Wex snorted. “Lescendor scouts even if Celendrial does not. You’re becoming forgetful.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“Cocky, then.” Wex tossed him the reins of the other horse. “You sure about this, Legatus? Once you cross the Savio, the law will cease to be on your side. It will be seen as an act of war against the Empire, and you will be branded a traitor.”
“I know the laws of the Empire, Commandant. But today, the law will bend its knee to me.”
“You always were my brightest star,” Wex said. “But it is the brightest that burn out the quickest. I note the Fifty-First are not with you. I’d hoped…” The commandant trailed off with a sigh.
Marcus shook his head. “They were lost. But they will not be forgotten.” Then he called out, “Remember the Fifty-First!”
The Thirty-Seventh echoed the shout, and it repeated through the legions surrounding Celendrial, announcing to the city the reason why they were here.
Not for vengeance, but for justice.
Marcus mounted the horse, taking the Thirty-Seventh’s standard from Servius and turning to face the city. “Proceed.”
A horn bellowed, long and low, answered by the same note played by a hornist in each legion, then the men began to march. Drums sounded an ominous beat, the noise of tens of thousands of men loud as thunder.
They reached the branch of the Savio, which was low at this time of year, the water barely passing his horse’s knees as Marcus rode into it. His men splashed through without losing stride.
“This might cost you everything and yield nothing,” Wex said from where he rode next to him. “Are you certain?”
Marcus heeled his horse out of the water, his eyes fixed on the golden dragon that loomed over the closed gate. “I’ve already thrown the dice. All that remains to be seen is how they will fall.”
117LYDIA
A cheer broke out among the civilians as Mudaire’s walls appeared in the distance. Though one of the xenthier paths that Rufina had mapped had taken them most of the distance, the several thousand surviving Mudamorians with them were still without food and water, so the capital of Mudamora was a welcome sight to all.
The scouts that had gone ahead had reported back that there were signs the legions had only just come and gone, departing through the xenthier in the tunnels below the palace, which was good news. Better news still was that they’d abandoned any of the supplies not easily brought into the tunnels, which included live cattle and casks of water.
“They left their horses as well,” the scout said as they drew closer. “We should try to round them up.”
Malahi reached down and pressed her hand against the ground, green grass sprouting beneath her palm and spreading until they were surrounded. “This should lure them in. Have some of the cattle slaughtered for meat and distribute the water.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Lydia cast a sideways glance at her friend. Malahi refused to answer to the title of queen until it was made official, though she embodied the role already. “It won’t look as you remember it. Mudaire has seen a lot of horror.”
“We’ll rebuild.” Malahi lifted her chin. “Our people are strong.”
Strong, but far fewer in number. Those who’d come back from the dead had known much of what had occurred in the south due to the link the blight had formed between their minds. They’d told Lydia how Bercola and those with her had fallen, and how Astara had carried Dareena through the sky and dropped her among the masses of blighters trying to get through the xenthier. It had been her aunt who’d destroyed the xenthier with explosives, but then she’d refused to fight back against the horde that remained.
Dareena Falorn had died as she had lived, fighting for the people she’d sworn to protect, and Lydia’s eyes welled at every thought of her, only the knowledge that Finn, Killian’s family, Astara, and Xadrian were alive and safe kept her from falling apart entirely.
Agrippa walked at Malahi’s elbow, her ever-present shadow, and he said to the scout, “Any signs of human life?”
“None, my lord.”
“My lord? Well haven’t you gone and gotten all fancy on us,” a voice with a Cel accent said, and they all whirled around to find a man walking out of a copse of trees. He was dressed in Mudamorian attire, but Lydia knew a legionnaire when she saw one.
“Quintus?” Agrippa blurted out, then his arms were around the other man, nearly taking him over backward. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m dead,” the legionnaire answered. “At least, according to the Thirty-Seventh’s ledger. Can’t take it back either, because Marcus signed it in ink before he departed for Celendor. Miki is registered as dead, as are you.”
“He’s here?”
“Back at our camp.” The legionnaire hesitated, then said, “I don’t know if Teriana told you, but he can’t walk.”
