Page 75 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

He allowed Nic to quietly contemplate that fact before he added, “The trouble with instincts is that while they may warn you of threats”—he moved his hand in a circle in front of him—“at a certain point, there is too much warning, an overwhelming of the senses, and the inability to determine the greatest threat. Or at least, a reduced ability to move forces to meet that threat. It is at that point my blade will fall.”

Nic was quiet as he thought, then he said, “So all of this complexity and additional cost, it’s for Kaira?”

It was for Teriana.

And for himself.

But Marcus said, “Kaira is my opponent, the woman sitting across the game board from me, and every decision must be catered to what I know of her. And I’d be a fool to underestimate or discount her rumored abilities.”

He could see the frustration in Nic’s demeanor, the boy trained to make decisions based on facts, not intuition, and sure enough, he muttered, “Then it’s all a roll of the dice. An entire strategy based around some girl’s supposed magical powers, which could easily blow up in our faces.”

“ Woman ,” Marcus corrected. “Kaira is no child. Unlike yourself.”

Nic scowled at him, and Marcus laughed to soften the blow.

“Think what a fool she’d be to underestimate you because you are young,” he said.

“Then imagine how much a fool it would make you to underestimate her because of what is between her legs. She is a legend in this half of the world, her reputation only rivaled by Dareena Falorn and Killian Calorian in the north. The Sultan of Gamdesh has given her full control of his military, which means that he trusts her prowess. The Empire might have taught you that martial skill is the domain of men, but keep in mind that it behooves the men in the Senate to propagate information that allows them to maintain their power, even if that information is lies. We are bound to their will, but that doesn’t mean we are bound to believe everything they tell us. ”

Not waiting for Nic to respond, he added, “As to the roll of the dice, all strategies are, to a greater or lesser extent. Even a plan formed entirely on facts and certainties can and will go awry, which is why we must examine every possible way the die may fall and create contingencies. I plan to be right. But I also plan to be wrong. So rest assured, I have strategies in play in case I have misjudged Kaira.”

“Strategies that you do not share.” Nic cast a sideways glance at him. “Except with Felix. The commandant warned us of the consequences of not trusting our officers.”

Marcus took a long mouthful from the waterskin hooked on his saddle.

“It’s not a matter of trust, Nic. Or at least, it isn’t entirely.

For these gambits of deceit to work requires a collective poker face that is impossible to achieve if the men are aware of my actual plan.

We are always watched by our adversaries’ spies, and they aren’t idiots.

They are trained to read emotion and nerves, so I must play our men as pieces on the game board.

They must believe, or the spies will sense the ruse.

And…” He gave a slow shake of his head. “We don’t know the limits of the magic given by the gods.

Who is to say that Astara is limited to the shape of a hawk?

Perhaps she might become a mouse or even a fly, perched and listening on the wall while I explain the full extent of my plans.

Or listening to you discuss the plans with your second.

She could have taken the shape of my horse here and might well be listening to our conversation even now. ”

Nic’s eyes went to the silly golden mare, eyeing her suspiciously, then he said, “Isn’t that something Teriana would know?”

At her name, tension sang through Marcus’s veins, causing the horse to sidle and snort. “I don’t want her involved.”

“Why?”

“She’s here under duress.”

“Except she isn’t,” Nic argued. “You told her to stay put in Celendrial, and instead of doing so, she went behind your back and cut a deal with Cassius that meant coming back to the Dark Shores with me and ensuring our success. That was her choice, and if we fail, her people will suffer the consequences. Arguably there is no one we should trust more, because the stakes are higher for her than any of us. But more than that, she knows our adversary better than any of us, for she knows Kaira personally . Yet you have not once asked her for information that might aid us. Which, given circumstances, would be understandable, except you have also forbade the rest of us from asking her for insights.”

Marcus’s temper flared, and he bit down on sharp words because Nic was justified in questioning him.

He was responsible for the lives of those in the Fifty-First, and Marcus’s reasons for keeping Teriana as clear of this campaign as possible ran counter to that because they put her wellbeing above all others.

“We don’t need her insights. As much as it might seem as though our goals are aligned, once she’s free and clear of us, there is nothing to stop her from taking everything she’s learned and giving that information to the other side. ”

“Then why not put her on the island with the rest of her crew we keep under guard? Why is she here?”

Why is she here? Reasons exploded across Marcus’s thoughts, turning his head into a kaleidoscope of painful colors, his grip tightening on the reins as a scream threatened to boil out of him. I cannot let her go. “My reasons are not your concern.”

Silence stretched.

“Fine,” Nic muttered. “If you’ll excuse me, sir. I would ride with my men.”

Marcus didn’t answer, only watched with dull eyes as the boy trotted his horse away, grief filling his core.

Not for himself, but for Nic. Because the Empire had no use, nor desire, for idealism, and bit by bit, year by year, all that was good about the young legatus would be erased until he, too, would look in the mirror and see a stranger staring back at him.

A chill abruptly ran over Marcus’s skin, a motionless wind with a coldness that belonged in Sibern, and his mare pinned her ears and squealed.

“Easy,” he muttered, not sure if he was talking to himself or the horse.

What good is idealism? a voice whispered . What matters is results.

Marcus frowned at the thought, disliking the callousness behind it, but trying to push it from his mind made his head pound. Shoving his fingers under his helmet, he rubbed his temples, the world swimming around him.

“You all right, sir?” Gibzen asked, moving his horse right next to the golden mare, who immediately tried to bite the gelding.

“Tired. But so is everyone.”

“Yeah, but everyone else sleeps. With respect, sir, don’t think I haven’t noticed your lack of shut-eye. You need more?”

“No,” Marcus muttered. “I don’t have time for it. I can’t command an army with my head in a fog, Gibzen.”

“Seems to me that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Irritation flooded Marcus’s chest, and he turned to meet Gibzen’s brown eyes. “I’m not putting us off schedule so that I can get a full night of rest.”

“Of course not, sir.” Gibzen broke away from Marcus’s stare. “But there are other options.”

They rode in silence for a long time, and with each step Marcus’s horse took, his head pounded harder. Finally, he said, “What options?”

“Racker’s not just got narcotics to make you sleep,” Gibzen answered. “He’s got some that keep you sharp.” Reaching out a hand, the primus handed Marcus a vial. The glass was cold as ice. “I got your back, sir. Only one drop.”

The slippery slope he walked upon grew steeper by the day, but Marcus tucked the vial away. He considered pressing Gibzen as to whether he’d made progress on his hunt for the traitor, but given how hard the march was, he doubted much investigation was possible.

“I know you’re not going to want to hear this,” Gibzen said. “But the pup has been meddling again. Saw him talking to Quintus more than once, which everyone knows is the same as talking to her.”

Marcus curbed the urge to look backward, his anger rising.

“Pup wants his name to go down in the history books for this campaign,” Gibzen said. “Which means he needs to make a mark in some fashion. That’s why he’s pressing for information—to find a way to influence how all this goes down.”

To steal your glory. The thought rose in his mind, and Marcus shook his head to clear it, because none of this was about glory.

But it is about it going your way, the voice asked. Austornic might ruin your plans if he interferes.

Except that didn’t make sense. Marcus had involved Nic more than anyone other than Felix and Servius. Marcus had told him that the Fifty-First would be given credit for their part.

What if that isn’t enough?

“He’s not stupid enough to mess things up,” Marcus growled at the voice, but it was Gibzen who answered, “Take a look, sir.”

He glanced backward just in time to see Nic rein his horse away from Quintus’s mount, and Marcus snapped his gaze forward again, clenching his teeth against his rising anger.

You were teaching him. You brought him into the fold. And this is how he repays you?

“He might only be being courteous.” A wave of exhaustion rolled over him. “Teriana is a woman, and thirteen or not, he’s got eyes.”

Gibzen responded, but all Marcus heard was the voice. Austornic is jockeying for power, just as you did. He sees you’re exhausted and aims to take advantage.

“He’s not me. He’s better than me.”

Gibzen said something, and Marcus turned his head to look at him, seeing the primus’s eyes were narrowed, the predator in the man smelling Marcus’s weakness.

“Keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, sir. Will do, sir.”

Gibzen backed off his horse. Keeping the vial concealed by his hand, Marcus took a drop. Moments later, the world seemed to sharpen, his thoughts along with it. Just in time for a scout to approach.

The man saluted, his exhausted horse lathered with sweat. “No signs of evacuation, sir. She’s emptied the garrison north at Imresh to man the walls of Emrant and put up the harbor chain.”

Even though Marcus knew that Kaira would have to be mad to concede the city easily, part of him had hoped that they’d arrive to find Emrant empty. Yet as Astara shrieked, once again above him and watching, Marcus said, “If it’s a fight that they want, a fight they shall have.”