Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (35 page)

The Talonite teams also contained great warriors. The charioteer Publius Calida, Arrian team leader. The stuttering gladiator Labeo Tullius, who found that the arena was the only place where his ever-present condition vanished. The Ovidian leader Bibaculus, famous for finishing his opponents with the goring tusks that covered his armor.

Standing between the two factions, facing the crowd, presided Magistrate Julius Numerius Gemminus, senior editor, now conducting his fourth Ludi Romani. His jolly face belied his true nature. Cunning, ingenious in sculpting courses that punished his contestants, driven by a need to please the audience and, at the same time, stave off the circling pool of junior editors who sought to steal his position.

“Citizens! Welcome to Olympus Decimus!”

Gemminus raised his right arm, weighty deposits of fat hanging from it in great sheaves, signaling he was ready to make an announcement. His voice and body were filled with conviction, every action designed to heighten anticipation. The crowd responded accordingly—the locals roared their approval and the trillions watching from around the galaxy signaled theirs by filling the sky with holographic projections of upturned thumbs, gold and silver digits, constellations in their own right, accompanied by sparkling multi-colored fireworks.

“I don't think I've ever sensed such excitement,” the editor boomed. “We've got the largest audience in galactic history tuning in. Over seventeen trillion, evenly distributed across the provinces. I'm so glad you could all join me here today. With the aid of our glorious emperor, all hail his name, and despite last-minute alterations, I've bent, twisted, and cajoled this icy landscape in order to meet my artistic needs and can now assure you, that with galactic peace riding on the outcome, with so many star gladiators, with so much controversy, I've made this course my greatest creation.”

A projection appeared above him, filling the sky and teasing the audience with footage of the course construction. The massive ion cannon mounted to the stratospheric stadium was being used to terraform the planet. Glowing red, it carved channels, leveled hills, and formed canyons. The cannon set the rocks alight, and they burned with phosphorescent green and blue flame.

“The teams will race from Avis Accipitridae to the ruins of Lupus Civitas, a two-and-a-half-thousand-mile journey across the emperor's arena world!” Julius Gemminus said. “Each day they will face one round of fighting. Some rounds will be long with the intensity paced out, others will be short with life and death packed closely together! Each night, energy shields will enclose the team camps to provide safety and security so they can emerge fresh and ready to fight on the following day. Over mountains and valleys, rivers and tundra, caverns and hills, they will endure chariot races, beast hunts, and an arena fighting spectacular! Each day and at the end of each of the three main segments, prizes will be awarded to the winning teams. The first player to survive the course and seize the laurel crown in the ruins of the town square of Lupus Civitas will win the tournament for their team and be selected as Jupiter's chosen champion. Are you ready, Romans? Are you prepared to witness the greatest, bloodiest, and most thrilling contest in the history of the empire?”

Applause, thumbs, cries of approval. Reporters crammed into the designated media area pressed closer to the stage. The sky was buzzing with media spherae, small and large. Some even projected celebrity journalists from the eight provinces who couldn't be there in person, yelling their questions over the top of their physically present counterparts.

“And now, would you like to meet the contestants?” he cried.

We took up our position on the segments of the wheels that bore our names and the large discs began to rotate slowly, stopping on Julius Gemminus' command so that enemy would stop next to enemy, building tension as the editor introduced the teams, shouting the competitors' names gleefully, giving each their moment in the spotlight as the leaders, trainers, and champion athletes answered short questions, while the cameras recorded snippets that would be intercut with games footage over the coming weeks.

I started in the segment on the side next to the editor but facing his back, so that as the wheel turned clockwise I would be the very last Talonite to be debuted. The wheels stopped again and again, putting bitter rivals within a few feet of each other (the Calpurnians hated the Arrians almost as much as Viridians hated the Sertorians), drawing in more and more members of the galactic audience to witness the emperor's spectacle.

By the time the wheel ticked around and there were only three ahead of me, I was at the closest point to the Caninine players, and found myself stuck right opposite Marcus, only a thin purple rope separating us.

Marcus didn't regard me with the anger or hatred I expected based on his declaration before Minerva's statue in Rome. My old trainer didn't have a single word to spare for me, not even a glance. He looked haughty, his eyes hollow and distant. Any feeling he had had for me had vanished; now I was merely an obstacle to overcome, one of many, nothing more. In his mind my death was an inevitability, and he would remove me clinically and dispassionately, as a surgeon would a tumor. Whatever clash the audience had hoped to see between teacher and pupil, they were not going to see it yet.

Next I found myself opposite my younger cousin Mercurius the charioteer. I had no grievance with him. At first I thought the editor had made a mistake, that there'd be no trouble between us, but then Mercurius came rushing at me. Carbo, the Viridian team leader, seized him by the collar at the last moment, stopping him from crossing the purple cord.

“Accala, how could you turn traitor? How could you turn on us? We're family!”

“Leave me be,” I hissed.

“They'll disqualify you if you cross the rope,” Carbo barked at him. Mercurius listened to his team leader and stopped struggling. “I won't miss out and I won't allow you to steal my life, Accala,” he said. “It shall be I that kills you, not Marcus Calpurnius. For the shame you've visited upon our house.”

Mercurius was the youngest member of the team, and the most innocent, honorable, and well regarded. He had never had a bad word to say about my exploits in the arena, and now he seemed genuinely upset, which was more than the other stone-faced Viridians were willing to concede.

“I'll watch out for you,” I said. I felt I had to pay him some respect. During the last week of training, when Licinus went over the profiles of the Viridian team, I was asked to nominate which member I though the weakest, the most likely to fall to a concentrated group attack, and I nominated Mercurius. He would be the easiest mark of all the opposing gladiators in the field, the life easiest for me to steal, the one I least wanted to end.

Crassus pushed past me and shoved Mercurius back before the Praetorians could stop him. “Back to your pack, puppy.”

Mercurius moved to strike Crassus, but to my relief Carbo pulled him away once more.

“Save it for tomorrow, boy,” Carbo said. “Let your chariot and weapon speak for you in the arena.”

The editor seemed genuinely pleased with the outbursts. The wheel turned, carrying me to the front of the stage. Julius Gemminus ignored me, finished up with Viridian trainer Metellus, the last Caninine, and then dismissed them from the wheel, beaming at me as he draped a fat arm about my shoulders and pulled me close.

“And at last, here's the girl you've all been waiting to meet,” he announced. “A favorite champion of the Magnus Ludus back in Rome, praised by the emperor himself for her courage—Accala! Disowned by her father, betrayer of her house, newly minted member of House Sertorian. There are a million questions flooding the vox populi message boards and I've primed the media below with a range of…” I glared at him with a look Barbata would be proud of and he saw in my eyes the change I'd undergone on the voyage over. Gemminus' arm vanished from about my shoulders with surprising speed and he cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Isn't she a charmer? Like a beautiful snake, pretty to look at but deadly to touch. Now. Any questions?” he asked the press corps down in front.

I steeled myself, expecting them to hurl abuse again despite everything Crassus had just told me about the mob mentality, sure the sky would be filled with thousands of downturned holographic thumbs as the audience transmitted their hatred from all over the empire. But instead they cheered, and upturned golden thumbs showered me with approval. A spotlight lit me up as the reporters yelled excitedly at me, each trying to be the one to catch my attention.

Accala! You look spectacular! Over here, Accala, we love your hair! Your features! You're gorgeous, Accala!

The ruby-filled grooves of my uniform accentuated my natural curves. Publia and her team had spent the whole morning working on me. Judging from the reception, she'd be overjoyed.

“Accala! Why did you come here?” one of the reporters asked me. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“I came to win,” I said.

“Accala! Tell us what you think of your new appearance!”

“Magnificent,” I said, borrowing a word from Crassus.

They roared with delight.

I thought I'd have to ward off questions about why I'd changed sides, about the difficult decisions I'd made, but no one seemed to care. Barbata had said it well: I was no longer the mangy wolf, the woman who betrayed her kin. Now I was the new poster girl for House Sertorian, a carnival attraction, a shiny new doll, and they all wanted to be the first to have a play. I looked down at them with disdain. They were like fish at feeding time, mouths opening and closing while House Viridian was left standing there, no one interested in talking to them or cheering them on.

“What happened to Lurco?” one journalist asked me.

“He died en route as a result of a training accident,” Licinus interjected.

“Is that true, Accala? Was it you who killed him?”

“Yes,” I replied plainly. “It was during training. Like Licinus says, an accident.”

“Are you disappointed by the emperor's ruling that you can't field a replacement?” another reporter asked. “Don't you feel yourselves to be at a disadvantage being one man short?”

“Not at all. I don't want to show disrespect to our opponents,” Crassus said as he looked across at the Viridians with a sneer, “but we are quite confident. The tournament is less of a challenge and more of an opportunity to demonstrate what the superior man is capable of.”

“Tell us what it's like to be one of the New Gods,” I was asked. “Is Crassus as sexy in real life as he is in the arena?”

I felt Crassus press in beside me. He smiled and waved to the crowd, giving the cameras a couples shot, and I followed in turn, doing my best to appear happy as I swallowed the bile in my throat. “He's dazzling,” I said.

More cheers of approval. Crassus had insisted that some humans were intrinsically better than others. These human gossip vultures certainly lent weight to an argument I otherwise found unpalatable. As I was bombarded with questions about my hair and Crassus' sexual prowess, my attention wandered and I caught sight of a small man who walked up onto the platform and stood quietly front and center stage, right behind Julius Gemminus. He placed his hands behind his back, waiting patiently. He didn't have to wait long.

Excited whispers passed through the crowd as their attention began to wander, away from me, refocusing on the small man.

“Who is he?” I asked Crassus in a low voice.

“Why, it's Proconsul Aquilinus, of course,” Crassus said in surprise, as if to say,
Who else could it possibly be?
There was no way I could equate the small man before me with the almighty figure, arms outstretched, in the billboards and other Sertorian propaganda. “He has a very important announcement to make, and you're going to be part of it.”

My hands started to tremble, the skin on my arms prickled, my mind was foggy as if I were in Crassus' brainwashing room back on the ship. Proconsul Aquilinus. I could kill him here and now. No one had weapons on the stage, but I could do it with my bare hands, even though it would cost me my life—if the Sertorians didn't kill me, the Praetorians surrounding the stage with their ion shock staves certainly would. What would all these Sertorian zealots do without their supreme leader? And then Proconsul Aquilinus turned to look at me, his face like the sun, radiating power. Dido's words when she first caught sight of Aeneas sprang to mind.

What guest unknown is this who hath entered our dwelling? I believe it well, with no vain assurance, his blood is divine. Were I not sick to the heart of bridal torch and chamber, to this temptation alone I might haply yield.

He was shining brighter even than his depiction in the billboards. I had to snap out of this. The proconsul was thin and narrow eyed, the least attractive Sertorian I'd ever seen, and all I wanted to do was throw myself at his feet and pledge my undying allegiance. Gods, what was happening? I couldn't fall to pieces over this comical little man. This wasn't me. This was Crassus' conditioning at work. I'd thought Licinus was oversaturated with ambrosia, but Proconsul Aquilinus was radiating so much energy that I thought it must be seeping out of his pores. Julius Gemminus must have sensed it too, because he yielded the stage to Aquilinus without a word.

“Come, daughter, come stand here beside me,” he said, and although my mind wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction as fast as I could, my body was drawn irresistibly toward him. I couldn't kill this man even if I had Orbis in my hand and no witnesses, not while he was exuding this kind of magnificence, more even, an imperial magisterium. He drew me close and the crowd became silent.

“Behold Accala, who was once a wolf and has now become one of the New Gods.”

The crowd screamed with delight.