Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (38 page)

“You're in it for a holiday, you told me as much. You want to spend your days staring at cloud sunsets. It would indeed be a great tragedy if that didn't come to pass. Unimaginable sorrow on an epic scale.”

“That's a dream I shared with you in private, Accala, not to be brought up lightly, and no, that's not why I serve. I serve because I believe in an empire where everyone has the right to life and equality,” she said.

“A real republican, that's what you are. What about all those different collegia? How many of those will intervene to secure their freedom? How many of those will stand with me in the arena to secure their rights? What about your Vulcaneum? How many other volunteers did you have to compete against to be here with me?”

“I was the only one,” she said quietly.

“Because you are the sole shining light atop a mountain of cowards. Do you sometimes think that you're fighting a losing battle? That you're the only one who really cares about making a difference? I hope you do, because it's true. You and I, we're alone.”

“I have a sister named Angelia. She has a rare genetic disease, a mutation. It makes her skin bulge, and the areas around her neck and back are scaled and purple. People think she's a half-breed, crossed with a barbarian, but she's not. It's just bad luck, and it's slowly killing her. Her bruises sometimes bleed, and the bleeding won't stop. Most medicine won't work, but there is a treatment on the cloud city that your uncle can secure for her. That's why I want to go there. It's not about the view. It's about how I'll feel when she's well again. I have a sister, you have a brother—we're not alone, as long as we can help them.”

“I'm sorry, again,” I said, more sincerely than before.

“It's a place where she can get the care she needs, a place that's private and beautiful. You have no idea, Accala. The temple world is like hell on earth. Aesclepius Novenus, where all those who suffer from genetic abnormalities are herded like animals. People assume that, because we've almost eradicated disease, anyone who suffers from disease should be erased from the gene pool. She's a beautiful soul, and I'll do anything to make sure she gets the help she needs.”

“I didn't know.”

“We've both got people to live for. And trust me, there's plenty about me you don't know, but right now my job is to keep you on track. I suggest you take tonight to refocus. Keep your mission in mind, don't be swung left and right by your feelings.”

She left me alone.

I tried to sleep, but the bed was too soft and Julia's words and the sting that went with them lingered on in my thoughts.

Fuck her and her feelings. There would be time for sympathy after the tournament. And I wasn't happy about her having the code to my bracelet, not one little bit. Could I really trust Julia? Or even my uncle, for that matter? I couldn't decide whether the lack of ambrosia was making me edgy and paranoid, or if I was being wisely cautious. Everyone was out for himself or herself, and the only person I could truly rely on was me.

Tossing and turning in the dark, I drifted in and out of sleep. I came fully awake to the sound of the buzzing noise, so loud I could barely think. The pin, held securely in my hand while I slept, was transmitting a tingling sensation up my arm like a jolt of electricity. I jumped out of bed and resisted the urge to drop it like a burning ember. The sensation subsided, and I tried to settle my breath, still my heart. I walked over to the large plate windows and watched the snow fall. It was cold outside; I could hear the wind whipping to and fro. Suddenly, I realized there was someone standing on the other side of the glass, staring at me. A Hyperborean. I looked around for something to use as a weapon if it breached the window and attacked. I didn't know what had happened to Orbis and there was nothing else at hand. The beast was just standing there, staring into the room. It was big, twice the size of the largest Hyperborean I'd seen aboard
Incitatus,
though of a similar morphology. The spines that protruded from its body were long and sharp. I was still holding Mother's pin, and it was growing increasingly hot in my hand, but I ignored the discomfort now. The creature demanded my attention. I'd learned how fast they could move if they were provoked, so a slow, even retreat out into the corridor to call for reinforcements would be the best move. I couldn't take a monster like that unarmed. But my experience with the Hyperboreans on the ship made me think that perhaps this one was trying to communicate. I'd watched one of his kind die without demonstrating the slightest violence toward me, and I felt I owed it to that one to give this barbarian the benefit of the doubt. Every trained instinct said to flee, but I kept walking forward, one step after another, until I was right up against the glass.

Its crystalline body gleamed in the moonlight, and beneath the shining facets of its torso ran a quicksilver fluid. The source of the buzzing headache shifted so that now it seemed to be coming from the barbarian's body. It held out a clawed hand, pressing it against the glass. I reciprocated, reached out to touch the glass in turn, but suddenly the surface between us vanished like an energy field that had been switched off and I was falling through the window. The giant alien's arms were surrounding me, pulling me toward the long spines that rose up from its chest. I was surprised, off balance, and I couldn't muster the strength to escape. The spines impaled me and his wiry hair wrapped around my face like tendrils. He just held me there in a strange embrace. I felt no pain and no matter how I tried to pull away, I couldn't escape. The buzzing noise was intensely loud, a harsh, attacking sound. The pin in my hand was burning hot, scorching my palm, while the rest of me froze.

Beyond the spines, the swirling blue fluids and gases in the alien's body formed abstract shapes, which terrified me. Why those shapes should elicit such a response I didn't know, only that I felt with absolute certainty that the beast wanted to rend me in two, tear flesh from bone, devour me whole. It burned with hatred for me, not just humanity but me in particular.

The light from my room shone out behind me, enough to see that something strange was going on with my own body. It was as if every pore of my skin was opening and excreting something; I was sweating ambrosia. The alien was leaching it out of me. I couldn't allow this; I needed it. My fists battered its hard chest, but its spines pierced my hands, drawing ambrosia out of them too. Shifting about, I struggled to free myself. It was
my
ambrosia, every damn drop, and I'd die before I'd let this barbarian steal it.

I sat up in bed, covered in sweat, my heart pounding. A dream. Thank the gods, only a dream. I walked over to the window. Nothing but falling snow. As I went to go back to bed, the light gleamed on the surface of the glass, and I saw five point marks in a cluster. Were they Hyperborean claw marks? I couldn't be sure, but it looked like the exact place where the Hyperborean had touched the glass with its claw. No, I was fooling myself, the trick of a tired mind. Gods. What a dream. That's all it was—my mind's reaction to finally arriving on Olympus Decimus after so long. Sitting on the edge of the bed, the biggest gladiatorial event in the empire commencing early in the morning, I knew I'd never get back to sleep.

XX

W
E STOOD IN THE
city's circus, fifty-five contestants—what should have been fifty-six but for Lurco's absence—champing at the bit, ready to race, awaiting the start of Jupiter's great tournament. The air was freezing, the wind swirled and impatiently whipped hundreds of flags. I was dressed in Sertorian lightweight cold-weather armor styled to fit over my black and red team uniform, my hair tied back securely with my mother's pin. The noise of the crowd filled the air completely, as half a million tourists, spectators, and the media waited excitedly with us for the opening ceremony to commence. As the gold sun rose above the mountains, the first of the great white bulls was tied down by ropes and sacrificed by the priests, long knives quickly stealing its life to honor Jupiter. Simultaneously, out on the tundra that would soon bear our chariots, ten thousand white bulls, twice the normal size, genetically perfect and purpose bred, were released. A moment later, a beam shot out from the Rota Fortuna, the ion cannon stealing the lives of the cattle. Their slaughter, blood and fire, consecrated the ground, preparing it for the tournament, and then a sweeping ray cremated the carcasses, transforming them into black dust, scattered by the winds as if their hooves had never stamped upon the surface of the world at all.

The excited screams of the crowd rose like a wave, carrying us, as the two factions were led out in our slow procession of chariots before the altar and the emperor's balcony. Points of stillness and silence in the chaos, we waited for the sun to travel high enough so that its long-fingered rays, the hand of Jupiter Light-Bringer, would reach out and touch the sacred brazier before us, triggering a photosensitive fuse. When the fire erupted, the games would begin. Priests blessed us with water flicked from sprigs of the sacred oak that grows in Rome's Capitoline Hill. By the time the water droplets traveled through a half dozen feet of freezing atmosphere, they struck like small beads of ice, making a light din as they bounced off the gladiators' armor plates.

Above all others in his private balcony sat the emperor in full regal glory. He was surrounded by banners and the imperial emblem—the golden eagle of Rome, its wing tips and claws reaching out to touch the borders of an eight-pointed star, symbolic of the provinces united under one house, one leader. On either side of him, positioned at a lower height, were the two proconsuls—my uncle and Aquilinus—sitting quietly like two muzzled attack dogs. No shining magisterium from the Sertorian proconsul today. He looked normal, unexceptional. He must remain humble in the presence of the emperor.

Seven war chariots. Our craft that had looked so large to me in
Incitatus'
training hall now seemed sleek and aerodynamic compared to some of the other vehicles in the field. The Tullian chariot was the largest by far, black and blue with sapphire accents like an electrified blowfly, bulked up with thick plates of armor for ramming like the bull that was their house emblem, ready to trample enemies underfoot. The Ovidians were mounted aboard a medium-size chariot that sported more blades and tusks than any other craft. They specialized in overturning enemy chariots.

Black was the prevailing color of the Talonite Axis, the four teams differentiated by house colors that swept the chariots in stripes and themed designs embossed into the armored hulls—the ruby red stripes of hawk talons, the jagged amber tusks of the Ovidians, the brilliant sapphire horn designs of House Tullian, and the curling white horn patterns of House Arrian. Flags in house colors flew from the chariots' central poles. The contestants were dressed in a variety of armor that started with base function—less armor plate but more padding for a chariot driver, more armor for the gladiators, less for the more maneuverable bestiarii—and then developed according to the gladiator's personal style, so that their fans could easily recognize them in the arena, accentuated by their traditional team colors. Helmets with polarized eyeshades and communications equipment protected our heads, shielded our eyes from the glare of the light from the ice, and enabled communication with our teammates and the editor.

The lineup of the Caninine Alliance chariots was a more colorful affair: the bright golden chariot of House Viridian's Golden Wolves—the long face of a wolf with teeth bared streaked along the sides with emerald green; the argent chariot of House Flavian's Silver Sparrows marked with wings in honor of their patron god Mercury and double bars of maroon and diamond; the bright bronze-layered chariot of House Calpurnian's Ravens, with a yellow eye depicted on each side of the prow, streaked with ebony inlay that reminded one of sleek plumage. Gold, silver, and bronze—a shining symbol of unity against darkness, the great wealth of the ancient world. The Caninines had chosen their colors well. The Talonites were the harbingers of the death of the old ways, the old gods, whereas the Caninines stood for tradition and continuance. Both sides were undeniably striking.

The Viridian chariot struck the middle ground—not too much, not too little—an all-rounder designed to cope with a variety of assaults. It was a smart strategy. As they were outnumbered, they couldn't afford to indulge too much in chariot specialization. The Calpurnian chariot was similar, with one difference to suit their predilection for hand-to-hand fighting—it was lined with more side blades for cutting into and trapping an opponent's craft. In fact, the only Caninine chariot that had any drastic modification was that of House Flavian. Their silver craft was the lightest of all, stripped back for pure speed. Risky—their team would have highly coordinated to maintain balance and control at such speeds. But their strategy was obvious. They were limited in resources, so the Calpurnians and Viridians would play the part of blockers to allow the Flavians to race ahead to win any bouts that depended on speed to determine the winner.

Each chariot was stocked with weapons and basic survival equipment. Most of the space was needed for easy movement during fighting and for the two detachable desultore skirmishers on the sides of each vehicle. Julia nodded in my direction as she boarded her support chariot with the other collegia immunes. She was focused, all business. The immunes' larger chariots could not be targeted and had their own force shields. They would travel behind us, avoiding danger as they carried shelters, food, medical supplies, and tools. The tournament would be fierce, and they wanted to keep us alive for as long as possible when we weren't fighting. One tournament under the mad emperor had lasted only four hours, before the contestants were wiped out by hordes of armored Mandubii barbarians, and it nearly led to a galaxywide riot. Romans took their games seriously, as a sacred right, so the committee made sure that our odds of survival were low but not suicidal.