An Emperor for the Legion (Videssos Cycle) by Turtledove Harry

Author:Turtledove, Harry [Turtledove, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780307789846
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2011-04-06T04:00:00+00:00

Turmoil outside woke him at first light of day. He knuckled his eyes, cursed groggily, and then sat bolt upright. The first cause for the uproar that crossed his mind was his men’s somehow learning what was afoot. He scrambled into his cloak and dashed out of the tent. It would be all too easy for hubbub to turn to riot.

But there was no sign of riot, though the legionaries were not standing to muster in front of their eight-man tents. Instead they were packed in a shoving, shouting mass against the western wall of the camp, peering and pointing over the palisade in high excitement. More kept coming as the camp awakened.

The tribune pushed through the crowd; his men gave way with salutes as they recognized him. They were jammed so close together, though, that he took several minutes to work his way up to the palisade.

He did not have to be right by it—his inches let him see over the last couple of ranks of men. Someone next to him pounded him on the back: Minucius. The trooper’s eyes were alight with triumph, his strong features stretched in a grin. “Will you look at that, sir?” he exclaimed. “Will you just look at that?”

For a moment Marcus still did not know what he meant. There ahead was Thorisin’s earthwork and, beyond it, the capital’s fortifications, silently indomitable as always.

That sentence had no sooner taken shape than it echoed like a gong inside him. No wonder the great double walls seemed silent in the dawn—not a defender was on them.

He felt giddy, as if he had gulped down a jug of neat wine. “Step aside! Make room!” he cried, ramming his way to the very front—he had to see as much as he could, be as close as he could. Normally he would have been ashamed to use his rank so, but in his excitement he did not give it a second thought.

There were the Silver Gates straight ahead, the works that had beaten back everything his men could throw at them. They were wide open now, and in them stood three men with torches, almost hopping in their eagerness to wave the besiegers into Videssos. Their shouts came thinly across the no man’s land between the city and the siege-works: “Hurrah for Thorisin Gavras, Avtokrator of the Videssians!”

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