He watched in silence as the siege towers slammed against the walls and his men flowed up them and into the fortress, more still moving in through the tunnel. The orange glow of fire illuminated Hydrilla, smoke blotting out the stars in the sky, the sounds of screams crossing the distance to fill his ears.
Felix stood an arm’s length away, taking report after report as the Thirty-Seventh pushed through the city, killing any who fought back, but driving them toward the north wall where those who wanted to live could escape down the cliffs and into the ravine below.
Seeing Felix’s nod of confirmation, Marcus turned to Grypus. “Hydrilla has fallen, Proconsul. Congratulations.”
Grypus clapped his hands together in delight. “I knew you had it in you, my boy. All of Celendrial—no, all of the Empire will soon have your name on their lips for this masterful bit of work.”
He pounded Marcus on the back, forcing him to clench his teeth as agony rolled through him. “I knew bringing you here was the right choice. You are every bit the weapon we’d hoped for and more, and rest assured, my boy, we will turn you and yours on anyone who dares to challenge the Empire’s might. You have written your name in blood. Yours and the Thirty-Seventh’s.”
Marcus inclined his head. “The Bardenese are beginning to surrender. May I have your permission to order my men to accept?”
Grypus’s eyes turned feral. “No.”
“But—”
“They had their chance, Legatus,” Grypus interrupted. “They chose defiance. And now all of Bardeen will bear witness to what happens to those who defy the dragon.” He turned to Hostus. “As promised, you can send your men in. They can take what they want but tell them to leave the finest house alone. I have no interest in sleeping in a tent tonight.”
Marcus bit the insides of his cheeks hard enough to draw blood, because this had not been part of their arrangement. Wasn’t something he’d ever have agreed to. Which Grypus bloody well knew, which was why he was sending the Twenty-Ninth in. And Marcus didn’t have the authority to countermand a proconsul. “At least allow the children…”
“No. They had their chance and chose not to take it.”
“Their parents chose—”
“Enough!” Grypus snapped. “They’ve rebellious blood in their veins and allowed to grow up, they’ll only return to their base nature. I want every rebel in Hydrilla dead before dawn.”
“With pleasure, Proconsul.” Pulling his blade, Hostus moved down into the ranks of his men, and Marcus knew the gutters of Hydrilla would run with blood tonight.
Horns blew as the Twenty-Ninth moved forward in a steady tide, ranks dividing to climb towers and to press through the gate, which the Thirty-Seventh had unbarricaded. Marcus had opened the doors, which meant every single one of the dead or dying could be laid at his feet. And it was all he could do not to vomit.
“Men like Hostus serve a purpose, Legatus.” Grypus sipped at his wine. “But to keep them loyal, they need to be fed.”
“At what cost?” Marcus knew he should say nothing, that he should abide, but the words slipped from his lips. “Showing mercy might lead the other rebels to surrender. But this? Hydrilla will stand as a martyr for Bardeen for a generation.”
“It might be you are right. But mercy is often seen as a sign of weakness and Bardeen is but one province of many. And when it comes to rule, it is a far better thing to be feared than loved.” Grypus gave him a considering stare. “You’ve won a great victory tonight on many levels, Marcus. You’ve rid yourself of Hostus and set yourself and the Thirty-Seventh on the path to a glorious future. Don’t throw that away for the sake of the lives of strangers who’d gladly stab you in the back if given the chance.”
He felt sick, his stomach in ropes because there was a massacre going on behind him and he had the power to stop it. Except to do so would mean bringing the wrath of the Empire down on not just his head, but on the heads of his men. So for their sake, he’d bear this guilt. “As you say, Proconsul.”
“Good boy.” Grypus slung an arm around his shoulders, and the waves of repulsion that surged through Marcus drowned out the pain. This man was a different breed of monster than Hostus, but a monster nonetheless, and Bardeen would suffer under his governorship. The urge to pull a weapon and slit the man’s throat reared up in his mind, but what would that change? He’d only be replaced by another of his ilk and Marcus would be hanged in the Forum as a traitor to the Empire.
“At dawn, you will move your legion back to the coast,” Grypus said, interrupting his thoughts. “The Senate has its eyes on Chersome, and come spring, I want you ready to bring that defiant little island into the Empire’s fold. Do it, and your name will forever be tied to Celendor’s achievement of dominion of every land from north to south.”
Was that the legacy he wanted? To be the commander who defeated the last free people in the name of men like Grypus?
Grypus took hold of his shoulders, staring him in the eyes, his breath strong with the scent of wine. “There’s a spark of something in you that I don’t like, boy. Something that stinks like defiance.” The proconsul leaned closer and Marcus struggled not to recoil. “Remember that the Senate owns you. Do our bidding and you will be rewarded handsomely. Cross us, and we will feed your corpse to the dogs. Am I understood?”
Marcus stared down at the man, hatred rising in his gut. For Grypus. And for the fact that what the man said was the truth. “Yes, Proconsul.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I find myself famished.”
Marcus watched Grypus saunter away in the company of his shivering women, then he turned to where Felix and Servius and the rest of his escort stood waiting. “Pull them out.”
“Sir?” Felix frowned at him.
“Pull the Thirty-Seventh out of Hydrilla. And my orders on conduct still stand. Those who violate them will be punished accordingly.”
“Yes, sir.” Felix relayed instructions to the signalman, horn blasts filling the night. “Anything else, sir?”
“Get me numbers.”
It was time for him to learn the true cost of what they had achieved tonight.