Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “On the beach in the neighboring cove,” he answered. “Under the care of the Maarin and my men. They won’t be harmed.” And having them there meant they wouldn’t be underfoot if his gambit went sideways.

  Servius had been under orders to take Yedda and Polin to shore to manage the village children, Marcus banking on the Maarin sailors’ ability to communicate with the children and keep them calm. Just as he’d banked on this village of warriors surrendering without a fight when his men arrived shouting the words, “Stand down! Your children won’t be harmed” in Trader’s Tongue, a language the Maarin had done a fair job spreading across all of Reath.

  Children changed things.

  The same people who’d die a thousand painful deaths to defend them would shy away from anything that risked them. It was one of the innumerable reasons that the Empire’s legionnaires weren’t permitted any relationships outside of the legion. Children and family were a weakness he and his men weren’t allowed to have.

  “How could you?” Teriana hissed. “Is there anything you won’t do?”

  There were plenty of things he wouldn’t do, including harming children, which meant Marcus had always needed to find creative methods to accomplish the same ends his peers did with violence. Smarter methods. Half of his campaign strategies were built around understanding the ways the minds of people worked and how to manipulate them. And he’d learned long ago that the imagination bred fiercer fears than reality ever could. “Tell them their children are unharmed, Teriana, or we are going to have a fight on our hands.”

  She said some words, and the fear diminished from the group’s eyes, replaced with anger as they realized he’d tricked them. Before that anger had a chance to grow, Marcus said, “Teriana, find out who their leader is.”

  Her speech was stilted, but she managed to get her point across, and the villagers moved to clear a path for a grey-haired man with a long scar bisecting one eyeless socket, the other a shade of amber Marcus had never seen before. The man said something to Teriana, to which she gave a discomforted shrug before turning to Marcus. “The Arinoquians are broken into seven clans, which are lead by—” She broke off, frowning as she searched for the Cel translation of a word. “Imperators.”

  It was an old Cel title no longer in use, primarily because an individual who held it would appear to contest the power of the Senate, but Marcus understood what it meant. A leader who was a commander, as though each clan were an army. That Teriana had chosen to translate the Arinoquian title as such told him a great deal.

  “These people’s imperator lives in a town north of here, but this man, Flacre, will speak on behalf of her.”

  Marcus repeated the name in his head, committing it to memory. “What did he ask you?”

  “When Maarin ships started taking passengers.”

  It was unfortunate that the ruse would only work this once. Which meant Marcus needed to make it count. “I want you to translate what I say precisely, no embellishment.”

  “Go slowly,” she muttered. “I’m out of practice.”

  “I am Legatus Marcus, supreme commander of the Thirty-Seventh and Forty-First Legions of the Celendor Empire. We have been sent across the seas by our leaders for the purposes of exploration and the establishment of trade.”

  Teriana’s chin twitched with the obvious effort it took not to interject her own views into the conversation. This was why he hated using translators—that she was an opinionated sailor with her own agenda only made matters worse. Scowling, she rattled off a string of words and then crossed her arms.

  The man’s eyebrows rose even as he gestured toward the sea in disbelief before responding.

  Teriana gave an exasperated sigh. “He doesn’t believe it. They think there is nothing but ocean.”

  “They, as in this village, or they, as in everyone living in the West?”

  Her jaw tightened. “Everyone.”

  Interesting. It made a certain sense that the Maarin had kept the existence of the Dark Shores a secret from the Empire, but their motivations for being equally unforthcoming with those of the West were less clear. It implied that the Maarin kept to themselves across all of Reath, and it suggested to him that that their relationship with the governing bodies of the various realms was likely as limited as it was with the Senate. And if the rest of the people of the Dark Shores were as disbelieving of the existence of the Empire as this fellow, it would only be to Marcus’s advantage: what doesn’t exist isn’t a threat.

  “Tell him we were equally unaware of the existence of these shores until recently, but having learned about them from the Maarin, we desire to foster trade relations between our people.”

  She translated his words, the length of time she took to do so suggesting she was adding a bit more color than Marcus would like.

  Flacre’s brow furrowed, and he eyed Marcus for a long moment before responding.

  “He says you don’t look like merchants—that you look like an army set on taking what you want.”

  “Does he think that because you suggested as much?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It’s because he’s neither blind nor an idiot.”

  “Invader,” Flacre said in accented Trader’s Tongue.

  “He called you—”

  “I know what he called me,” Marcus interrupted. “Do they speak Trader’s Tongue fluently?”

  “The language is called Mudamorian, and most of them would only speak a bit of it. You got lucky on that one with your little bit of trickery.”

  Marcus bit the insides of his cheeks, thinking. “Tell him we’ve no intention of bringing violence to this village unless they invite it upon themselves. That our army has been sent because to send unarmed merchants into foreign lands would put their lives unnecessarily at risk.”

  Waiting for Teriana to translate, he then added, “We’ve been told that this region is made dangerous by the imperator Urcon, who uses force to extort wealth from the clans of this region, setting himself up as a false king. We’ve been told that many clans, including yours, are actively resisting his rule.”

  He didn’t need Teriana to translate the old man’s response to know that her description of the situation in the region had been squarely on target. Flacre spit into the dirt when Teriana finished speaking, then spouted a string of what Marcus suspected were curses.

  “Urcon is worse than an unchecked plague upon the people. He…” Teriana trailed off, her frown deepening as she posed a question to Flacre and listened to his response, her gaze flicking briefly to one of the shrines, which was made from black stone. “He takes the children of those who can’t pay.”

  Cordelia’s words echoed through Marcus’s head: Cassius plans to take the fourth sons of families who can’t afford to pay. “For what purpose?”

  “No one knows. They’re never seen again.”

  Marcus nodded grimly, suspecting the children were probably sold in some capacity. Or worse. His having used their children against them, given the circumstances, was a dark mark that would take time to fade. But what was done was done. “Such a ruler is not conducive to peaceful trade between nations. We would like to propose an alliance with your clan to put an end to his practices. And to him.”

  “The last thing you want is an alliance,” Teriana hissed under her breath.

  “Do not presume to know what I do and do not want,” Marcus replied. “Now translate.”

  The villagers stared silently at him after Teriana repeated his words, and then a flurry of whispers filled the air. Flacre spoke.

  “What would be the terms of such an alliance?”

  “We are newcomers to this land, and we need the advice of those who know it well,” he said. “We need supplies and guides and liaisons, and we have the means to compensate you and your people, if you are willing to provide those things to us. Part of that compensation will be that we provide the army needed to remove Urcon.”

  Someone in the group shouted something, the rest nodding in
agreement. “We don’t need an alliance with a foreign army to fight our battles.”

  A statement that was probably true, but for this strategy to work, Marcus needed to convince them otherwise. He needed to convince the Arinoquians that they needed the legions, when in truth, it was quite the opposite.

  Lifting his arms in a shrug, Marcus said, “I believe you are capable, but how long will it take? How many of your people will die fighting against Urcon’s mercenary army? How many of your children will grow up without parents? How many of your children will grow up only to pick up the swords of their fallen family members to keep fighting the same fight?”

  Servius arrived at that moment in the company of Yedda, Polin, and perhaps two dozen children, who immediately rushed to their parents’ sides as Teriana translated.

  “You can fight this war alone for years,” he continued, once they had settled. “Or you can ally with us and end it in a matter of weeks.”

  Whispers once again stole through the group, heated debates breaking out between individuals as they considered the offer. Considered their options. Considered the consequences of saying no. And as they did, Marcus considered his own knowledge of rebellion.

  He’d been trained to quell it, but that training had driven him to seek a deeper understanding of what it took to drive people to fight back against a power greater than their own. What it took to force people to risk everything they cared for at chance for something better. And often he’d wondered what it would take the Senate doing to push those living under the Empire’s rule to fling themselves against legions like his. What it would be like for Celendorian civilians to take up arms against armies of men who’d been trained to fight all their lives, armies of men who had nothing they loved to protect. Armies of men who had nothing but their own lives left to lose, which they would if they didn’t fight.

  Finally, Flacre responded, but his tone was one of someone who is unconvinced.

  “He says that even if they agree to such an alliance, what you propose to do is impossible with only one, umm—” She coughed. “—commandeered Maarin ship full of men.”

  “Of course not,” Marcus said, silently wondering if he could. “But fortunately, we don’t have to.”

  Nodding at the soldier holding the signal horn, he waited for the series of notes the man blew to signal flagmen on the Quincense and then turned to the ocean.

  In the distance, but clearly visible to the naked eye, was his fleet flying toward the coast. And with the uncanny timing of a well-orchestrated plan, massive crimson banners unfurled from each of the ships nearly as one. He looked back at Flacre and the Arinoquians behind him. “We can tear this tyrant from power,” he said. “And we will.”

  27

  TERIANA

  Teriana’s feet felt like blocks of lead as she trudged back to camp, the soldiers loosely arrayed around her not looking half as tired despite the fact that they’d done twice as much work. Which was saying something, because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hustled so hard.

  The Cel were merciless in their efficiency. The pair of engineers had immediately enlisted her to translate their conversation with Flacre, muttering between themselves and scribbling drawings and calculations on scraps of paper before setting off to the beach to begin construction of a pier capable of servicing the fleet. Next was an officer of some sort who requested she translate as he and Flacre determined certain laws both the legion and the village would be held to, along with the punishments for transgressions. She’d hoped the Cel demands would be egregious, but instead they’d been disappointingly reasonable and Flacre had only nodded in agreement. Then she’d spent several hours negotiating the purchase of supplies, primarily fish, for which another Cel officer had paid in unmarked silver without argument. Then it was back with the engineers, where she was set to explaining to the villagers they’d enlisted how they were to assist with the construction and how much they’d be paid for their efforts. Which was all to say that she’d had no time to strategize and certainly no opportunity to plant seeds in the villagers’ minds that the Cel were not as they seemed.

  It would have all been much easier if Yedda and Polin had remained with her in the village, but Marcus had taken them back to the Quincense, allowing Polin only the length of time it took to check Teriana’s healing fingers.

  “Be mindful you keep these clean,” the cook muttered, his big hands gentle on hers as he eyed her healing fingernail beds, which itched like the fires of the underworld. “And be mindful what you tell the Arinoquians. Especially when he’s in earshot.” Rubbing salve onto her fingers, he added, “That boy’s got the knack for language, so you won’t be slipping things past him for long. And if he catches you saying something you shouldn’t…” Polin shook his head. “Don’t get caught.”

  “I won’t.”

  “It should be one of us older folk taking on this burden. Isn’t right that it be you.”

  “I’m the captain,” Teriana replied. “It’s my duty to protect the crew.” And even if it wasn’t, she’d been the one to ink the bargain. She’d see it through.

  “Captain or not, it was hard enough thinking we’d lost you once. None of us care to go through that again.”

  “Quit fussing over me, Polin,” Teriana replied, feeling Marcus’s eyes on them and knowing she needed to put on a show. “I’m not a child.”

  “You’ll always be my little tadpole, girl.”

  An unexpected burn rose in her eyes. Her own father had died when Teriana had still been a babe in her mother’s belly. A small injury that had turned foul while they’d been trading in the East, and the Quincense hadn’t made it back west to find a marked healer in time to save him. Polin hadn’t exactly taken on the role, but he’d been as much an uncle as Yedda was her aunt. He’d watched over her, taken care of her. But now it was her duty to protect him. To protect all of her crew.

  And that thought had weighed heavily on her mind hours after Polin and Yedda had departed the village under Marcus’s watchful eye.

  Swearing under her breath, Teriana kicked at a rock, but her toe caught a root in the darkness and she stumbled. One of the engineers steadied her without comment, but when she looked up she stopped in her tracks. They’d reached the beach, but where once lay swaths of untamed jungle now sat what could only be described as a fortress.

  Walls of raw tree trunks rose from the earth, too high to be scaled without rope and manned at regular intervals by legionnaires whose attention never seemed to shift from the growing darkness around them. It was massive and menacing, but the men surrounding her picked up their pace, expressions those of one returning to a familiar home, not a structure that had been torn from the jungle in the space of half a day.

  Crossbows glittered in the torchlight, leveled at the approaching party until passwords were exchanged, then the gate swung open to reveal a sea of white tents lined up in perfectly neat rows.

  “Legatus wants to see you,” one of the men at the gate said, nodding toward the large tent sitting in the center of the camp. “Immediately.”

  Her gut instinct was to balk at what was obviously an order, but Yedda’s advice echoed through her head, and Teriana kept her mouth shut. Obeying would give her a chance to study the inner workings of a Cel camp, and her continued compliance would earn their trust.

  Eventually earn their trust, she amended, pretending not to notice the two men who broke off from the group to follow her.

  If perfect organization counted for anything, the Cel camp would be nothing short of impenetrable. The spaces between tents appeared to have been set with a measuring stick, the campfires were at exact intervals, and everything was organized identically, giving her a sense of déjà vu as she walked through row after row. There were a few soldiers sitting around the fires playing dice or cards, many more sound asleep on bedrolls, and countless others standing guard on the walls or patrolling within the well-lit camp. Not only would it be almost impossible to break in or out, even snea
king around inside would be challenging.

  The Cel dragon flapped on the sea breeze as she approached the tent, the gold serpent appearing to lunge and snap in the firelight. One of the men flanking the entrance ducked his head inside, then pulled back the flap and nodded as she passed within.

  Lamps were scattered around the tent, revealing an interior that was as austere and practical as she’d come to expect. It was stifling hot and smelled of steel, leather, sweat, and the vestiges of the fish they’d eaten for dinner. Standing at the entrance, Teriana waited for one of the ten young men standing around the folding table to acknowledge her, but they were all intent on a large map covered with markers and figurines.

  “We’ll target here and here,” Marcus was saying, but Teriana couldn’t see what he was pointing at around Servius’s bulk. The others made noises of agreement and straightened. “Bring me the numbers when you come back,” Marcus said, then stepped away from the table. The others saluted and left, most smiling at her as they passed, with the exception of Felix, who ignored her entirely.

  Only Titus paused. Teriana’s hackles rose with her knowing that this was Cassius’s son. But a broad smile broke across his face. “That was some amazing sailing you did today. There’s a lot of men who owe you their lives.”

  She opened her mouth to make a snide retort, but Marcus gave a slight shake of his head. So instead she shrugged. “I’ve a reputation to live up to.”

  “Still, if it hadn’t been for you…” Cassius’s son glanced over his shoulder at Marcus, then back to her. “Thank you. We owe you one. I owe you one.”

  One knife in the back, she thought, but remained silent as he strode out into the camp, red cloak fluttering behind him. “You sure it’s wise to let him in on your plans?”

  “I think it’s wise to keep him close,” Marcus replied, watching his servant gather empty tin plates and cups. “I’ll need you ready at dawn. We’ll be sending out more scouting parties, and I want to enlist some of Flacre’s people as guides.”