Praetorian Rising, стр. 22
The celebration was better than she could have imagined, effectively pushing Camille's troubles away with each sip of wine and dance move Lunci came up with.
"Come on Camille, no sitting!" Lunci cried the moment he saw her backing away from the festive frivolity to perch on a nearby stool, her feet aching, stomach full of cinnamon apple pie and wine.
"You dance, I'll watch and try to learn," Camille said with a huge smile. Lunci fake-pouted but gave up quickly when a small blond girl caught his attention.
"Have you heard from the Rogues?" A rough voice whispered just in front of Camille. "The inner-city gates have been breached."
Glancing up, she noticed that Peter and Marcus were huddled together at a table a foot away, facing the other direction and unaware of her proximity. She was tempted to duck away, hating the idea of eavesdropping, but with Betty Anne's voice still lingering in Camille's mind, she couldn't help but remain where she sat. She hoped she appeared inconspicuous to anyone who glanced her direction.
"Breached? Where?" Peter asked, calm and collected.
"In the mountain regions of Echo Town. The border wall was breached by a pack of twenty."
"The Rogue Resistance has gone silent; I've received no updates," Peter murmured. "Albeit a message of warning from the Doctor, but nothing so much as that."
"Where is he? Vesyon said twelve moons, did he not?" Marcus fidgeted in a way Camille had never seen him do before, his boots tapping out a rapid beat that wasn't in time to the music.
"Do not question him, Marcus. If he isn't here, it's for a good reason. He's asked us to wait, and that's what we'll do until further instruction is given. Until then, we will double our security on the wall. It won't be long now."
Marcus leaned forward. "They're closing in on us, and there's no doubt we'll have to reinforce our regiment yet again by the end of the week. I'm not the only one who's sighted one of the beasts. It's just like before; they won't rest until they have what they want. We can't continue like this."
"Do we have enough soldiers for the rounds tonight?" Peter asked, ruffling his hair nonchalantly when a pair of giggling dancers spun within earshot.
"Barely," Marcus scoffed. "We also just got word from our contact at Alpha Quarter."
Peter's hand froze. "Inside the High Court?"
Marcus chose that moment to drink his wine in slow gulps—a power move and one Camille could tell irked Peter based on the hunched arching of his shoulders. "Don't sound so surprised. I have many eyes and ears in this Kingdom; my reach has no limits."
Peter tilted his head, wordlessly inviting him to continue.
"LeMarc will be sending out invites for a new guard to join the High Court at the beginning of the next moon cycle," Marcus stated.
"Impossible," Peter gasped. "He's been absent for eight years, not to mention the exile. The Praetorian Munera is dead."
Marcus shook his head vehemently. "He is going to form a new regiment for Aspera. This isn't a Praetorian Munera, Peter; it's the dawn of a new era. It's starting again, and this time we will need to be ready."
"Yes—but this time the High Court knows about the Chimera. Neither High King nor King Regent has done anything to halt progress. Despite the High King's absence, the crown isn't forming this new regiment to help us."
"Wake up, old man! He isn't in hiding—the High King's been planning. If he's building an army, then we need to find a way to protect ourselves. We need to finish what the Rogue Resistance started," Marcus said, draining the remaining liquid in his glass in three swift gulps.
"Last time, our main weapon against the High King was compromised in Charlie Town," Peter snapped. "It's difficult to finish something without any tools. He took our last line of defense that night. The war in the East wasn't an accident. The High King had a hand in that too. He isn't just fighting for his own lands anymore; he is pushing to gain more."
"It won't be like it was then. We won't allow the High Court to take what is ours."
Peter shook his head in seeming disbelief, gripping Marcus's shoulder with an old hand. "It's not that easy. If the High King is building an army, we'll be on our own when the border kingdoms fight back."
Marcus sighed audibly, before grabbing a hunk of buttered bread from the plate before him and gnawing off a huge bite. He chewed methodically, his jaw muscles bunching with fierce effort along the sharp angle of his cheekbone. Turning to Peter, Marcus leaned in, his voice barely audible above the tumbling lilt of music coming from the head of the hall. "The time is coming for us to find allies, regroup our rebellion and fight back. We know war is coming, and we must stand our ground no matter which side attacks first. We must."
"With who to back us up? The Rogues are all we have right now. There's no one else to help us this time. We don't have enough time to assemble a stronger defense."
"There isn't really much choice, now is there?" Marcus insisted. "We can't fall like before; I won't become a pawn of the High Court. The King Regent doesn't fight for us—he fights for glory, for a place in the holy hall at the feet of his one true king: Faeder. There's no reason to stay hidden in the shadows anymore. We have our own army and the mother Ma'Nada will protect us."
"I wouldn't speak so loudly of your views tonight, Marcus. We aren't with like-minded people even at Fόmhair. The followers of his holy lord are in every corner of Aspera. Sierra hasn't been known to