such rapid motions that Teriana couldn’t parse the meaning.

“It would appear we aren’t sailing to Gamdesh after all,” Quintus said, and Teriana’s stomach twisted into knots even as the horns that had been blasting through the city all afternoon echoed the signalman’s orders.

“He’s ordered a march north,” Quintus continued. “Double time, no torches.”

Teriana barely heard her friend, for Marcus had reached the end of the dock.

His eyes went first to the hair ornament resting against her cheek and then to her eyes.

“Last chance. Do you want to join the Quincense or march?” He hesitated, then added, “Quintus will go with you, regardless of your choice.”

Guilt made her chest clench, because if she said yes, Quintus would be reunited with Miki, but as she met her friend’s gaze, he shook his head. “Don’t make the decision because of me.”

“Can’t he go without me?” she asked.

“No.”

“You’re an asshole,” she muttered.

“An asshole on a schedule.” Marcus mounted his new golden mare. “Quintus, if it’s to be a march, take one of the horses. Otherwise, safe travels. You’ll receive word when we’ve taken Emrant.” Then he dug in his heels and trotted his mount after Felix.

She touched the miniature ship that brushed her cheekbone, swallowing hard. She’d told Astara that the legions were her weapon to wield to free her people, and she’d soon discover how deep that weapon cut.

The legions flowed out of Aracam with all the precision and discipline the Cel were known for. What had moments before been a har bor market teeming with angry legionnaires was now empty except for the few hundred men from the Forty-First who would remain to hold Aracam.

One of them approached with a horse, holding out the reins to Quintus. Mounting, he held a hand down to her. “What do you want to do?”

She stared at her friend’s calloused hand, part of her wondering what the point was in marching with the legions given that she could not affect the plans nor control the outcome of the war that she had set in motion.

That part of her wanted to scream, to throw herself into the surf and rage at Madoria for setting her on a path too steep to climb.

A path that seemed destined to destroy her.

Yet the other part, the stronger part, curled its lip in disgust, because in all her life, Teriana had never once given up. She’d faced insurmountable odds before and persevered, and she refused to concede now. So she grasped Quintus’s hand. “I’m sorry. I need to see this through.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” He pulled her behind him in the saddle and heeled the horse into the fading glow of the setting sun.