Page 71 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

Teriana swallowed hard as she took in the wide snaking path of brown river.

It was the border not just between Gamdesh and Arinoquia, but also the border between Gamdesh and the wild expanses of jungle that made up the Uncharted Lands.

The monstrous river was the only break in the canopy of forest, although the jungle had been aggressively cleared on both sides of this section of the river.

Which meant she had a clear view of the bridge Rastag had been charged with building, which stretched about half of the way across.

While she knew that there used to be a ferry system here with barges attached to ropes that stretched between the multiple rocky outcroppings, Teriana couldn’t help but question the choice to build a bridge at this location.

The river at this point appeared twice as wide as it did just a little bit farther upstream and downstream.

Frowning, she slid off the side of the horse and removed her pack. She removed her spyglass, and lifting it to her eye, Teriana examined the bridge.

Which was no bridge at all.

It was a dam .

Taking a step closer to the ridgeline, Teriana examined the structure, which looked to her as though the legionnaires had been dumping rock and rubble into the river, then building a boardwalk of wood over top of it.

Not only was it nothing like the feats of architecture that the Cel were known for, but there was a gods-damned reason you didn’t use a dam to make a bridge, because it would—

“Oh.” She blew out a long breath between her teeth. “I see.”

The river was wide here because Rastag’s dam bridge had caused it to overflow the northern banks.

The small fortress town of Rita had flooded, so only the upper halves of the buildings were visible above the flow of water.

The Gamdeshians had formed a tent camp beyond the edge of the flooded river, complete with swiftly constructed wooden fortifications and catapults, the latter what had stopped the construction perhaps eight hundred feet from the northern bank.

“Rastag, this is your best work yet! A true thing of beauty!” Quintus shouted with a laugh, and Teriana lowered her spyglass to see the Thirty-Seventh’s engineer standing with his arms crossed in front of a large white pavilion.

Rastag scowled at Quintus, shaking his head in disgust before retreating to the shade.

He somehow tripped over his own feet, only saved from a fall by one of the legionnaires tasked with watching over him.

His other minder retrieved Rastag’s spectacles from the ground, placing them back on his face before guiding him into the pavilion.

A flicker of memory of Marcus saying that the engineer vied with Racker as the most valued member of the legion filtered through Teriana’s mind.

She glanced back at the dam, not seeing the genius of it given that it had not remotely solved the issue of crossing the river.

But Teriana’s instincts were still firing, telling her that she was missing something. She turned in a circle, searching for the man who held every answer in his head. But Marcus was nowhere in sight.

“What’s going to happen now?” she asked, rounding on Quintus, who only shrugged and said, “We’ll fight. Hopefully they surrender, but if not, they’ll die. What remains to be seen is the numbers we’ll lose getting to that point.”

Despite the obvious challenges, his confidence seemed reasonable.

The seemingly endless line of legionnaires snaked out of sight down the road, but those who had arrived were already forming up in neat ranks on either side of the road, rows and rows of carts that had transported rubble only to be abandoned filling the banks before them.

Centurions barked orders, and some of the men began removing the wheels from the carts.

Teriana’s heart skipped as she realized they’d been designed to serve the double purpose of boats.

Quintus gave a soft laugh. “Ah, Rastag, you are a genius.”

Sunlight glittered off shields, weapons, and armor, and as she lifted her spyglass back to her eye, it was to watch the Gamdeshians racing to prepare for an assault they had no chance of holding against.

Run! she wanted to scream. Retreat!

But there was a grim determination in the faces she saw through the spyglass, a willingness to die for the sake of killing as many of the invaders as they could, despite the outcome being inevitable.

You did this, her conscience accused. You brought this down upon them.

Which meant the blood of all who fell today was on her hands as surely as if she’d wielded a weapon herself.

A painful throbbing pulse formed in her skull, and Teriana pressed fingers to her temple, the sun abruptly seeming too bright.

Retreat, she willed the ranks of Gamdeshians on the distant bank.

Live to fight another day, because we will need every one of you.

Except that day would come all too soon, for once the legions gained the bank and took Rita, they’d begin the march on Emrant.

The port city held the xenthier stem that she and Cassius both desperately sought, albeit for entirely different reasons.

A city with a hundred thousand Gamdeshian civilians, which Kaira would not concede without a fight.

It would be bloody and vicious, the armies nearly matched in size.

And to save her people, Teriana needed Marcus to win.

Thousands of lives for five hundred Maarin souls.

Teriana’s eyes burned, the world spinning until she remembered to take a breath. Then another. You chose this, she reminded herself. You bet the many to save your few. Now is not the time to lose your nerve. You cannot break.

“You all right, Teriana?” Quintus’s voice was filled with concern.

“Fine.” She swallowed. “It’s hot.”

He caught hold of her arm and steered her toward the pavilion. Rastag was sitting inside reviewing pages of drawings in the corner under the watchful eye of his bodyguard, but other than Amarin, who was filling cups with water and setting them out on the table, the pavilion was empty.

Where was he?

“Giving last-minute orders,” Quintus answered, and Teriana realized she’d spoken aloud. “He won’t arrive until everyone is in position.”

A practiced routine, and sweat dripped down her brow as she considered the number of times they’d done this.

The number of battles they’d fought. The number of nations they’d invaded.

This was the well-oiled machine that ruled the East with organization and an iron fist, and though she’d eaten and drunk and lived with them for a year, this was the first time she was truly seeing why the Empire ruled.

She’d made a mistake.

Unleashed a force she hadn’t really comprehended.

A force that couldn’t be pushed back, couldn’t be stopped.

Teriana’s body trembled as she watched the slope below her filled with men. Filled with legion.

The Forty-First.

The Thirty-Seventh.

And lastly, the Fifty-First, who formed a perimeter of defense around the pavilion, no longer children but smaller versions of the men arrayed before them.

They all fell still, no one speaking a word, not even a whisper, the only sound the faint rushing of the Orinok and the wind blowing through distant trees.

Then she heard the drum.

A repeated rhythm, ominous in its simplicity, and as Teriana watched, a drummer leading a procession of mounted legionnaires appeared.

Astride the golden horse, Marcus followed the drummer, Nic and Felix behind him, the rest of their officers following, but Teriana barely noticed them, her eyes all for him .

His crimson cloak billowed behind him on the breeze, golden dragon dancing as the ranks parted to make a path before stepping back into position after the procession had passed.

His expression was hidden by the nose and cheek pieces of his helmet, but his posture was confident.

Relaxed. As though he were on a ride through a park, his only care what food had been packed for a picnic lunch, not the thousands of men about to cross a river in a battle that was sure to turn the water red straight down to the sea.

“What’s he doing?” she muttered, for while Nic and the others were making their way to the pavilion, Marcus had continued riding through the ranks. “What’s the point of this?”

“Showmanship,” Quintus replied. “A show of confidence that boosts morale of the men, while at the same time putting the fear into the enemy. Look.” He lifted her hand and aimed her spyglass toward the northern bank.

Teriana’s chest tightened, for the Gamdeshians had stopped their flurry of activity and were silently watching, arms slack at their sides.

“I hate this,” she said, ignoring the officers dismounting their horses and walking into the pavilion. “Why is the world this way?”

“Greed.” Quintus’s eyes tracked Marcus as he finally began to weave his way up the slope toward them.

“Men who seek power and wealth and glory are never satisfied. They only want more, and they believe it is their right to walk upon the backs of those they use to achieve it, for it keeps their feet out of the mud.”

Teriana bit her lip, silent as Marcus reached the open space before the pavilion. He dismounted, handing the reins to Amarin and moving to stand at the edge of the ridge, surveying the gleaming ranks of his army.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

All the world seemed to be holding its breath, the only motion the ebb and swirl of Marcus’s cloak in the wind, and the only sound Teriana’s thundering heart.

Marcus cleared his throat, then said, “Proceed.”

The hornblower standing to the side lifted his instrument to his lips.

The sharp blast echoed into the river valley, and as its note faded, Marcus turned on his heel and strode past Teriana and Quintus into the pavilion.