Adjusting his spectacles, Rastag peered at him. “I do trust you, Agrippa. Just not with mathematics.”
Laughing, Agrippa shouldered the satchel, then looked to Marcus. “Where exactly are you wanting to go?”
“I need a tree tall enough to see into Hydrilla.”
Agrippa blinked. “But Hostus cut them all down.”
“Not the ones on the far side of the ravine.”
The far side of the ravine was rebel territory.
Tell him no. Tell him it’s too dangerous. Tell him you won’t do it.
As though sensing his thoughts, Marcus motioned for the men to give them space. Then he stepped closer and said softly, “I met with Grypus alone last night. He gave his word that if we take Hydrilla before the snow flies, the Thirty-Seventh will be granted status and autonomy. We’ll be free of the Twenty-Ninth. I need only come up with a plan that sees it done without putting half the Thirty-Seventh in their graves. Still think this isn’t worth the risk?”
A plan like that, if it worked, would bring the Thirty-Seventh more than liberty from the Twenty-Ninth. It would bring them fame and prestige and would lead to missions that yielded more of the same. “Will this plan have a role for me in it?”
One of Marcus’s eyebrows rose. “Still looking to get a statue in the Forum?”
Asks the person who is almost guaranteed to get one, Agrippa thought, but he said, “I fancy immortality.”
“If we pull this off, every man in the Senate will be talking about us.”
“About Hostus, you mean. And the Twenty-Ninth.”
Marcus hesitated, and Agrippa knew from experience that he was weighing and measuring the advantages of using a piece of information versus keeping it to himself. Then he said, “I made part of the deal with Grypus that I command the battle, which means it will be the Thirty-Seventh going in first.”
Agrippa felt his eyes widen, the audacity of the request shocking. Legions had to be finished training and granted status before their legatus could take on such a role, and he’d never heard of an exception being made. He opened his mouth to ask whether Grypus had such authority, then closed it again. Because Marcus wouldn’t have made the demand if it weren’t possible. “Hostus is going to kill you when he finds out.”
Marcus gave a slight nod. “Which is why we keep that piece close until the final hour. He’s used to me doing all the work, so he won’t question me doing so now.”
True, but it made the plan no less bold because there’d still come a point when Hostus would be told. And Agrippa wouldn’t put it past the older legatus to turn the Twenty-Ninth on the Thirty-Seventh in retaliation for the attack on his pride. Because this was no slight: Having his protégé wrench control of a siege out from under him was a hammer blow to Hostus’s reputation that he’d never live down. “I—”
“It’s not just going to be my name on the Senate’s lips,” Marcus interrupted. “If you lead the attack, all of Celendrial will be talking about you. All of the Empire. This will be one for the history books, Agrippa. You can trust me on that.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “So what do you say?”
Agrippa bit the insides of his cheeks, weighing the risks against the rewards. Weighing potential for catastrophe against the opportunity to leave his mark on the world—to be remembered. “I think we should go find us a tree.”
16
Marcus
They walked along the northern edge of the ravine, keeping far enough away from the edge that lookouts on the opposite side wouldn’t be able to see them. This far away from camp, there was endless deadfall, and the going was slow as they were forced to climb or go around enormous fallen trees that had left swaths of destruction in their wake. Needles crunched beneath their feet, releasing their distinct smell. The fallen trees reminded him of Bardenese mythology, and Marcus idly wondered if the monstrous redwoods resting like corpses across the forest floor had been grown by the souls of those who’d died hundreds of years ago. If they’d grown tired of watching the world go by, and that was why they’d chosen to fall. Or if they’d only faded into nothingness and without them, the tree had lost its will to live.
They traveled until Hydrilla was faintly visible on the opposite side of the wide ravine. Thick stone walls ran flush to the edge, and the Bardenese kept them patrolled, skilled archers watching for any enemy who might risk the two-hundred-foot climb.
“Set up a perimeter,” Agrippa said. “Gibzen, you range out a bit. I don’t want any surprises.”
The men started to move out, but Marcus caught Quintus by the arm. “I’m in need of your skill set.” Taking a page with a detailed schematic on it from Rastag, he set it flat on the ground. “This is the interior of Hydrilla. This here,” he pointed, “is where our tunnel goes under the wall. They blocked the tunnel with debris after we attacked, but they likely still keep fires at the ready to burn whatever poison it was they used against us. What I want you to do is, firstly, ensure this schematic is accurate, for we’ll have no margin of error in this. Secondly, I want you to find a structure that is close to where those bonfires are set that sees little traffic. Understood?”
“And thirdly,” Quintus replied, “You want me to climb this very tall tree to do it.”
Just the thought of it was enough to make Marcus feel sick. “Correct.”
“We don’t have enough rope for this, sir,” Agrippa snapped. “If he falls…”
He’d be dead. But there was no sense fooling themselves that this venture would be possible without casualties. “Bringing that much rope with us would have caught the eye of the Twenty-Ninth. And besides, Quintus is a good climber.”
“No.” And to his shock, Agrippa stepped between them, his hands balled into fists. “Quintus, you don’t have to do this. We can smuggle more rope out of camp and bring it with us tomorrow.”
Agrippa was a risk-taker of the first order, which was exactly why Marcus had made him primus in the first place. He lived for doing jobs no one else could manage, or rather, he lived for the reputation that came from doing it. And taking Hydrilla would be his greatest accomplishment yet. To hear him backing away in the face of such an opportunity…
He’s still rattled by Yaro’s death.
Marcus had seen it happen. Seen officers crack under the weight of guilt of losing men under their command. Sometimes, they got over it. Sometimes, Marcus was forced to replace them with someone with the stomach for it. But Agrippa was irreplaceable.
“I won’t order you to do it, Quintus,” he finally said. “But for this to work, we need this information. So if it’s not you, it’s someone else.”
“Then you do it, sir.” Agrippa’s eyes burned into his. “You take the risk, for once.”
Marcus flinched, heat rising to his cheeks. “If I thought I could do it, I would. But everyone here knows otherwise.”
“I’ll do it.” Quintus started unbuckling his armor. “We’ve wasted enough time pissing around.”
“Check the perimeter,” Marcus said to Agrippa. “I don’t want anyone seeing what we are doing.”
Without responding, Agrippa turned on his heel and stalked off into the forest.
Rastag was loading Quintus with the supplies he’d need to check the schematic, including a spyglass, Quintus nodding every few seconds at the engineer’s instructions. He had the climbing spikes strapped to his feet and the rest hooked on his belt in lieu of his weapons.
“Take your time,” Marcus said to him. “We’ve got all morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Quintus turned to the tree they’d selected, the trunk close to twenty-six feet around at the base and well over two hundred feet tall. The bark provided endless handholds but almost no branches for the first fifty feet, which was why Marcus had risked bringing any rope at all. “Don’t stand directly underneath me, sir. I don’t want to land on you if I fall.”
Nausea rolled through Marcus’s stomach, but he caught Rastag’s arm and pulled him back a safe distance as Quintus began to climb.
“Perhaps we might discuss the particulars of this plan while we wait, sir.” Rastag sat on the ground, then unrolled another schematic showing the fortress walls and the tunnel running up to them. “In the past, your strategic creativity has not taken into account the laws of physics, so we might determine whether this is feasible before Quintus gets much higher.”
“Agreed.” No other words came, for he found himself unable to look away as Quintus hauled himself upward, moving at shocking speed, pausing only to hammer climbing spikes into the wood to secure the rope. Already, he was high enough that a fall would surely kill him, and Marcus felt the world around him sway as he imagined what it would be like to look down from such a height.
What it would be like to fall.
“Sir?”
Quintus reached a stunted branch, perching on it with total brazenness as he tied the end of the rope to it before moving higher.
“We’re going to dig another tunnel.”
“With respect, sir, not only did our previous efforts yield poor results, the ground is starting to freeze. We can’t hope to replicate the work in these conditions, and certainly not within the time frame the proconsul is holding us to. Perhaps we might direct our minds to other manners of siege equipment…”
What else the engineer said was little more than noise in Marcus’s ears as he watched Quintus climb higher and higher. Pulling out his own spyglass, he trained it on the young man, his mouth turning sour as he saw how Quintus’s arms were trembling, his face tight with concentration. And fear.
You made him do this, his guilt whispered at him.
I gave him the choice.
Did you? Or did you manipulate him so that there was no answer but yes?
“He’s making good progress now that there are branches, sir,” Rastag said loudly. “Nearly at the top.”
And out of rope.
Marcus clenched his teeth, watching as Quintus unfastened the rope from his harness and tied it off. Twisting, he looked toward the fortress, then shook his head.
“He needs to go higher.” As Marcus said the words, he heard the wheeze in his voice. Felt the familiar tightness in his chest.
Not now not now not now.
Forcing himself to take measured breaths, he looked down at Rastag’s drawings. “We’re not going to dig an entirely new tunnel. We’re—”
A branch snapped.
Not up above. But from somewhere in the woods.
They weren’t alone.
17
Silvara
Where had they gone?
For a long time, Agrippa’s patrol was easy to follow, the short boy with the satchel sounding as loud as a bear as he trudged along, though the rest of them were totally silent. But for ten minutes now, she’d heard nothing, and her chest was full of trepidation that she’d followed them into dangerous territory for nothing.
It had been a spur of the moment decision.
She’d been on her way to fetch water from the river and had seen them leaving on patrol, all of the young men those she’d expect but for the short one and one other. And it was the one other that had sent her back into camp for a gathering basket and out onto the trail after them.
She pressed forward, swinging her basket and pausing from time to time to collect lichen and tubers, her ears perked for any sound of motion.
Carina had been furious with the lack of information she’d learned from Agrippa the prior night, throwing the sack of food at her, though the other laundresses had been glad to take their share. “You were gone for hours and you’ve nothing to show for it,” the rebel leader snarled. “Which causes me to believe it’s not your brain making the decisions but your loins. Rutting in the woods with an Empire boy while our families starve in Hydrilla surrounded by his comrades.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Hecktor saw him kiss you, girl, so spare me your denials.”
It was just a kiss, she’d wanted to snap, but it was almost better for Carina to believe that they’d been occupied with intimacy than that Silvara had been unwilling to capitalize upon Agrippa’s grief. And even more unwilling to betray his confidence in the personal things he’d shared.
But following the legatus of the Thirty-Seventh, who was clearly sneaking out of the camp, into the woods to see what he was up to was something she was willing to do. No matter the risks.
Then she heard voices.
“He’s making good progress now that there are branches, sir.” The voice was distant but clear, and Silvara’s eyes immediately went up.
There.
She could make out motion in the trees. Someone was climbing one of the larger redwoods, barely visible he was so high up.
What were they doing?
Before she could consider the answer to her question, Silvara’s skin prickled and she turned her head, catching sight of a shadow moving through the trees. It was one of Agrippa’s patrol: the one with the scars on his face. The one whose gaze always made her skin crawl with primal fear prey feels in the presence of a predator.
He hadn’t seen her yet, but he was turning, looking—
A hand clamped over her mouth.
Terror flooded through Silvara as strong arms pulled her to the ground, the weight of a man on top of her filling her with panic. Then Agrippa’s voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t move,” as he eased his hand away from her lips.
Heart in her throat, she kept still. Agrippa’s breath was warm against her cheek as he slowly eased the hood of his cloak upward to shadow their faces. He was heavy, the metal of his breastplate cold but his legs warm where they pressed against hers.
Rolling her eyes upward, she searched for movement through the trees but saw nothing.
Then legs moved past, less than a dozen feet away, the legionnaire making not a sound.
“You see anything, Gibzen? I thought I heard something,” one of the distant voices asked. Familiar, but not one of Agrippa’s men.
It was the other one. It was the Thirty-Seventh’s legatus.
“No, sir. Must have been a rabbit or the like.”
“Do another pass. As soon as Quintus is done up there, we’ll head out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Silvara’s pulse roared in her ears. She felt Agrippa shift slightly, his head turn to watch as the legionnaire moved back out into the woods, his searching eyes somehow skipping over Agrippa’s dark cloak as he carried on past.
“We’ll use the same tunnel,” the legatus said. “The key—”
Agrippa’s hands pressed against her ears, muffling sound. Frustration filled her, because if he didn’t want her to listen it meant whatever the legatus was saying was worth hearing. She squirmed, and said as softly as she could, “I can’t breathe.”
His weight lifted off of her slightly though his hands remained clamped against her ears. But it was enough that she could roll from her side to her back, his elbows resting next to her shoulders, his hips pressing against hers. He looked down at her, one eye still blackened, high cheekbone swollen. Quiet, he mouthed, and she gave a slight nod as he lowered himself, chin brushing her cheek as he watched their surroundings.
He was hiding her presence. Which meant that he believed if she were discovered, there would be consequences to her. Possibly deadly ones.
Which meant whatever was being said was dangerous information.
Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a way to get him to move his hands, but nothing short of force would work. And that would mean revealing her presence, which she wasn’t foolish enough to do.
I can find out what it is later.
But could she? Obviously Agrippa didn’t trust her with whatever was being said, so why would he reveal it under other circumstances?
But now I know he knows something.
Yet instead of filling her with elation, the knowledge made her feel sick because she knew it meant manipulating and betraying the boy in order to get at the primus.
They are the same, logic screamed at
her in Carina’s voice even as her heart wept, They aren’t.
They stayed in that position for a long time, bodies pressed together, the heat of him keeping her warm despite the coldness of the ground. She could feel his tension, the slight tremor in his arms from the effort of holding his weight off her chest while keeping her ears muffled. His cheek brushed hers, sending sparks flying over her skin and making her abruptly aware of all the places their bodies touched. Of the intimacy of the position.
Then he let go of her ears, his lips pressing against one of them and causing a shiver to run through her. “Don’t move until we’re gone. Then go straight back to camp, understood?”
She gave a tight nod, immediately feeling the absence of his body as he stood and disappeared on silent feet in the direction of the voices.
“We need to get moving,” she heard him say. “Felix will be starting to fret and he’ll give himself away.”
“We got what we came for,” Marcus said. “If we—”
“Perfect,” Agrippa interrupted. “Let’s talk about it back at camp, preferably next to a warm fire. I’m freezing my balls off.”
A few faint chuckles, and the soft pad of feet, and then silence.
Silvara didn’t move. Didn’t so much as twitch as she listened to the wind whistle through the trees above, the branches of the towering redwoods creaking and groaning. The souls of her people who had come before watching her.
Judging her.
And probably finding her lacking.
What had been said? she silently wondered. Agrippa’s friend, Quintus, had climbed to the very top of one of the trees, and she had to think it was because they were trying to look inside the fortress.
But to what end?
To see what the rebels were doing would be the obvious answer except it didn’t explain the legatus’s presence and it certainly didn’t explain Agrippa’s reaction to her discovering them. They had been planning something and, considering the singular goal of the legions was to bring down Hydrilla, it must be part of a plan to attack. And given the tone of their voices, whatever Quintus had seen had pleased them greatly.
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