Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (41 page)

How deadly the Caninine teams were, especially the Wolves. Grim, determined, they went at it like they had a deathwish, seemingly happy to endanger their own lives to try and steal ours.

A sudden exhaustion overwhelmed me and the buzzing headache returned. It wasn't strong, just an irritant, a wandering mosquito, and I tried to tune it out and focus on the view as we passed. I found my attention wandering to a hill in the distance and for just a second I could have sworn that a figure stood upon it, a Hyperborean, judging by the shape. Then a wall of fog passed over the hill, and when it had gone upon its way, the figure, if it had really been there at all, had vanished.

The auxiliaries sped ahead to set up camp for us. The gold sun was hanging low in the sky by the time we caught sight of our sanctioned campsite—a cluster of thermal tents bordered by chains of icy boulders. The starting gate for tomorrow's leg lay beyond the camp—a canal with high ice-blue walls that traveled straight for a half mile before curving off toward the Cadeuceus-shaped course.

The Talonite camp's boundaries were demarcated with signal beacons and surrounded by protective shields. The Caninines would be camped some miles away. No killing after dark unless the editor scheduled a night round. This gave us a chance to rest and heal, but was also so that high-paying spectators could rest, take part in the entertainments, and not miss any crucial action. They were paying a premium for a live show.

We pulled in and the immunes rushed around us to offer medical treatment and repair damage to our chariot. Julia's red hair stuck out the sides of her helmet, making her easily identifiable, but there would be no opportunity to speak until later on, when the preparations for the following day were done.

The moment we dismounted, Cynisca was mobbed with congratulations. The emperor's representatives placed the day's victory wreath, a large band of white and black flowers, over the Arrian chariot, and a second wreath for Cynisca and the team leader, Calida.

The Sertorians gathered about me, congratulating me. Licinus seemed unusually jovial.

“None of ours dead to two Caninines. The Blood Hawks are intact but the Golden Wolves, they've taken it right up the ass!” he said, looking at me. “You didn't follow my plan to the letter, Mock Wolf, but it all worked out as expected, and I can't very well punish you for killing the enemy, can I? Wouldn't be good for morale, might confuse the other Talonite gladiators
.”

We gathered together—Sertorians with our allied Ovidians, Tullians, and Arrians—working on game plans for whatever the editor was going to throw at us tomorrow. Licinus wasted no time in chastising the Arrians for being too headstrong and sabotaging his plans with their eagerness to punish the Calpurnians.

“They shouldn't have been so strong!” Calida said to Licinus. “You assured us that the ambrosia would give us the edge. Well, it looks like the Caninines have something too, and we're going to need more. You hear me? We need more than the piddling little capsules you've given us. I know you're keeping the best stuff for yourselves.”

Licinus backhanded the man, hard and fast, knocking him to the ground.

“You'll get what you get when we say you get it and you'll be grateful for it. Whatever the Wolves and their dogs are taking, it won't hold up like our ambrosia, you can bet on that.”

That was the extent of his displeasure, though. Licinus couldn't afford to be too harsh with his allies this early on; he needed to keep the alliance together and he needed them all in fighting shape. We prepared for the coming day, the immunes tending to our wounds and massaging our bruised and aching bodies.We changed into robes and furs to keep warm and ate a hot meal. I felt physically and emotionally raw.

While we recovered, the immunes worked hard, spurred on by the fading daylight and rapidly dropping temperature. I noticed Julia from time to time. She did her work with the other Vulcaneum engineers who tended to the weapons and vehicles, installing the Arrians' engine upgrade that had been brought down with great fanfare in a shuttle from the stadium, but she kept her distance from them when the work was done.

But the day wasn't over yet. Mercurius had died a gladiator's death, and now we watched as the Libertine couch came to collect him. Robed attendants played the part of Viridian house spirits, picked up his parts and placed them on the white couch. The hovering couch would transport him through the Porta Libitnensis, the sacred docking bay aboard the Rota Fortuna above, and his body would be transported with honor, the proper libations made. It didn't make me feel any better. My whole body was cold, covered in a blanket of pain. I needed the ambrosia, but it was much more than that; the need was brought on by stress, and Mercurius' death had affected me more than I'd anticipated. It reminded me that I wasn't in control, that any power I had to accomplish anything was fleeting at best. What did that mean for my brother? For any hope of saving him?

Next came the pantomime that took place on the grand stage in the Rota Fortuna. From on high, it was projected upon the dome of the sky. Two comic characters entered the scene, Ursus and Pullus, the flute-playing bear and the horn-playing chicken. They acted out amusing moments from the day's matches, and the audience had to guess which scenes were depicted. At first, Ursus pretended to throw his flute off to the right, and Pullus reached down and as if by magic produced the flute from his rear end before Ursus moved in and took the chicken's hands, dragging the flute he was holding across his throat. They were making fun of me, reenacting how I meant to kill Marcus and then killed Mercurius instead, a move that apparently I pulled out of my ass. There were lots of flying thumbs projected by the audience. It was a popular comedy skit, but from where I stood it was hard to see the joke.

Waiting for nightfall was hell. My mind, like those of the Arrians, kept wandering back to ambrosia. When would the Sertorians take theirs? When would I have mine?

As night crept up on us, we moved to our separate house camping zones. Our immunes had set up a basic camp, but Sertorians being Sertorians, they had a red-domed tent each, laced with luxury items to ensure the best possible night's rest. Thick fur flooring from the hides of barbarian Ursurii warmed our feet, and soft divans and beds were laid for our comfort. After such a terrible day, I welcomed whatever small comfort such luxury could bring.

The Sertorian team gathered in Licinus' command tent, and Mania distributed small phials of ambrosia from a casket she carried carefully from the chariot, two for each teammate, three for Licinus. As predicted, he consumed more than the others.

Licinus dispatched Barbata to deliver ambrosia to the Talonite axis. The allied teams were sent much smaller portions of the precious liquid, capsules the size of a thumbnail. Despite Proconsul Aquilinus' big claim that he would share ambrosia with the masses, my uncle's intelligence seemed to be accurate. There was a shortage. There wasn't enough to go around, even here in the tournament, not even enough for the Sertorians themselves to indulge in anything but conservative quantities.

But where was my share?

“She performed well,” Crassus said to Licinus. “She should be rewarded.”

“We should have taken the victory wreath today,” Licinus grumbled.

“But she did kill Mercurius.”

“Perhaps she did and perhaps it was dumb luck. She gets a small dose,” Licinus said. “Nothing more.”

“It's all yours,” Mania said, gently stroking a phial half the size of the ones the Sertorions had taken that lay on the table in front of her. “But first let's talk about today, and be mindful of your answers.” She glanced at the bracelet. “Remember, I'll know if you're speaking truthfully.”

I was surprised when, instead of quizzing me about the logic of my moves in the race, she asked me to recount in excruciating detail the moments when I wasn't fighting. She narrowed in on my description of the period after the fight, as we cruised toward the campsite.

“There's something you're not telling me. I observed you, you seemed distracted.”

“I don't know what you mean,” I said, my eyes fixed on the phial before her. “This is ridiculous, just give me my ambrosia,” I said, reaching for it.

The shock hit me hard; Mania was hiding her armilla under the line of the table so I couldn't see her activate the bracelet.

“I hope that focused you and reminded you of your place. You've been blooded, but you're still a chattel of House Sertorian until the game is won.” She touched my arm, helping me regain my feet. “You kept looking away to the horizon as if expecting to see something,” she said.

I considered lying to her, but I couldn't see what difference it made, so I told her about the Hyperborean and admitted that I thought it was an illusion, that the stress of the day and the lack of ambrosia made it hard to think clearly.

She nodded, seemingly contented, and tossed the ambrosia to Crassus to administer as he saw fit.

Gods, I couldn't be more confused. It was hardly enough ambrosia, only just enough to keep me from clawing my eyes out. I wanted to complain, but I couldn't bring myself to argue that I deserved more for killing my cousin Mercurius.

“Well done,” Barbata said, putting her arm about me and leading me from the tent. “First wolf blood to you, sister. You're truly one of us now. Don't listen to Licinus—it was a magnificently timed throw. Tomorrow you'll make another just as good.”

And kill Carbo, or maybe I'd really murder Marcus. I was cursed. Why did the Furies not come to my aid? Mercurius' death did nothing to aid my revenge; it only created more of a deficit.

Before I exited the tent, they had me place Orbis in a secure container. I was permitted to possess him only during the daytime events. I retreated to the tent that I had to share with Crassus. Once we were alone, I immediately pressed him for what I needed most—more ambrosia.

“I feel like I'm going to throw up. If you want me at my best, you have to get me more than this. You saw the Viridians out there. They've taken something as well.”

“You're right,” he said. “Licinus is certain its not ambrosia, but whatever else they're using is a mystery. You don't have any ideas, do you?” he asked, gently holding my chin, forcing me to look into his inquiring eyes.

His physical proximity suddenly made it hard to find words. He reached behind me and pulled out my mother's pin. My hair tumbled down about my shoulders and I inhaled sharply. Gods, but I wanted him. I grabbed his hand and went to reclaim the pin. He let me have it. A tingling sensation ran so powerfully through my fingers that I nearly dropped it, but I made sure not to register any reaction that Crassus could pick up on. The sensation gave me a gap in which I could fight the desire and wrestle it back down. He wouldn't have me so easily.

“I have no idea how the Caninine teams are doing so well,” I replied as calmly as I could manage. “But they're keeping up with us and I can't afford to be the only one who has to do without! Not if you want me in shape to take care of our mutual enemy!” I moved away, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him.

“You want it, don't deny it,” he seethed. I didn't know if he meant I wanted him or the ambrosia. Either way he was right.

“You want so much from me,” I said, “and yet you keep so much from me. What's going on, Gaius? What was Mania playing at with her interrogation?”

“I don't know,” he said. “She and Licinus have their own agenda and aren't exactly friends of mine.”

“If you can't tell me that, then me something else. Where is Aulus?”

“Don't worry, I'll tell you everything when the time is right.”

“Then when do we kill Licinus?”

He looked around anxiously and then gestured for me to lower my voice.

“Don't press me. You know better than to talk about such things out loud.”

“It's blowing a gale out there,” I said. “No one can hear us.”

He paused, listening. I couldn't hear a thing apart from my headache and the wind outside. “There's always someone listening,” he said. “But yes, I can speak now. We need Licinus' strength for now, especially as the Caninines have improved their chances with their own supplement. The tail end of the bestiarii rounds will be the time. That's when we'll strike.”

“That sounds fine,” I said. “When we head into the gladiatorial round, you will be new leader of the Blood Hawks.”

“With you by my side,” he said, touching my face tenderly. He tried leading me toward the bed, but I pulled away.

“Why so cold? Tell me, what would you do for this?” He held up the phial of ambrosia. A full phial.

“You want to play games?” I demanded, pushing his chest violently. “You want to keep me in the dark, and then whore myself for your drug? Go to hell.” I hit him in the face. He hardly flinched.

He didn't hit me back. “You will be careful not to lecture me,” he said condescendingly. “I do all that I can for you within the bounds of our agreement, and beyond, but now I'm running out of patience with you, Accala. You will learn what it is to live without my protection in a nest of Hawks.”

I'd overreacted, mainly because I wanted both him and the ambrosia, and given a weaker moment, I knew in myself that I might well have yielded and danced to his tune.

“Wait!” I called as he turned to leave. “The ambrosia.”

He looked at me with disdain, and I thought he was going to make me beg for it, but then he threw the phial casually on the ground and left. It took all my self-control not to rush at it, to take even steps, to pick it up slowly so that I knew I was the one in control. Not the ambrosia. Not the Sertorians. I deliberately removed the stopper and, unable to restrain myself, downed its contents in one quick gulp. A flood of relief washed over me. My head cleared, my vision was sharp, my hand steady once more, but for how long? My uncle told me that ambrosia was a drug of diminishing returns. You needed more to effect the same results. How long would it be before I started suffering the lack of it again?