Page 133 of Scorched Earth
“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 washer 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, sheknowsour adversary better than any of us, for she knows Kairapersonally. 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 Terianaas 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 isnothingto 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 elsesleeps.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.”
