Page 204 of Scorched Earth
Except that would be a mistake. That would ensure a never-ending war like in Bardeen and Chersome, generations falling only for their orphans to pick up their weapons and fight all the harder.
“Don’t hurt her,” Marcus roared, riding his horse in a circle around the men. “We need her alive!”
Too late, he realized his mistake.
Understanding flashed in Kaira’s eyes, followed with grim determination. Snatching up a fallen legionnaire’s spear, she threw the weapon.
Straight at Marcus’s face.
His mare reared, lifting him high even as the spear flew.
It struck him in the torso, punching through his breastplate.
Pain lanced through Marcus’s body, only instinct making him fling himself clear of the falling horse.
Marcus hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from his chest.
He couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t order his men to hold.
Wrenching the spear from his breastplate, Marcus rolled onto all fours, gasping as he staggered to his feet. “Don’t…”
It was too late.
Kaira was on the ground, six spears embedded in her body.
“No!” He staggered through his men. “Get a surgeon! We need her alive!”
Falling to his knees next to Kaira, Marcus took in her injuries and knew there was no saving her. That even if one of the healers in Revat rode at a gallop, they wouldn’t make it in time to save the woman who’d fought so hard to defend the city.
Kaira’s brown eyes met his, hate filling their depths. “You might win this battle, Legatus,” she whispered. “But you will not win the war. And the Six as my witness, I curse you to die gasping for breath that will not come.”
Then she went still.
Marcus stared into her unseeing eyes, watching the light fade from them as death took her. Blood ran down his chest from where the spear had punctured his breastplate, but he barely felt the pain. What did it matter in the face of what was to come?
“Marcus!” Felix dropped to his knees next to him. “He’s injured! Get a medic!”
Marcus ignored him, his attention snapping to Gibzen, who stooped to retrieve Kaira’s still smoldering torch.
“No!” Marcus tried to shout, but it came out as a wheeze, panic and pain inviting an attack down upon him.
“Get a stretcher!” someone ordered, then he was being lifted out of the riverbed. Moved out of danger.
“Stop!” The word was nothing more than a whisper because Marcus could notbreathe.
“It’s okay,” Felix said. “We’ve pulled the men back. They’re moving out of the flood path.”
Yet distant screams filled the air.
Marcus turned his head, eyes drawn to the city. One of the god towers tilted, fractured by the bombardment of the catapults.
It began to fall.
Slowly at first, then faster. Falling until it struck the tower next to it with a noise like thunder.
