The first light of dawn pierced through Agrippa’s eyelids, waking him and reminding him that too much red wine was never a good thing. Rubbing at his temples, he rolled over, eyes latching on the empty space next to him.
Yaro.
He stared at the spot for a moment, then moved his gaze to where Miki and Quintus still slept. Miki had one freckled arm wrapped around Quintus, his face buried in his shoulder, both of them breathing steadily. So he almost felt guilty as he leaned over and shouted, “Wake-up time!”
Both of them jerked awake, and Agrippa barely managed to dodge Quintus’s fist as he swung it at his nose.
“You are a horrible person,” Miki groaned, rolling onto his stomach. “I don’t like you.”
“Lies.” Agrippa drank deeply from his waterskin. “You love me.”
“How’d it go?” Quintus asked, rubbing his eyes and then rooting around in the piles of garments and weapons for his tunic. “Servius get you set up?”
“Delivered in remarkable abundance. What did you do for him?”
Quintus laughed, but whatever explanation he intended to give was cut off by Felix leaning into the tent. “Legatus wants a word.”
“I haven’t even had breakfast.”
“Eat later.” Reaching down, Felix dug Agrippa’s breastplate out of a pile of blankets and threw it at him. “What a mess this is. It’s no wonder you three are always last in line to eat. Hurry up.” Then he ducked back out.
“Must be important if Felix is playing messenger,” Agrippa muttered, sorting gear and weapons into three piles. “I can already feel my day being ruined.”
“Who cares about your day,” Miki said. “Tell us about your night. Did you see her?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Well?”
“We drank a bunch of Grypus’s wine and then threw the bottles into the waterfall pothole to see if they’d come out the bottom.”
Miki’s eyes narrowed. “That’s… You’re full of shit. That’s not what you did. Tell us the truth.”
“Caught me.” Buckling on his weapons, Agrippa led them outside. “We went swimming where the river goes around that big bend downstream. Might have lost one of my balls to frostbite, so we’ll need to stop in to visit Racker later. Was worth it, though.”
“Nice try,” Quintus said. “Tell us the truth.”
Rather than telling the truth, which was that the evening he’d planned was ruined by him weeping on a girl’s shoulder, Agrippa continued to regale them with increasingly farfetched scenarios until they reached Marcus’s tent, where the rest of their patrol waited with Felix.
“In,” the Thirty-Seventh’s tribunus ordered, holding back the tent flap and ushering them all inside. Marcus stood speaking with the Thirty-Seventh’s chief engineer, Rastag.
Short and round, Rastag was painfully nearsighted and prone to breaking the spectacles he wore perched on his small nose. Ostensibly, he was as trained to fight as the rest of them, but every man in the legion knew he was more danger to his own line than the enemy. But he was a master with war machines and already had several bridges and fortresses to his credit.
“Good,” Marcus said, abandoning his conversation with Rastag. “You’re here. If anyone asks, I reprimanded the lot of you. Feel free to complain about me at will if it makes your story more convincing.”
Agrippa wrestled with the desire to say they’d complain with or without permission, and instead lifted one eyebrow. “And the real reason?”
“I need to get out of camp without Hostus noticing.” Amarin appeared at that moment carrying a bundle, which revealed itself to be the standard cloak and helmet worn by the rank and file. Marcus handed his own cloak, which was embroidered in gold down the back with Celendor’s dragon, to Felix. “Run drills through the morning. Neither Hostus nor Grypus will be up much before noon and you can ignore everyone else.”
Felix gave him a long look. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.” Agrippa rocked back and forth on his feet. “Especially since I don’t know what this is.”
“Soon enough.” Picking up his crested helmet, Marcus pushed it down on his second’s head. Though the pair didn’t look particularly alike, both had golden Cel skin and were the same size and height, so Felix could pass. As he had many times in the past. “Wait until I’m gone. Amarin will bring my horse.”
“Don’t forget to sneeze every few minutes or so,” Agrippa interrupted, the fact that horsehair didn’t agree with the legatus well known. “And brood the entire time. A few dark glares at the fortress would be fitting.” When they both glared at him, he shrugged. “I’m only trying to make this an authentic performance. Carry on.”
“It will be fine.” Glancing at Rastag, Marcus said, “You have everything you need?”
“Hold on,” Agrippa found himself interrupting again, although at least this time it was for a valid reason. “Why is Rastag coming? And more importantly, if I’m taking two of the most important members of the Thirty-Seventh into woods teeming with not just Bardenese rebels but back-stabbing Twenty-Ninth pricks, I need more than eight men.”
He wasn’t sure if all ninety-eight men under his command would be enough.
“Agreed,” Felix said. “This is too risky.”
“Overruled. If anyone asks, which they won’t, Rastag is inspecting infrastructure. Now let’s get underway.” Gesturing at the front of the tent, Marcus said, “After you.”
Giving Felix a look that he hoped conveyed his deep dislike of this plan, Agrippa headed out of the tent, walking swiftly toward the open gates and into the clear-cut. His eyes skipped to the camp in the distance, where only a few smoke plumes rose. He’d made no promises to see Silvara this morning but had planned on it.
Would she wonder why he hadn’t come?
Would she care?
The group approached the tree line, Agrippa heading for the path he’d taken the day prior, but as they passed beneath the trees, a cold sweat broke on his skin. His pulse roared in his ears and he took a deep breath, fighting to control the rising panic in his gut.
It will be fine, he told himself. Carmo won’t pull the same shit twice.
But what if it was something different?
What if it was something worse?
He had his legion’s blasted legatus and their most talented engineer and only eight men plus himself to protect them if things went to shit.
You should have said no, a voice whispered inside his head. Felix would have backed you. Now if something happens, it’s on you.
A loud crash from behind sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins. Gladius in hand, Agrippa whirled around.
To find Rastag in a heap, his satchel of supplies somehow having landed half a dozen feet in front of him, his spectacles dangling from a bush.
“Rutting nightmare this is,” he muttered, moving back through his men to help the engineer to his feet. He dusted him off and handed him his spectacles. “You all right?”
“Quite well.” Color had risen to Rastag’s round cheeks. “Sorry for the trouble, Agrippa.”
Guilt immediately flooded through him, because it wasn’t the young man’s fault his eyes were weak. “You can make it up to me by building a catapult capable of launching me over Hydrilla’s walls.”
Rastag frowned. “I’ve already explained to you that to attempt such an experiment would be surely fatal, Agrippa.”
The explanation had involved close to an hour of listening to Rastag explaining mechanics and forces, all while scribbling calculations in the dirt. Agrippa had found it tremendously boring but had endured it for the sake of being polite. “We just need to aim it right so I land in something soft like a stack of hay. It’ll work, trust me.”
Adjusting his spectacles, Rastag peered at him. “I do trust you, Agrippa. Just not with mathematics.”
Laughing, Agrippa shouldered the satchel, then looked to Marcus. “Where exactly are you wanting to go?”
“I need a tree tall enough to see into Hydrilla.”
Agrippa blinked. “But Hostus cut them all down.”
“Not the ones on the far side of the ravine.”
The far side of the ravine was rebel territory.
Tell him no. Tell him it’s too dangerous. Tell him you won’t do it.
As though sensing his thoughts, Marcus motioned for the men to give them space. Then he stepped closer and said softly, “I met with Grypus alone last night. He gave his word that if we take Hydrilla before the snow flies, the Thirty-Seventh will be granted status and autonomy. We’ll be free of the Twenty-Ninth. I need only come up with a plan that sees it done without putting half the Thirty-Seventh in their graves. Still think this isn’t worth the risk?”
A plan like that, if it worked, would bring the Thirty-Seventh more than liberty from the Twenty-Ninth. It would bring them fame and prestige and would lead to missions that yielded more of the same. “Will this plan have a role for me in it?”
One of Marcus’s eyebrows rose. “Still looking to get a statue in the Forum?”
Asks the person who is almost guaranteed to get one, Agrippa thought, but he said, “I fancy immortality.”
“If we pull this off, every man in the Senate will be talking about us.”
“About Hostus, you mean. And the Twenty-Ninth.”
Marcus hesitated, and Agrippa knew from experience that he was weighing and measuring the advantages of using a piece of information versus keeping it to himself. Then he said, “I made part of the deal with Grypus that I command the battle, which means it will be the Thirty-Seventh going in first.”
Agrippa felt his eyes widen, the audacity of the request shocking. Legions had to be finished training and granted status before their legatus could take on such a role, and he’d never heard of an exception being made. He opened his mouth to ask whether Grypus had such authority, then closed it again. Because Marcus wouldn’t have made the demand if it weren’t possible. “Hostus is going to kill you when he finds out.”
Marcus gave a slight nod. “Which is why we keep that piece close until the final hour. He’s used to me doing all the work, so he won’t question me doing so now.”
True, but it made the plan no less bold because there’d still come a point when Hostus would be told. And Agrippa wouldn’t put it past the older legatus to turn the Twenty-Ninth on the Thirty-Seventh in retaliation for the attack on his pride. Because this was no slight: Having his protégé wrench control of a siege out from under him was a hammer blow to Hostus’s reputation that he’d never live down. “I—”
“It’s not just going to be my name on the Senate’s lips,” Marcus interrupted. “If you lead the attack, all of Celendrial will be talking about you. All of the Empire. This will be one for the history books, Agrippa. You can trust me on that.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “So what do you say?”
Agrippa bit the insides of his cheeks, weighing the risks against the rewards. Weighing potential for catastrophe against the opportunity to leave his mark on the world—to be remembered. “I think we should go find us a tree.”