Gilded Serpent, page 5
But his mind refused to be silenced.
Rolling, he flinched as pain lanced up his side, but then his gaze latched on his pile of weapons, his belt twisted through the mess of metal. He reached out an arm and caught hold of it, unbuckling his belt pouch, fingers moving through the contents until they found a small glass vial at the bottom.
He stared at the foggy contents that he’d had no use for in a long time. Narcotics for pain, which he’d gotten in the habit of keeping on him when the Thirty-Seventh was in Bardeen. When they’d been finishing their training under the guidance of the Twenty-Ninth Legion and its legatus, Hostus.
Old hatred and fear twisted through his guts at the memory of the older legatus. “You’re not sixteen anymore,” he muttered at himself. “And the Twenty-Ninth is on the far side of the world.” Shoving the thoughts away, he unscrewed the top of the vial. Racker kept tight control over his narcotics, particularly this one, but there were certain advantages to being in command, and if Marcus wanted more, he could get it.
Rolling onto his back, Marcus measured two drops onto his tongue, hesitated, then added a third. He’d barely managed to return the vial to his belt pouch when his vision split into two. And then into three.
Curling in on himself, Marcus let out a slow breath, his body relaxing as the pain of his injuries faded, as a haze flowed over his thoughts, slowly silencing the prattle, dulling the emotions. But as he slipped from consciousness, one thought remained, loud and desperate.
Please let it be real.
9
TERIANA
They set up for the division of the treasure in a field just beyond the ridge overlooking Aracam. The same field where Marcus had defeated Urcon’s mercenary army as it had tried to attack him from the rear.
Slaughtered was probably a better word.
Though days had passed, piles of dead still smoldered, the rain making it difficult to burn the thousands of bodies, and the stench of rotting meat hung heavily in the air. The mud beneath Teriana’s boots was stained a dark red from all the blood that was spilled, and every which way she looked, there were pieces that had been missed. Decaying fingers and bits of flesh mixed in with arrowheads and broken weapons, all of it sinking into the damp earth.
It was a place that should be razed and then avoided until the land erased the evidence of the horror, but instead, Marcus had ordered his men to set up a tent in the middle of the field, under which they’d placed a long table. Seven chairs on one side, a singular chair on the other. The treasure she’d helped value sat to the side of the table, stacks of gold and silver bricks, open chests full of glittering jewels, and pieces of artwork wrapped in waxed cloth to protect them from endless rain.
She, Marcus, and Servius stood under the cover of the tent, and behind them were another fifty of the Thirty-Seventh. The legionnaires stood in neat rows, spears upright and shields held just so. Beneath their helmets, their faces were devoid of expression, and though Teriana knew most of their names, they no longer seemed the young men she’d sat around a fire with, but rather fifty killing machines.
“Thank you,” Marcus said to both her and Servius, “for accomplishing this task so swiftly.”
This was the first time she’d seen him since he’d left her in the treasure vaults with Servius, and she noted the shadows under his eyes were worse than before, his golden skin blanched and waxy. Has he slept at all?
“What’s the plan?” Servius asked, and there was a slight edge to his voice. As though, improbable as it was, he knew even less about what was going on than she did.
“We agree to the division of the wealth,” Marcus answered. “And then, hopefully, everyone takes their cut and returns to their lands.”
And then what? she wanted to ask, but before she could, Servius jerked his chin outwards. “Here they come.”
From across the field, Teriana saw flickers of motion as the Arinoquian imperators stepped from the trees, each followed by fifty of their own warriors. Ereni was the first to reach the table, the older woman’s green eyes fixed on Marcus rather than the gleaming treasure.
The same could not be said of the others, though Teriana could hardly blame them. This was their wealth. Wealth that had been stolen from them during the long years of Urcon’s tyranny and which they’d fought to get back. It would change the lives of everyone within the clans, allowing them both the means and the opportunity to trade with other nations. Would allow them to thrive, if they were wise in how they used it.
Once all the imperators had reached the table, Marcus inclined his head. “Shall we sit?”
Pulling out his chair, Marcus settled into it, the metal of his armor clinking as he rested his forearms on the table, seemingly entirely at ease. The imperators followed suit, the representatives who’d assisted with the counting moving to stand behind their leaders. Teriana glanced up at Servius, and when the big legionnaire nodded, she took a few steps forward to stand at Marcus’s elbow.
“You’ve all been provided an account of Urcon’s treasury?” When the Arinoquians nodded, he plucked up a piece of paper from the table. “As confirmation, then. One hundred sixty bricks of gold. Two hundred forty-three bricks of silver…” He continued, voice holding all the emotion of one reading a market list. “Your representatives swear to the accuracy of these figures?”
“I swear it,” Ereni’s representative said, then stepped back. The chorus ran the length of the table, and then all their eyes flicked to her.
“Teriana?” Marcus asked, not looking up. “Is it accurate?”
Her palms were sweating and her throat felt bone dry, though there was no reason for it. The treasure was all accounted for. She’d watched it be loaded, had counted it as it had been unloaded, and yet unease twisted her guts like bad fish stew. “I swear it.”
“Good.” Marcus set aside the paper and picked up another. “As is your custom, the profits of this venture will be divided based on the number of fighting men and women whom you contributed to the collective force. Is this correct?”
“You know it is.” Ereni pushed her greying blond braid back over her shoulder. “I told you so myself, so let’s get on with it.” Rising, she rounded her chair and leaned on the back of it, eyes moving over her fellow imperators. “As agreed, we break it into fifteenths.” She rattled off the numbers, then said, “It is settled, then?”
Marcus coughed. “With respect, Ereni. I’m afraid I do not concur with your calculations.”
All the imperators turned to glare at him, and Teriana’s stomach dropped.
Picking up another piece of paper, Marcus eyed it. “You all provided me your numbers prior to the battle, and by my calculation, I am entitled to nine-fifteenths, or sixty percent of the profits of the taking of Aracam. Ereni, you are entitled to—”
Ereni jerked out her sword.
Before Teriana could even reach for her own weapon, the imperatrix had the blade pressed against Marcus’s throat, her wiry arm steady. “Stay where you are, girl. And you”—she pressed the blade harder, droplets of blood dribbling down Marcus’s throat—“tell your men to stay back.”
Behind her, Teriana could hear the legionnaires moving, but she didn’t dare look to see what they were doing.
“Servius.” Marcus’s voice was steady. “Hold.”
The men behind stilled to silence. Close as they were, there wouldn’t be anything they could do if Ereni decided she wanted Marcus dead.
Teriana lifted her hands, taking a shuffling step closer until the imperatrix’s glare stopped her in her tracks. “Ereni, please don’t do this. I know you’re angry, and I can understand why, but killing him isn’t the answer. Put away the sword and let’s negotiate.”
“Why am I not surprised that you’d try to negotiate for this thieving boy’s life?”
“Thieving?”
Marcus’s voice was brittle with anger, the first emotion Teriana had seen from him throughout this cursed meeting. He jerked to his feet, and only Ereni pulling back her sword kept him from cutting his own jugular. He rested his hands on the table, leaning across it. And though the rain hammered on the canvas above them, the splat splat splat of his blood dripping on the papers was all Teriana could hear.
“Allow me to remind you that you’d have none of this if not for my men. That if we had not arrived on your shores and offered you an alliance, all of this”—he gestured at the treasure—“would remain collecting dust in Urcon’s palace.”
“We didn’t need you to defeat Urcon,” Ereni snapped, but Teriana didn’t miss how her gaze went to the tabletop every time another drop of blood splattered against the papers.
“And yet you were content to use us for the sake of achieving it sooner.” Marcus tilted his head. “Out of desperation? Out of fear? Out of greed?” He laughed, the tone of it different than Teriana had ever heard from him, and it made her skin crawl. “Or maybe it was because it was easier to let me and mine take all the risks while you and yours planned to take all the reward.”
One of the other imperators leapt to his feet. “You’ve got balls, boy, I’ll—”
“Sit. Down.”
Though he was a hardened warrior, the imperator’s sun-darkened skin paled as he met Marcus’s gaze.
Splat.
The man sat, though Ereni remained on her feet, naked blade still in her hand.
“Since we arrived on your shores,” Marcus continued, “my men have fought to defend your lands and your people from Urcon and his raiders. Bled to achieve the peace you wanted. Though in hindsight, perhaps your goals were less lofty than I hoped.” His eyes flicked meaningfully to the treasure before returning to Ereni’s face.
Splat.
“Allow me to remind you that you wanted peace as well,” she said. “That you wanted to make our shores safe for your Empire’s trade. You have as much to gain from this as we do.”
“I do want peace in Arinoquia.” Marcus slowly panned the imperators. “And yet I don’t feel that I have it.”
Teriana’s pulse roared in her ears, her chest tightening as the tension in the group ratcheted up tenfold, the air so thick as to be nearly unbreathable. She understood now why Marcus had chosen this ground for the meeting, surrounded by stinking, smoldering piles of those his legions had slaughtered. Why they stood on ground soaked with blood.
Several of the imperators glanced toward the distant tree line, and Teriana knew what they were looking for, because she was searching for the same. Signs of motion. Signs this was a trap to lure the leaders of the clans to one place and then kill them all.
There’d been no sign of the Thirty-Seventh mobilizing in their camp outside Aracam, but she knew all too well how quickly that could change. That thousands of men could be standing out of sight on the plain beneath the ridge, waiting for the command to attack.
And the imperators knew it, too.
“According to your customs, as allies who fought alongside one another as equals, we are entitled to a portion of the defeated enemy’s wealth. According to your laws, the amount we are entitled to is decided by numbers. For you to stand here and say otherwise tells me that not only do you not consider us your allies, but that you consider the lives of the two hundred thirty-three brothers I lost in this fight worthless.”
Splat.
No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe. The imperator who’d objected coughed, then said, “Perhaps we’ve been hasty. Ereni, sit. Let us negotiate so that we might all remain friends.”
Neither Marcus nor Ereni moved, blood pooling on the table between them.
Sit down, Teriana wanted to scream at Marcus. Don’t be like this!
The battle of wills seemed a stalemate, then abruptly, Ereni sheathed her sword and sat. Marcus waited a heartbeat longer, then settled into his chair, revealing that his throat was coated with blood. Part of her was afraid for how badly he was hurt, but the other part wanted to slap him, because it hadn’t needed to go this way.
“What amount would you be willing to accept as compensation?” Ereni asked, the words clipped.
“You would treat us as mercenaries?” Marcus huffed out a breath of disgust. “We are legions of the Celendor Empire. We do not fight for hire. You, Ereni, should be glad for that, else you’d be very much in my debt.”
Teriana closed her eyes, struggling to keep her composure as she realized the depths of his strategy. The legions had paid for everything they’d taken in their time here, incurring not a single debt, while at the same time working for Ereni’s clan without ever demanding compensation. Not giving the Arinoquians any cause to claim them anything but the perfect ally.
Had he known this moment would come?
Had he planned for this?
And what would he do, given that the Arinoquians were refusing to name him ally in this and he was refusing to be treated as a mercenary?
It was a stalemate that would end in violence if one of them didn’t concede, and Teriana’s gut told her that Marcus had no intention of backing down. And from the look on Ereni’s face, neither did she.
Splat.
10
MARCUS
Marcus felt giddy, and more than a little light-headed, as they trooped back into camp, the horses struggling to pull the loaded wagons through the sticky mud. The wet bricks of gold and silver glinted in the faint sunlight, and his men moved from their campfires to watch as he walked toward his command tent.
He’d done it. Against the odds, he’d done it.
The commotion of the men drew Felix and Titus and the rest of those lingering over maps and strategies out into the rain, and his second’s blue eyes widened as they lighted upon the procession. “What’s all this?”
“I told you not to worry about our coffers.” Stepping past Felix, Marcus ducked into the tent, handing his helmet to Amarin, who also took his sodden cloak. Picking up a bottle of rum and a stack of tin cups, he circled the table full of maps and paperwork, setting full cups in front of each of the stools.
The group followed him in, taking their places.
“I was under the impression you were organizing a split of Urcon’s coffers among the clans, sir,” Felix finally said. “Though it appears you had another plan in mind.”
Servius snorted, then reached for one of the cups, which he drained in two long swallows. Slamming it down on the table hard enough to make it shake, he said, “I’m going to get some sleep.” Without waiting to be dismissed, he strode from the tent.
Teriana picked up the cup in front of her, then shook her head and set it back down on the table. “I’m going to see after Quintus and Miki.”
She was angry with him. Part of him wanted to go after her, to make her understand why he’d done things this way. But the other, spiteful part of himself thought she deserved a taste of how it felt to be deceived. “Gibzen, go with her. And stay with her.”
The primus made a face but then drained his cup and started after Teriana. Pausing at the entrance to the tent, he said, “I’m neither suited to nor interested in this line of work, sir. You ought to consider choosing someone else from the ranks to guard your … asset.”
“I’ll think on it,” Marcus answered, his good mood rapidly fouling. “But for now, you will follow orders.”
Gibzen gave a sour salute, then disappeared from sight, leaving Marcus alone with Felix and Titus.
Titus picked up his drink and took a mouthful but said nothing. Felix crossed his arms, expression grim, yet he also remained silent.
Which one of you is it? Marcus sipped at the rum but didn’t taste it. Which one of you betrayed me?
“By Arinoquian custom, we were entitled to a portion of Urcon’s wealth,” he finally said. “Sixty percent, to be precise.”
Titus grinned and shook his head. “Tidy profit for a half a day’s work.”
“I take it the imperators were not pleased.” Felix jerked his chin toward Marcus’s bleeding neck. “That needs stitches.”
“Ereni doesn’t like having things sprung upon her, but we came to an understanding,” Marcus answered, curbing the urge to touch the stinging wound. “The allied clans will leave Aracam no later than tomorrow. They have what they came for, so there is no sense lingering. Especially not given the amount of gold they all have in their possession.”
“You think they’ll go to war with one another over it?” Titus asked.
“Inevitably.” Polishing off his drink, Marcus reached for the bottle to refill it. “For more than a decade, they’ve had a common enemy in Urcon, but no longer. With nothing to unify them, I believe they’ll return to raiding one another, as was their custom in their prior homeland.”
“Unless you’ve gone and turned us into their common enemy,” Felix snapped. “They believed that gold their due, and you took the lion’s share of it.”
“We’re too big a fish for a single clan to war with.”
“What if they unify?” Felix pushed his full cup out of the way and rested his elbows on the table. “I’m not saying we wouldn’t win, but it would be heavy losses. Never mind that we’re supposed to be focused on broadening our footprint while we search for xenthier paths back to the Empire. That is our mandate, unless you’ve forgotten. Sir.”
It had been the elephant in the room for a long time now that Marcus had taken no steps to search for xenthier stems, but it had been easy to brush aside the matter as a lesser priority than entrenching themselves in Arinoquia.
Except why was Felix bringing it up now?
Was it because his other attempt to get rid of Teriana had failed and he now saw finding xenthier paths as the surest way to achieve that end?
His head began to throb again, the tent pulsing along with it, and Marcus took another mouthful of rum despite knowing he was only making his headache worse. He needed sleep, but he’d only lie awake staring at canvas. And there was so much to be done.
“Well?”
He’d taken too long to answer. Gulping down another mouthful, Marcus set aside the cup. “That’s why we’ll be allying ourselves with the largest of them before they burn through all the gold and start looking for places to find more.”
