Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (40 page)

The Rota Fortuna had atmospheric stabilizers to help regulate the planet's weather, but they were intended to ensure the view stayed clear for the spectators, not make things too easy for the contestants. The seven teams spread out, gathering into two clumps—my Blood Hawks headed up the chariots of the Talonite Axis, and the chariots of the Caninine Alliance were headed by the Golden Wolves. The auxiliary chariots followed behind, keeping pace but maintaining a safe distance from the action.

Julius Gemminus reappeared now in his holographic form—hovering above us like a giant cupid head—chubby face with little fluttering wings sticking out from behind his cars.

“Seven fast chariots, fifty-five contestants,” Julius Gemminus announced. “Today's winners will receive an engine upgrade. As soon as you pass the boundary markers, fighting may begin. Fly, chariots! May Mercury and Apollo speed you on your way!”

There were still a hundred yards to go. The billboards flashed by to the left and right. Above us, the swarms of camera spherae swung this way and that, capturing the most dramatic angles. The chariots gleamed and weapons glittered in the bright light from the rising sun, reflected by the white ice, and I was grateful for the polarizing lenses built into my helmet.

Our first match was a race to the second set of flashing green markers mounted on high posts embedded into the icy ground. The tactical data streaming to my armilla indicated the course end was more than one hundred miles away.

Julius Gemminus' winged head zoomed ahead of us, continuing his monologue. “Champions! Noble Chiron the Centaur was struck by an arrow poisoned with the Lernaean Hydra's blood and, unable to face an eternity of burning pain, sacrificed his immortality. Because of his great deeds and noble spirit, the gods raised him up and transformed him into the constellation Centaurus. Now we will judge whether our champions are worthy to ascend to the heavens!”

Licinus had ordered the Ovidians and Arrians to act as blockers, clearing a way through for us to strike at the Caninine teams. The Tullians would sweep in behind to finish off the wounded.

I gripped Orbis tightly, waiting for the first pass. Marcus was closest to me, sword and shield ready, strapped to the center pole of his chariot by a wire belt.

The line of red flashing posts set into the ice ahead suddenly turned green as we passed them, and the first corner, a sharp right, was on us. The chariots all turned together into a crushing pack, taking care not to collide with the electrified purple energy shields that marked the course boundaries.

The Arrians and Calpurnians hated one another as much as the Viridians hated the Sertorians. I had to help fuel that fire, if I wanted to avoid killing Mercurius.

As we turned into the crush, our chariot was pushed ahead and the Arrians came up on our starboard, closest to the Calpurnian craft. I made a cast at Marcus, with no intention of striking home, but as Orbis sailed across the Arrian bow on his voyage he nearly hit Cynisca, who was forced to pull away to avoid injury. The action caused her to pull wide, clashing instantly with the Calpurnian chariot, which attacked them in response. Now their blood was up. Licinus called at them to hold, but instead of following the plan, the Arrian leader, Calida, true to his name, ordered his chariot to drive forward across our bow, blocking us so he could take a shot at killing Marcus. Before the two chariots could clash, Calida fell backward to the deck, Marcus' javelin through his shoulder. Excellent. Sensing a free-for-all, the Tullian charioteer, Salcus Tullius Coruntus, famous for his ramming skills, drove the Arrian craft aside and collided with Marcus' chariot, toppling the dark-skinned dart thrower Vibius Calpurnius Habitus from his perch. He fell beneath the heavy Tullian craft, his skull crushed like a corn husk beneath an ox's hooves, death finding him in an instant.

One dead already and things had worked out exactly as I planned. Instead of being clear to attack Mercurius, I found my chariot swinging alongside Marcus.

The chariots were forced to turn as the course veered left. Then the Caninine team managed to pull off the move we were trying for. The Viridians pulled their chariot longways, blocking off the Tullians, and the mercurial Flavians followed suit, racing across the bows of the Arrians and Ovidians. They'd opened the way for the Calpurnian chariot to charge right at us. Right at
me.
I saw it in Marcus' eyes. The Talonites had planned to target Mercurius, but the Caninine plan was to kill me.

I didn't even get a chance to throw before Marcus was on me, his chariot coming up on our port side, shield in my face, gladius thrusting quickly at my torso. Gods, he was faster than I expected. It must have been the new stimulant the Caninines had developed. Much faster. I swung away on the pole and, just like we'd practiced, Crassus stepped in with a javelin thrust over the top of Marcus' shield. Marcus threw himself back off the platform and to his chariot's deck rather than take a javelin through the eye, but then the Ravens team leader, Cossus Calpurnius Blaesus, charged forward. Marcus meant to be driven back; he was luring me in, sacrificing the pleasure of killing me himself to entice me into a trap. Blaesus' ax was falling toward my neck, Crassus was right behind me, blocking my escape. I was dead.

Suddenly, the ground dropped out from under us and the chariots plummeted. I had to grab at the center pole to keep from flying off. Blaesus was jerked off balance, unable to deliver the fatal blow. Gods, we were racing downhill on steep ramps cut right into the ice. They'd been carved out in such a way that they were impossible to see as we approached. Then, a second before we hit it, I saw that the end of the ice ramp curved upward and managed to brace myself in time as all seven chariots ran off the end of the ramp and went flying high up into the air.

Alongside us about fifteen feet on our port side was the Viridian team. Licinus screamed out one of our plays and Barbata responded, shooting her trident caster across our bow. She was casting a wide net, trying to entrap any one of them, and she succeeded, entangling Caninus and giving me my chance to throw. It was a hard throw—my body wasn't in the right position and the wind was unpredictable. At best I'd wound him, which was an acceptable outcome. I threw, but Carbo stepped in front of his man and pushed forward with his shield, warding my discus away at the last second.

We must have looked like flying fish to the audience, suddenly vanishing as we plummeted down the ramp and now suddenly reappearing, soaring through the air high above ground level. We came crashing down again.

“There's more ramps!” Castor called out. “Brace yourselves.”

We flew downward and then we were up again. This time, though, we found ourselves soaring through the air alongside the house totems.

As the first volley of arrows flew, we learned that the totems were not merely decorative—they were archer towers. At the top of each stood a four-legged Centaurii barbarian. Armed with bows, they resembled classical centaurs except for their red skin, scales, and lizardlike tails.

“Testudo!” Licinus barked, and we moved into defensive mode, clustering together near our drivers, our armillae projecting tower shields that we interlocked to the sides to form a makeshift “turtle” shell that covered us all. The missiles struck from both sides as we flew through the zenith of the arc, presenting as plum targets. An arrow clipped Pavo's shoulder, and he screamed; they must have chosen a poison that would appropriately simulate the legendary agony affected by the touch of Hydra's blood. As we hit the ice, Carbo threw his lasso right over and past Marcus' craft, which had appeared alongside us, until it found one of the upright spikes on our chariot's side. He pulled the loops closed and wrapped it about the mast beside him, binding all three vessels together.

Marcus came at me again, his gladius seeking me just as a net attachment from Caninus' crossbow entangled me. I took a cut to the arm, turning away from my lanista's weapon just in time to meet Cossus' iron mace. I managed to roll with the blow, but it still caught me on the back of the skull with a mighty thump. Stars swam across my vision and I stumbled to one knee.

And then we were up in the air again, a cloud of black arrows coming at us. I got my shield up just in time before the black shafts struck home. We cleared the towers, and while we were airborne, the Dioscurii pulled starboard, and the steel rope of Carbo's lasso was stretched taut. I switched Orbis out to my right hand and swung with all the strength I could muster. Orbis severed the connection, which suddenly threw our craft to the right and Marcus' chariot to the left where it collided midair with the Viridian craft. We started to drift apart, sailing through open space, and I saw that the end of Carbo's lasso, rather than collapsing, sprouted tendrils and tried to grab at the chariot again, but Mania stepped past me with her needle knife and stabbed it fast. The lasso reared back like a wounded snake—it was a living thing, made of lapis negra like my discus.

Still in the air and six feet off the ice, and Marcus' chariot had moved three feet ahead of ours. There was my shot. Marcus was at forty-five degrees to me, his shield covering him from the last of the arrows.

“Accala! Strike!” Licinus commanded.

He meant my cousin. Mercurius was open too, coming up fast behind the Calpurnian chariot. But I cast at Marcus. It was him or me, and he was certainly not holding back. And then the chariots landed hard.

The midair collision between the Calpurnian and Viridian chariots sent the latter spinning the moment it touched the ice, and just before Orbis reached my target, the Calpurnian chariot swung about, aft becoming fore. The angle changed and instead of Marcus, my discus struck the Black Ravens' central mast, ricocheted, and shot across the way. It took all my willpower to stifle a warning scream as Orbis severed the wrist and tender neck of my good cousin Mercurius in a single stroke, sending his body spinning off the chariot. But wait, his forearms were still bound with the thick leather reins. The weight of his body thrashing about between the ground and the chariot caused their craft to swing roughly, its engines turning in spirals. But the fine driver Nervo swiftly moved up from his position behind Mercurius, drew his falx, and with a stroke cut the reins free from my cousin's body. Nervo caught the loose ends in his hands and expertly gained control of the wayward Viridian chariot.

There was no time to stop and think. Ahead of us, the tundra dropped down and flattened out. There! The finish line. The lion totem and beside it a triumphal arch a half-mile ahead perched atop an icy hill. The first to pass through it would win the day. Orbis returned, clacking flat against our chariot's magnetic post. Mercurius' blood dripped onto my hands as I recovered my weapon.

The Dioscurii started to pick up pace, but we'd been so focused on the Viridians and Calpurnians, playing out our private grudge match, that no one had noticed the Arrians. Their chariot came bursting through, ramming wedges pushing the Viridians aside as they powered toward the arch. The Ovidians tried to keep up with them and then the Flavians tried to pass on the Arrian port. Their lightweight craft could outpace the midrange Arrian chariot, but then Cynisca was screaming, her whip lashing out at both the Ovidian and Flavian drivers, keeping them at bay until, at last, she drove forward and won the race. The Flavians and Ovidians came in second and third respectively. We placed fourth, the Calpurnians fifth, the Viridians sixth. The Tullians brought up the rear in their heavy rammer.

Julius Gemminus' cherubic face appeared before the lion totem at the end of the course.

“Well done, House Arrian! Felicitations! Noble winners of the first leg of the chariot races—your chariot's engine upgrades will be delivered to you at the first night's campground. All teams, there is no rest until you reach the designated campsite, so be swift lest you don't make it by nightfall!”

The course split to the left and right, demarcated with shield walls to separate the factions. I was glad for it. I didn't want to look at the Viridians, to be reminded of what I'd just done. The race was over for the day, the highlights already playing along the shield walls; I saw my throw that had stolen Mercurius' life from a hundred different angles.

I had survived the first day of the first round. Four more days of the chariot race to go. How many more family members would I kill? Assuming I even survived, that is. We were prepared for the ferocity of the other teams, but the kind of lethal traps we faced today made everything unpredictable. And I was trembling. I needed ambrosia. The incident with Mercurius had pulled the rug out from under me. My own kin dead and by my own hand. When it came to serving the Furies, was this my new path—an all-encompassing death to any who stood before me?

We cruised for the rest of the day, swiftly covering the vast tundra. The wind was growing in strength, spraying us with sharp showers of ice, which made visibility difficult. Julius Gemminus must have decided to expose us to the elements and turn off the Rota Fortuna's weather-stabilization technology. Or perhaps the audience had taken a poll and decided it would be amusing to see us freeze. It was bad enough to have killed a Golden Wolf, but I'd done it with my father watching. He was probably even now in some small room aboard the Rota Fortuna watching my every move, watching replays of Mercurius' death. Why hadn't Uncle Quintus mentioned that Father was here? My uncle knew everything. Was it to spare me distraction? The thought that Uncle Quintus might kill my father to prevent him causing trouble, because all my father ever did was cause me trouble, lurked in the back of my mind and wasn't easily dismissed.

The ground crested upward until we were high enough to catch a preview of the following day's course. Julius Gemminus had sculpted the terrain ahead, using the ship's ion cannon like a scalpel to carve long canals into the solid ice. The course took the shape of two continuous intersecting figure eights, like the intertwining snakes that ran the length of Mercury's caduceus, long, separate paths for the separate teams to gather speed, with intersecting points where we'd be driven together in order to clash and fight.