Page 254 of Scorched Earth
That was impossible. There had to be a mistake.
“Only one?”
“The others were on theFuria.”
Teriana wanted to scream. And scream and scream, because so many of her people had died for so little.
“Ships incoming!” someone shouted from above, and Teriana pressed her fingers to her temples.
“There’s no time to try to salvage. Get the injured out of the water.”
“We can target another ship,” her aunt said. “Try to steal more powder.”
A raindrop struck Teriana on the forehead, then another and another until it was a deluge pouring from overhead. Baird approached. “I can’t stop the storm,” he said. “It will hit land in another hour, and if you wish to use it as your cover, we need to move.”
All across Reath, the attacks would already be underway. Her allies stealing the legions’ supplies of black powder, hopefully with more success than she had.
Teriana had watched enough battles to know that nothing ever went precisely according to plan, but Marcus had always made it look so simple, adjusting his strategy without hesitation.
This was anything but simple.
“What do you want to do?” Yedda asked. “It’s your call.”
Teriana drew in a deep breath. The next step would cost her dearly, but there was no turning back now. “We’re going to make that cask count.”
97MARCUS
The first thing that struck Marcus was the smell.
Rot wasn’t a strong enough word, although it was the best he could come up with, given his head throbbed from the strain of traveling through yet another xenthier path. A fell mixture of bog and week-old corpse, as well as something else that he couldn’t put a word to.
Evil.
Marcus shoved the thought away in favor of examining the landscape, which belied the smell. The faint light of the setting sun cast a glow over lush fields of crop and pasture broken up by thick copses of trees, and the scene stretched for as far as the eye could see. Yet every time the wind blew, visions of deadlands filled his mind’s eye.
“Where is it?” he asked, not bothering to specify.
“North.” Sly yawned, holding a hand to his mouth. Such a human gesture for a creature who had eyes of flame. “About four hours on foot. The Mudamorian front lines are primarily engaged with holding back the veins of blight, which they do with excavation and stone. They’ve grown quite adept, but I don’t suppose excavation and walls of stone are particularly effective against your men.”
Marcus ignored the corrupted’s pandering, and asked another question of his own. “You control the flow of blight? Where it goes and when?”
“Well, notme, personally.Theydo, andtheydo what the Queen bids.”
“And who arethey?”
“I’m sure they had names once, but they’ve been forgotten,” Sly answered. “What theyareare tenders who’ve sworn allegiance to the Seventh god.”
“Just as you are a healer who has turned to the Seventh god.”
Sly’s jaw tightened. “You’ve asked all these questions before, Marcus.”
Marcus turned his head to meet the man’s eyes.
Sly looked away first. “That’s correct, Legatus. I can take care of that headache, if you have a prisoner who’ll donate a few years of life. Doesn’t have to be voluntary.”
“I don’t have a headache,” Marcus replied even as Felix leveled his crossbow at Sly’s skull and growled, “Keep your hands to yourself or find yourself without them.”
“They’ll grow back.” Sly pressed his forehead to the bolt’s tip. “And it will take more than just one arrow.”
