Tarnished Empire (Dark Shores)

by Danielle L. Jensen

  They approached the command tent, the dragon banners flapping wildly outside of it. “He occupied?” he asked one of the men on duty, knowing well that if he interrupted Hostus while he was entertaining himself that all he’d net tonight was a beating. But the man only shook his head, so Marcus added, “Ask him if I might have a moment to discuss new information.”

  The guard stepped inside the tent, then back out a heartbeat later, giving Marcus a nod. “Stay out here,” he muttered to Felix, then went inside.

  Hostus sat on his oversized chair, a slab of rare-cooked meat sitting on a plate of fine porcelain before him, blood pooling around it.

  “I was under the impression supplies were arriving tomorrow,” Marcus said, annoyed that they’d come early though it likely wouldn’t do much to harm the plan he’d set in motion.

  “They are.” Hostus leaned back. “I hunted this down myself, though I’d be glad to share.”

  It was hard not to gag, because Marcus highly doubted it was a deer Hostus had found wandering in the woods. “I already ate, thank you. If you’ve a moment, I’ve an idea on how we might take Hydrilla without us both losing half our men.”

  Hostus took a bite, but as he chewed, he said, “Wasn’t planning on losing half my men. Just all of yours.” Then he laughed, revealing a mouthful of half-chewed meat. “I jest, of course. We would not put our little brothers in so much danger as that, my little apprentice.”

  Biting down several retorts, Marcus gave a slight smile, then extracted a schematic of the fortress from the pile. “I propose that we use the tunnel we’ve already dug to gain access to the fortress and attack the rebels from the rear.”

  “This is not a new plan,” Hostus replied flatly. “And it failed the first time, for which I’ve not forgiven you.”

  I told you it wouldn’t work, you jackass, Marcus thought, but said, “We will go about it somewhat differently. I propose we dig a second tunnel running beneath the original, giving us access to this stable, here.” He pointed to the schematic. “It’s not in use; all livestock have long since been slaughtered, so we can do it undetected.”

  “We don’t have time to dig another tunnel; winter is nearly here.”

  “Not full width, no,” Marcus agreed. “But enough time to dig a narrow passage that men can get through one at a time, where they can group in the stable.”

  Hostus leaned over the map. “How big is this stable?”

  “Big enough to fit twenty men, though it will be tight.”

  The other man let out a snort of disgust. “You’ve taken leave of your senses. There are three thousand warriors in Hydrilla. You think twenty men is enough to distract them on the walls so that we can attack?”

  Shaking his head, Marcus pointed to where the original tunnel opened. “They will attack the men in position here. Clear the fires and prevent them from making any of their poisonous smoke. Then we collapse the new tunnel, spilling the barricade they’ve put in place into the hole, allowing us to send in enough men to draw the Bardenese off the wall to fight them. Then we attack.”

  Silence.

  Then Hostus was on his feet, his plate flying to crash to the floor. “Are you trying to make me look the fool again, Marcus? They’ll hear us, same as before!” He circled the table, hands balling into fists. “You’re trying to trick me. Trying to make me look stupid.”

  “I’m not.” Marcus held his ground, despite the fear rolling in his guts. “The key is to make a lot of noise. Everyone on duty, day and night as we dig, and they won’t be able to hear us. We’ll build blinds to hide the men going in and out of the tunnel to dig but allow them to see us constructing siege equipment. Trust me, they won’t see it coming.”

  Hostus paused. “Why didn’t you suggest noise before? Save us the shaming and defeat?”

  “There was too much dirt being excavated to hide what we were doing. But this time there will be far less.”

  “Twenty men still won’t be enough. They are expecting us to try to use the tunnel—it’s under heavy guard.”

  “Is,” Marcus answered. “But not for much longer. I…put a ploy in play that will have them filling the tunnel with more rubble. Enough that they’ll lower their guard, believing the barricade will do its duty, especially given that we’ll be posturing heavily that we are moving for a frontal attack.” The details flowed from his lips, his heart beating the staccato of terror until Hostus relaxed, moving back to his seat. “It will work, sir.”

  “So you say.” Picking up his wine cup, Hostus drank deeply. “But I want more assurance that this isn’t all to make me look stupid in an effort to have the commandant take you away from me. It will be your twenty men who go in. And your men who flood the tunnel once it’s collapsed. I know you’re too soft to send them to their deaths for the sake of shaming me.”

  It was a struggle not to smile. “They will consider it an honor, sir.”

  “And you’ll do the labor. The boys under your command will fit better into tight spaces than my men.”

  “Of course, sir. It will be far more efficient.” Especially if we want it completed anytime soon.

  “Go and see it done. I’ll advise Grypus when I’m finished eating.”

  And take all the credit. “Yes, sir.” He saluted, then turned to leave, but then his skin prickled.

  Stopping, he looked over his shoulder to find Hostus standing right behind him.

  “I know what your terror smells like, boy,” he said. “And this isn’t it. So allow me to remind you that if you cross me in any way, if you shame me in any way, I will carve out your heart and eat it off one of Grypus’s fancy plates. Am I understood?”

  Marcus allowed his fear to rise, allowed it to push past the barriers he’d built in his mind so that Hostus could see it in his eyes. Could smell it on him. “Yes, sir,” he answered, then walked away.

  And smiled. Because fear didn’t control him. And soon, neither would Hostus.

  20

  Agrippa

  They woke the next morning to a foot of snow on the ground and orders for the Thirty-Seventh to start felling trees for a blind, because later that afternoon, they were to start digging.

  Felix stood before the Thirty-Seventh’s centurions, handing out orders for who was to do what and when, but just as he called Agrippa’s name, Carmo appeared. “The legatus has another job for your primus and his men.”

  “Excellent,” Agrippa replied despite the words being directed at Felix. “Felling trees is tremendously boring. What delightful task does Hostus have in mind for us?”

  “Grave digging.” Carmo spit at his feet. “Since you did such a good job of that the other day.”

  Fiery fury burned through Agrippa’s veins but instead of allowing it to get the better of him, he said, “It’s not good for morale to dig the graves before the battle is fought, but I suppose given the Twenty-Ninth’s history, it’s a pragmatic choice.”

  Carmo’s thick brow furrowed—likely because he didn’t know what pragmatic meant—then he said, “Not for us, you smart-ass little shit. Got a mite bit cold in followers’ camp last night and there’s a bunch of them frozen solid. Drag them out and bury the bodies.”

  Agrippa’s stomach dropped. Please let her be all right. Please don’t let her be one of them.

  Felix gave Carmo a frosty stare. “And what is being done to prevent this from happening again tonight?”

  “Nothing.” Carmo lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “You know how it goes, sir. They follow. We pay them for the things they do for us. The rest is their problem.”

  “As always, Carmo, your empathy for others is a guiding light for us all,” Felix answered. “Now piss off.”

  “Yes, sir.” The older primus smirked at Agrippa, then shouldered his way through the Thirty-Seventh’s centurions.

  Felix’s jaw worked back and forth. “If Hostus wants it done, there’s no way around it.”

  Digging graves was the least of his concerns—his fear was that one of them might be f
or Silvara. Agrippa saluted sharply, then strode to where his men waited, trying to hide his panic. Trying to keep himself from sprinting down to that camp, because if he’d left her and she’d frozen… “Grab shovels. We’re on grave duty for followers’ camp.”

  Wordlessly, all ninety-eight of them complied, falling in behind him and Miki and Quintus as they headed out of camp. His stomach was a twisting ball of acid, but he managed to order half of them to head into the woods to find a clearing and start digging, the rest to move through the camp to drag out the bodies.

  And that was when his control fractured.

  Striding into the mess of tents, he broke into a run and wove through them to the laundresses’ tent, his chest tightening at the sound of women wailing inside. Pushing aside the flap, he went in.

  It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but when they did, it was to find the laundresses huddled over a still form, none of them Silvara. And of the corpse, all he could see were worn boots and brown skirts. “Who…?”

  They turned, their ranks parting enough that he could see Silvara sitting on the ground, Agnes’s head resting in her lap, the old woman’s eyes glazed and sightless.

  Relief flooded through him, but it was immediately chased by guilt. And grief. Because this needn’t have happened.

  Silvara lifted her beautiful face, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with tears. “I gave her my fuel. My ration. My extra blanket. But I should’ve stayed with her instead of—” She broke off, giving a sharp shake of her head. “It’s my fault.”

  None of the other women said anything. Offered no words of comfort. And Agrippa wanted to scream: What did any of you do? What’s wrong with you that you allow a girl to take the blame for this? Instead he said, “She wasn’t a young woman, Silvara. Even if you’d been there, it’s likely nothing you could have done would have made a difference. And you did more than anyone else bothered to do for her.”

  The women shifted restlessly, avoiding his gaze. Except for the one he’d heard called Carina. She stared him down with cold eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “We’re under orders to bury the dead.”

  “We can bury our own.”

  “I’m sure you’d do as good a job of taking care of your dead as you did the living.” He held her stare. “Legatus Hostus ordered us to bury them. If you wish to voice a complaint with him, be my guest.”

  Carina looked away, and he huffed out a breath of cold amusement. “That’s what I thought.” Looking to Silvara, he said, “Do you need more time with her?”

  She shook her head. Easing the old woman’s head out of her lap, she bent to kiss her cheek. “Are we allowed to come see her laid to rest?”

  The answer should probably be no. But Agrippa had no intention of asking permission. Or of begging forgiveness if anyone had a problem with it. “If you want.”

  Stepping forward, he bent down to lift Agnes, struggling not to cringe as he did. Not because she was dead, for he’d seen more corpses than he could ever count, but because she was feather weight. Nothing but skin and bone in his arms. Starved and frozen and it was no wonder her heart gave out.

  He carried her through the maze of tents to the open space where his men were bringing the bodies, deeply aware of Silvara following a few paces behind. Heard her gasp of anguish as she caught sight of the rows and rows of bodies already laid out on the ground. Lowering Agnes next to a dead man he recognized as a cobbler, he fixed her skirts so they covered her scrawny legs, then stood. “Have we got them all?”

  “Just about, sir,” Quintus said, he and Miki setting another corpse down. “Only a few more.”

  A crowd of followers had gathered, many crying, others just staring dead-eyed at the corpses, probably imagining that they were soon to join them. Many of them likely would.

  They loaded the bodies onto skids pulled by horses and then started down the trail into the woods, a crowd following after.

  “We should send them back,” Quintus said under his breath. “If the rebels attack, we can’t protect them. Not this many.”

  “They won’t attack. Not while we’re burying dead.” He could feel Silvara’s gaze on him, but he resisted the urge to turn. “The Bardenese aren’t like us.”

  A half hour of walking took them to the clearing where the rest of his men were working, sweating from the effort of digging in the partially frozen ground. Orders slipped from his lips, his men moving to assist the process or to scout or watch the perimeter. But it felt like it was someone other than him saying the words, like he was watching the scene from a distance. Judging the situation. Judging himself.

  Do something to make this better.

  “Who has an axe?” His voice rang out over his men.

  Uther straightened from where he was unloading a body. “I have one, sir.”

  “So do I, sir!” another voice rang out from inside one of the graves.

  “Perfect. Fell a few trees and get fires burning before I freeze my balls off. Not the redwoods, mind you. Those are the proconsul’s property.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stepping closer to Quintus, he said, “Command is yours. Dig them deep or the bears will come rooting around.” And before his friend could ask questions, Agrippa strode into the woods.

  21

  Silvara

  Silvara watched Agrippa stride out of the clearing, bow in hand.

  “Go,” she heard Carina hiss, the woman having been furious when she’d told her Agrippa had broken it off. “Convince him to change his mind. This might be your only chance.”

  She’d told the rebel leader that Agrippa had ended it between them. She’d also told Carina why and had sat through an hour of the woman’s blame and accusations for having bungled the perfect circumstance with her ambition. “What were you thinking, following them?” Carina had snarled. “Did you think that they wouldn’t catch you? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”

  Silvara had held her tongue, knowing there was no point in admitting to the woman that she’d wanted to discover useful information in a way that hadn’t involved deceit and manipulation and seduction. That she’d seen the moment as an opportunity to make a difference in a way that didn’t cause her to cringe in shame.

  And she’d come so close.

  “The only thing we’ve learned is that the primus knows the plans, which we already knew,” Carina had said. “But now the opportunity to learn them from him is lost.”

  And with it, nearly any chance they had of saving Hydrilla. All they could do now was pray that winter would chase the legions away, but given the number of supplies rolling into their camps, that seemed less and less probable. Her eyes burned, knowing that she’d failed her family. That she’d failed her people. That the moment she’d had to make her mark—to make a difference—had come and gone.

  And that hadn’t been the only thing she’d lost.

  Closing her eyes, she remembered the naked distress on Agrippa’s face when he’d spoken of betraying the trust of his men—of his friends—for her sake. If only she hadn’t put him in that position…

  “Silvara,” Carina repeated, pulling her from her thoughts. “Go!”

  Lifting her chin, Silvara ignored her. He’d know that her running after him to plead forgiveness would be out of character. Would suspect her intentions. And she’d already hurt him enough with nothing to show for it. So instead, she watched several of the men fell trees, which they swiftly chopped into firewood. With equal expedience, they created several roaring fires, then one of the men whom she recognized as Agrippa’s friend Quintus said, “Get yourselves warm. We don’t want to have to dig more holes than necessary, right?”

  Caught in the crowd, Silvara stepped closer to the flames, welcome heat soaking into her bones. She hadn’t been warm since the night Agrippa had taken her to that cave, and her body ached from the constant chill, her toes numb, the skin of her hands chapped and cracked. Her stomach growled painfully, empty since yesterday, her rations in Agnes’
s belly.

  A tear dripped down her cheek and she wiped it away furiously. Agnes had been the only one who’d understood. The only one who’d had her back. Like the grandmother Silvara had never known.

  And now she was dead.

  Twisting away from the heat, she moved to watch the young men dig, sweat dripping down their brows, the holes growing deeper and the mounds of earth higher. Her eyes moved to the bodies, counting them.

  Forty-two.

  And with the temperature seeming to drop by the second, how many more would die tonight? With no food and no fuel, would she die tonight?

  The sun moved overhead, clouds forming to obscure it. Soon snow began to fall, and still Agrippa hadn’t returned. Unease filtered through Silvara’s veins, because Quintus kept scanning the trees, his jaw tight even as he gave orders for the bodies to be put into graves.

  Groups broke away from the fires and went to those they’d lost, weeping as they stripped the bodies of precious clothing before the legionnaires lowered them into the ground and shoveled dirt back over top.

  Going to Agnes, she knelt next to the old woman, smoothing back her grey hair. “I will keep your memory in my heart,” she whispered. “I will not forget.”

  Feet scuffed against the ground, and she looked up to see Quintus and Miki standing next to her.

  “Sorry about Agnes, Silvara,” Miki said. “She was a nice old lady. Deserved better than this.”

  Quintus nodded. “Not many people can give sass better than Agrippa, but she did. Deserves a monument for it.” He hesitated, then added, “Her voice will be missed.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice shook and Silvara clenched her teeth to stop her shivering before she asked, “Where is he?”

  Neither of them answered, only exchanged looks, the meaning of which she couldn’t decipher. Finally, Quintus said, “He didn’t say where he was going.”