Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Peering through a gap in the wall, she eyed her two guards, who were chatting companionably with another legionnaire, whose back was to her. The letters in her hand all of a sudden made her skin crawl, because they were requests that the rulers of the West come kill these men. Quintus and Miki hadn’t chosen to come to this place. They hadn’t even chosen to become soldiers. Every aspect of their lives was mandated by the Senate, and by Legatus Marcus. She made a face and turned, resting her shoulders against the door, shoving the letters deep into her pocket.

  They aren’t innocent, you idiot, she told herself. They were trained killers and none of them would hesitate to slit her throat if given the order, so why should she?

  “Teriana?”

  She froze at the sound of Marcus’s voice, then peered through the crack. He was the third soldier, but he wasn’t wearing any of his usual officer’s regalia, which was why she hadn’t recognized him.

  “Do you need to talk to one of the medics?”

  Why would she…? Every inch of her burned hot, and she shoved open the door, stumbling over her own boots as she exited. “I’m fine,” she said, glaring at Quintus and Miki, annoyed they hadn’t the decency to warn her.

  Sorry, Quintus mouthed.

  “The diet can be difficult.” Marcus crossed his arms, and she noticed his muscles were all hard lines from his stupid exercises. “If you need something, talk to a medic. Don’t let it become a problem.”

  Diving into the pits behind her would’ve been preferable to this conversation. “I’m fine. I was just … thinking.”

  It was impossible to tell beneath the helmet, but she was certain one of his eyebrows rose. “Think on your own time. We’ve work to do.”

  Grinding her teeth, Teriana fell into step next to him, the other two trailing behind. “We?”

  “Yes, we. The surrounding towns and villages need to be met with, so you’re needed to translate.”

  “Obviously. But what are you needed for?” The comment came out with more sarcasm than she intended, and she heard a stifled snort from behind her.

  “A cold coming on, Quintus?” Marcus asked without turning around. “If you’re feeling unwell, I could find you a less strenuous task. Mending, perhaps?”

  “I’m fine, sir. And sorry, sir.”

  “Didn’t think you had a sense of humor,” Teriana muttered.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Marcus’s voice was inflectionless, but she turned her head just in time to see a ghost of a smile cross his face.

  * * *

  In the company of fifty men, they left the camp and made their way down a trail that followed the coast. It was too wide to be called a goat track, too narrow to be called a road, but after an hour Teriana was convinced it was the path to the underworld.

  It wasn’t because she was out of shape, because she wasn’t. It was only that she so very rarely walked anywhere. Her legs ached, and it felt like her boots were sanding the skin off her heels. The sun was cooking hot, and it seemed as though she were drinking as much as breathing, the air was so humid. To make matters worse, Marcus insisted on bombarding her with questions, no detail too small to escape his scrutiny, not even those that should be beyond his tiny Cel mind.

  “Those shrines in the village—they are for your gods?”

  Her stomach tightened as she remembered her history of the Empire. How similar-type monuments were destroyed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “I’ve heard you mention the Six, but there were seven shrines.”

  “The Seventh is the Corrupter,” she muttered. “He demands a place in the god circle, but only those with evil in their hearts invoke his name.”

  “But they all have powers like those we saw in the crossing?”

  “Gespurn commands the elements.” She eyed the sun, wishing she could blame the heat on the god but knowing it was typical of Arinoquia. “Madoria’s domain is the sea. The others have different powers.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why? You looking to take up prayer?”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “If they are a threat, I need to know about them.”

  It was the individuals the gods marked who’d be the threat, but Teriana had no intention of telling Marcus that. “Lern rules the beasts. Yara has dominion over the earth. Hegeria over the body and spirit, and Tremon over war.” Stories told that there had once been more gods, deities beyond counting, but now only these seven remained.

  “The things men and women care about,” he mused. “And they are worshipped all across the Dark Shores?”

  It was her turn to sigh. “Yes, Marcus. North and south and everywhere in between. They are called different things in different languages, but they are the same gods, and everyone pays tribute to them in the same ways.”

  “With the circle of little temples?”

  Teriana made a face at the word little. Such a typically Cel thing to believe size was what mattered. “The temples of the god circle in Gamdesh’s capital of Revat tower so high, they touch the clouds. We consider them the greatest feat of architecture on Reath.” Casting a sideways glance at him, she added, “Though you’ll no doubt dismantle them and drag it all back to Celendrial.”

  “We’ll see,” he responded, and Teriana stomped on a beetle crossing the path rather than voicing what she thought about that.

  “Urcon,” he asked after a merciful few minutes of silence, “have you ever seen him?”

  “No.” Her clothes were drenched with sweat, and she’d already consumed the entirety of the contents of the waterskin Amarin had given her. “Aracam is an ancient city, built before the clans conquered Arinoquia and drove those native to these shores inland. It’s on our blacklist and has been for nearly a decade. Urcon’s port tax is excessive, and he’s known for taking cargos without paying. And for burning ships. The Maarin only trade with the smaller settlements, but it’s not particularly profitable.”

  “They have a currency?”

  “The island the clans originally came from functions primarily on a barter system, but here they prefer Gamdeshian coinage. Gold. Silver. Copper.” Casting a sideways glance at him, she said, “Speaking of, why are you using unmarked coins? I’d have thought you’d be keen to spread the Celendorian dragon everywhere you went.”

  “I requested unmarked coins. Gold has a way of garnering attention, and if enough Cel dragons find their way into Gamdesh, I might find the Sultan and his armies casting their eyes my direction sooner than I’d like.”

  Teriana scowled at the path, because arranging for some of that coinage to move north to Gamdesh had been one of her plans to convince the Sultan of the severity of the Cel threat.

  Marcus pushed his helmet up and wiped the sweat away. “How deep into the interior does Urcon control? Do the people living there ever fight back against him?”

  Each step she took was an act of will, her feet hurt so much. “Marcus,” she snapped. “This is the longest I’ve ever been off the ocean. How in the name of the Six am I supposed to know what’s going on miles inland?”

  He eyed her up and down. “I suppose that explains your snail’s pace.”

  “Would you prefer we run?”

  “Your feet hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” Her boots were probably filling with blood, but she’d let them rub down to the bone before she’d complain to him.

  “No, you are not. Stop walking.”

  Everyone stopped, but Teriana belligerently kept down the trail.

  “Teriana.”

  She ignored him.

  “Why must you make everything so rutting difficult?”

  She opened her mouth to retort, but something snagged her ankle and suddenly she was lying on her back. Marcus caught one of her ankles and before she could kick him away jerked off her boot.

  “You bloody idiot,” he snarled, then shouted, “Medic!”

  There was a flurry of motion, and then a soldier pushed through the ranks toward th
em. He was indistinguishable from the others but for the satchel he carried, and he let out a sigh at the sight of her foot, which Marcus still had in his grasp.

  “What a mess,” the medic muttered. “Surprised you could even walk.”

  “I’m not.” Marcus jerked off her other boot so the medic could assess her raw heel. “Bloody stubborn, pigheaded mule of a girl. If you cut off her feet, she’d walk on the stumps.”

  “It might come to that.”

  Teriana left off trying to kick her way out of Marcus’s grip. “That bad?”

  “It’s not good.” The medic poured water over her heels, then rubbed a salve that burned like fire across the bloody mess, but as he wrapped bandages around her feet he smiled. “But not that bad.” Pushing up the leg of her trouser, he secured the bandage with practiced hands.

  “Can she walk?” Marcus’s arms were crossed, his tone frigid.

  The medic shook his head. “No, sir. Not for a few days.”

  “I can,” she protested, but the medic shook his head.

  “She’ll need to be carried.”

  Teriana blanched. “No. Absolutely not!”

  Her arguments fell on deaf ears.

  Marcus leaned down, his armor digging into her stomach as he flipped her over his shoulder, grunting more with annoyance than with strain as he lifted her.

  “Marcus, put me down. Or get someone else—”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he snapped. “I’m sure we’ll all get a turn.”

  * * *

  For all he’d called her a stubborn mule, Marcus proved he was the same and worse, insisting on carrying her all the damn way to the small walled town, through the open gates, and past countless raised homes until they reached the center. There he dumped her unceremoniously on her feet in the middle of the god circle where the imperator, who it turned out was an imperatrix, waited.

  She was tall and wiry, her dark blonde hair streaked with grey. Her vibrant green eyes were marked with crow’s feet, and her cheeks carved with deep lines suggesting she smiled often, though she was not now. In the ranks of warriors behind her were individuals from Flacre’s village.

  “Seems they know about you already,” Teriana muttered.

  “Yes, I asked Flacre to arrange an invitation to speak with them about our proposed alliance. Their acceptance came this morning while you were loitering in the latrine.”

  Teriana’s cheeks burned even as she ground her teeth in frustration. Polin, it appeared, had been more than correct in his assessment of Marcus’s gift for language.

  The imperatrix nodded to Teriana in greeting. “My name is Ereni.”

  “Teriana.”

  “These are the men who came on the ships?” Ereni asked.

  “Aye,” Teriana said. “They come from the Celendor Empire across the Endless Seas. They mean to establish trade.”

  The woman eyed Marcus as he approached. “These are no merchants, and”—her gaze flicked back to Teriana—“we’ve heard you don’t serve them voluntarily.”

  “Heard from whom?”

  “A Maarin boy with only half a foot has been paying visits to my clan. He paints a dark picture of these golden young men.”

  Bait. It was all Teriana could do not to smile. Marcus thought he’d been so clever, imprisoning her ship on that island, but Bait didn’t need a boat. Especially not with Magnius to speed him along. “Then you know the gods hold no sway in the East and the Cel would see that it is so wherever they go.”

  Angry mutters circulated among the Arinoquians, and Marcus sighed. “Stick with the script, Teriana.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, then started in on the speech Marcus had prepared for her, knowing better than to deviate with him paying such close attention. The legions were here to establish peace, the Senate unwilling to risk Cel merchants to areas ravaged by war. They understood that Urcon was the source of the strife in Arinoquia, and they desired an alliance with the clans who wished to see him removed from power. That they’d defend those who helped them, and would pay for what food and supplies the clans could spare.

  Imperatrix Ereni rubbed her chin as Teriana finished. “And if we say no?”

  “What happens if they say no?”

  Marcus rocked on the soles of his feet, seeming unconcerned by the question. “Nothing, as long they do not bring violence against my men, or support those who would. We will take our trade elsewhere, and the consequences of that are as they have always been.”

  The woman frowned as she listened to the translated message. “A poor choice,” she said. “Feed the invaders in exchange for coin or have no coin to feed our own.”

  Teriana shrugged, feeling Marcus’s eyes digging into her back.

  “What they say about Urcon,” Ereni asked, “about allying with us to pull him from power, do you believe they will do this? They won’t choose to ally with him instead in order to use his army when they move north and south?”

  A sourness burned in Teriana’s belly as she realized that despite Bait having told them the truth about the Cel, Ereni was still considering an alliance.

  “What did she ask?”

  Teriana couldn’t answer Marcus’s question, not without revealing that someone had told the villagers the legion’s true intentions. And given the Quincense was anchored miles offshore, she’d be the obvious suspect. “I didn’t understand. Let me ask her to rephrase.” To Ereni, she said, “They aren’t known for sharing power?” inflecting her words to make it sound like a question.

  She’d expected a negative reaction to that, but the woman only rubbed her chin. “Are they capable of defeating Urcon? He has more warriors, and the city of Aracam’s walls are thick.”

  “She wants to know if you’re capable of beating Urcon, as he has more soldiers than you.”

  Marcus didn’t so much a blink. “Yes.”

  “He’s undefeated,” Teriana said to the woman. “Not only that, he’s rumored to be undefeatable. The Empire boasts an army of over two hundred thousand men just like the ones you see, and he’s said to be the most brilliant of them. Been commanding armies since he was twelve years old, and he’s never so much as retreated.”

  “Yes is one word, Teriana.”

  “He’s been instrumental in the defeat of four nations, so I don’t see why Urcon will pose a problem for him.”

  “Teriana!”

  The woman and all the other Arinoquians present were eyeing Marcus in a whole new light. “What?” Teriana said, resting a hand on her hip. “I was talking you up. Bragging about your victories back east so that they don’t doubt you’re capable of doing what you say.”

  “Don’t.” His tone was unconcerned, but his eyes were livid.

  “Why?” she asked. “Aren’t you proud of your accomplishments?”

  “Seal. The. Deal.”

  Shrugging, Teriana turned back to the imperatrix. “What say you?”

  “He wants Urcon gone.” The woman gave Teriana a slow nod. “I say the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  The words brought Cassius to mind, as well as the look of pure hatred on Marcus’s face when they’d sailed past him out of the Celendrial harbor. “If you allow them to entrench, all the West will pay the price.”

  “What is the alternative?”

  To fight. But, knowing she’d stretched Marcus’s patience to the limit, Teriana only shrugged. “So what do you say, friend? Do we have an accord?” A second later, a heavy drop of rain smacked against her forehead.

  30

  MARCUS

  The air turned to water.

  There was no other way to describe the rain that descended upon them with such density and force that it was a struggle to breathe. Returning to camp in these conditions would border on impossible, so Marcus ordered signals sent that his return would be delayed, the horn’s notes relayed by the soldiers stationed between.

  “Ereni invited us inside to wait it out,” Teriana said, gesturing to a large structure, which like the rest was held off the
ground on pilings. Children were in the process of running through the town, closing the shutters over the colored glass in the windows, protecting them from the storm. “They say the coastal road is prone to flash floods and mudslides, so it’s best to avoid it until tomorrow.”

  Scowling at the delay, he asked, “Is this your storm god interfering again?”

  “Afraid not, sir,” she responded. “This is just Arinoquia at its finest.”

  Marcus watched her climb a ladder leading to the network of buildings and bridges, her soaking-wet trousers stretched tight across her curved ass, which he only realized he was staring at when Miki muttered, “Eyes up, sir,” as he passed. Why he was staring at her ass was lost on him, because the entire day she’d been nothing but a pain in his.

  “Perimeter on the building,” he growled at those awaiting orders. “Ten on patrol in the town and ten in the trees outside the wall. Mind you don’t drown yourselves in this rain.” Then he climbed the ladder and stepped out of the deluge.

  The storm had turned the afternoon light dim, but the interior of the building was filled with a warm glow courtesy of a dozen blown-glass sconces mounted on walls painted with elaborate murals depicting what he suspected were representations of the gods. It was exceptional work, and Marcus found his eyes lingering on each scene, trying to glean details about the natures of these deities of which he was woefully ignorant.

  Shifting his attention to the rest of the room revealed several long tables made of polished planks of wood, the legs carved with twisting vines and blooming flowers, the benches flanking them equally ornate. Each of them bore vases containing elaborate arrangements that wouldn’t have been out of place in a senator’s home.

  But as he looked closer, Marcus saw the dings in the paint on the wall. The gouges and marks in the furniture. Chips in the vases, and stains in the woven rugs that no amount of washing would remove. The signs of age and wear that indicated these people were lacking in either time or means, possibly both. Signs that life had, at one point, been different for these people. Had probably been better.

  But mostly what he noted was that the building was completely dry, which, given the deluge, was bloody remarkable. Eyeing the rafters, Marcus made a note to have Servius look into some of the men learning their building techniques and what materials they used, along with some consideration to how they elevated their homes, as he was certain his camp was resembling muddy soup at this point.