Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (43 page)

Then the referee directed us onto our separate paths again. Another ten minutes and we hit the next intersection point and clashed for the second time.

The heavy Tullian chariot positioned itself ahead of the Flavian craft and slowed, trying to drop its rear on the opponent's engines and crush them, but the Silver Sparrows were too quick. So the Tullian driver Salcus Tullius Coruntus swung about suddenly, turning his chariot into a bludgeon, smashing the Viridians into the electrified shield wall. But the bestiarii net fighter Gurges Tullius lost his balance, and flew out, touching the shield wall. He screamed as the high-voltage wall electrocuted him. The air was suddenly filled with the stench of burned flesh and, worse, burned hair. He crumpled to the floor of the chariot, death claiming him, and Potitus Tullius Silo stepped in and pushed the body with his boot into the central hull, out of the way so it couldn't trip any of his men on the next turn.

The Caninines headed down one of the two paths that led away Licinus ordered that we pursue them, and all the teams headed down a single curving path, creating an overcrowded death zone with electrified walls on either side.

The turning point of the curve was known from the intersection and, instead of us taking the other, the meta. If we kept going along the same channel, we'd have one more pass before the course finished, which meant each side would have the chance to be on the inside curve. The closer to the wall, the more speed we'd retain, but the more chance a member of our team would be fried, or of damaging our chariot's electrical system.

The bronze and ebony Calpurnians tried to ram the Arrians, who in turn used part of their engine boost to shoot out of the way, exposing the Calpurnians to our weapons. Licinus ordered us to target Marcus.

Marcus was ready, though. His teammates shielded him, allowing my lanista to bring his gladius to bear, thrusting quickly—not at me, as expected, but targeting the person beside me—Barbata. The thurst was like lightning and Barbata took a shot to the side, but quickly responded with a kick to the left side of Marcus' shield, creating an opening on the right for me to take advantage of. There! I cut in with Orbis, but Marcus countered and caught me on the shoulder before the chariots drew us apart coming into the next turn. I was bleeding and my shoulder felt like it had been stuck with a white hot poker.

Then the final turn was on us. The chariots clustered. We crashed into the Viridians, the intercepting blades protruding from each chariot clashing and grinding, sparks flying. There was a rasping scream of metal on metal as the vehicles tore at each other, speed and gravity prescribing our course, the Viridians on the inside, the Tullians on the outside. I didn't want to cut the Golden Wolves' numbers down any more, but I had to be seen to be attacking. I made a swing at the gladiator Taticulus Viridius Leticus. He warded it easily, and I followed up, grabbing the central post of our chariot and sending a kick into his midriff, hoping to knock him back out of range. The corner was a long arc, and we were still locked in the curve.

Taticulus' stumble caused him to lose his footing and fall back against the post of his chariot. I was supposed to step in and follow him up, but suddenly, in the canal wall behind Taticulus, I saw the Hyperborean bull chief, right there moving through the solid ice. I froze. Would he come at me? Encircle me in his arms as he did in my dreams? I heard a yell and turned to see the Dioscurii leap from the helm of our chariot, Mania stepping up to temporarily seize the reins. The alien was gone when I looked back.

Castor boarded the Viridian chariot from the starboard side and Pollux threw himself to the ground, rolling under the Wolves' craft, slipping under the blades and all with lightning speed, and came up on the other side. Their long blades flashed on either side of the post, and Taticulus Viridius Leticus was dead. His throat cut, a half dozen swift puncture wounds to his abdomen. The brothers were gone, like ghosts, vanishing and then reappearing as they boarded our chariot and retook the reins, just as we pulled out of the corner. I'd never seen anything like it—we'd certainly never practiced it aboard
Incitatus—
but I'd read about it. It was a technique used by the ancient Greeks at their games.
Apobatai,
the feat of leaping off of the chariot and then back on.

Then we were out into the straight, and the finishing archway was ahead at the end of the canal. Gods, I just couldn't win. Was this the Furies' idea of a joke? To have me kill everyone except the most deserving? And what was with that damned ice barbarian? I wished he'd just come at me and be done with it. The wind howled down the canal and over us. Again, combat had slowed us, and the final race was now between the White Rams of House Arrian with their upgraded engines and the light Silver Sparrows of House Flavian.

Then the Flavians proved their worth. Not worth their salt in clashes and combat, but they had nerves of steel when it came to racing. Titus Flavius Cursor drove his silver chariot forward, matching Cynisca's pace. And then, when her whip lashed out, the silver ship made a surprising move, ramming the larger Arrian vessel. The piercing blades of the Arrian chariot drove into the Flavian craft's side, locking them together. Cynisca whipped in fury, but Septimus Flavius Stolo, the team leader, urged his men to lock shields and cover the driver. Genius. He'd cut his power and was building up his energy while cruising on the Arrians' engine upgrades. They were hurtling ahead of the rest of us, but the Arrian ship was now burning through its power boost in order to maintain its speed while pulling the Flavians along with it. And then, a quarter mile from the finish, we could see the channel's end, opening out into a hilly terrain of snow and ice. The Flavians pulled starboard, freeing themselves from the White Rams, and released the pent-up energy stored in their engines, rocketing forward. The Arrians charged on, but their upgrades wore thin just out from the finish line, and the Flavians sped through the triumphal arch, winning the day. Winners of the day, the Silver Sparrows were gifted with a shield generator that would protect them from harm for the next leg, giving them a significant advantage.

We camped on a plain of rolling ground, like the undulating waves of a frozen sea with rocks jutting up in clusters like little islands. Like the rocks around last night's camp, these seemed to contain their own light source, glowing softly as the daylight bled away. It was breathtakingly beautiful—even, rolling mounds of blue and white like a perfect sea. It reminded me of the beach on the northeast coast of Nova Australis where I'd been for holidays as a child. The water was always so smooth, so gentle. I wished I could relax like that here and now, but I had to be alert and that wasn't made easy by the onset of ambrosia withdrawal. I was certain now that the buzzing in my head wasn't a side effect of ambrosia or lack of it, it was related to the pin and this world. I felt if I could just get some distance from the pace of the games, I could figure out its secret and use it to find Aulus.

While we prepared for the following day, Ursus and Pullus performed their skit, recapping the crowd's favorite moment of the day in their aerial hologram show. They ran around in a circle and Ursus ran his hands over his body seductively before wielding his flute like a spear. Pullus shrieked and threw his hands in the air, running around and around in circles until he fell over from exhaustion and lay there while Ursus stabbed him with the flute. This was meant to represent Barbata killing Salinator.

*   *   *

P
ART OF THE PROBLEM
with Crassus was that whenever I saw him, I experienced a building sensual arousal, and with it, a justifiable shame. The blood in the arena didn't horrify me or repel me as I had thought it would. I liked it. Despite mourning the death of my countrymen, something about the whole atmosphere was thrilling. Life, sex, death—it was all bound up together here. This was what Marcus was trying to tell me back in Rome after our match. In the artificial confines of the game, we were closer to nature than we ever were in the cities. We hunted each other and were hunted in turn. Survival was based on skills. Death was only a moment away. Everything was hyperreal, sharp, and in focus like an ice sculpture. As well, my sense of smell had taken on a new life. I hated it, loved it. It was pure, and that experience was bound up with my feelings for Gaius Sertorius Crassus.

Inside the Sertorian tent, I was once again put through the interrogation, and Mania asked if I had spotted any more Hyperboreans, or anything else, for that matter, that was not part of the day's scheduled events. I confessed to my momentary sighting of the creature in the ice walls, but that it was more than likely a figment of my imagination, and she made no objection to Crassus taking possession of my share of ambrosia. Tension was building, the air was thick with it, and it was more than the race. The Blood Hawks were also under immense pressure from Aquilinus—they had to perform, had to win him his empire, as much as I had to save those things that mattered most to me. Crassus withheld the phial, though, and walked out, clearly uninterested in my fate. Was he playing games, or had I really burned my bridges? What of the deal to save Aulus and kill Licinus? Was that also in jeopardy?

I chased after him. Julia's words had been on my mind throughout the day. Barbata couldn't be allowed to exert so much influence over Crassus—I had to recapture his attention.

Our shared tent was occupied when I entered. Crassus was talking animatedly with Mania, and I just caught the tail end of a conversation about scanners and deposits. I overheard a word I'd never heard them mention before—“ichor”—before Mania signaled that they were not alone.

“Crassus, I want to apologize for last night. I want to tell you how I feel.” I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he turned on me, his face flushed red, swollen like a plum, his eyes bulging.

“You bitch slut. You mangy whore. Do you think I'd touch you with a ten-foot pole?”

He was screaming madly, raging at me, his eyes wild. Crassus always showed such self-control. Taken aback, I didn't even try to stand up to him, just withdrew cautiously from the tent.

I didn't know what had just happened then. It couldn't be ambrosia withdrawal because he'd just had a dose. Crassus seemed to have been struck with the same fit I'd seen pass over Barbata and Mania. Imagine them all like this and running the empire? It was too much to contemplate.

Whatever had happened with Crassus, I knew that I'd messed up. Again he marched across the campsite to Barbata's tent. They screamed as they copulated, like wild animals. Unrestrained, no-holds-barred, just like the tournament itself, and I couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to join with that enraged monster who stormed from my tent. How could she bear it? Could I?

I woke to a gentle prodding, right in the middle of a nightmare about the Hyperborean warrior coming for me, and nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Settle down, it's just me.”

Julia. I looked at the bed. No Crassus. He was still with Barbata.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“Come quick. I tried telling you this morning. Last night Licinus and Mania went outside the shield.”

“What for?”

“I don't know, but they took with them canisters from a secure locker on the war chariot. When they returned, the canisters were gone, and they carried caskets in their place.”

“Caskets? Like we saw in Licinus' quarters?”

“The very same. I think they're smuggling in ambrosia.”

“Which means they're running short on supply,” I said. “Tell me, have you heard the Sertorians use the word ‘ichor'? I walked in on Crassus and Mania and overheard them talking about it. Crassus went crazy when he realized I was there.”

“Ichor? No. It sounds familiar, though,” she said.

“It's the blood of the gods, in the ancient stories. It is said that ambrosia is the food of the gods; ichor is the stuff that runs through their veins. But what they mean by it I don't know.”

“Come on. Let's see what they're up to.” She pulled up a peg at the back of the tent and went to sneak out, but I hesitated.

“Come on. I think this is worth the risk,” Julia said.

But I couldn't go. What if they caught me? What if they stopped the ambrosia as punishment? What if I ran into my nightmare barbarian out there?

“Is that a real leash they've got on you?” she asked.

“They can track me with the bracelet,” I said. “I can't go out there.”

“I've already taken care of that,” Julia said. “As far as their systems are concerned you're in your tent.”

“It's not them,” I admitted.

“Not frightened of the ice monsters, are you?” she asked with an edge of scorn to her voice. “I saw you stand up to them just fine on the ship.”

“This one's different.”

“Sure. All right, then. Let's stay in our nice warm tent and play with dollies.”

“Shut up,” I said, moving past her under the tent. Julia was pushing my buttons on purpose, but it did the trick and reminded me of how unreasonable my fear was.

She led me out to the edge of the camp behind the tent. The border of the shield dome lay ahead of us in the darkness, glowing a soft purple.

Julia tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a position on the other side of the shield wall. As we crept forward, the surrounding rocks gave off their eerie glow, casting faint shadows in the night. There were two shapes in the distance. It had to be Licinus and Mania, about twenty feet ahead. They were crouched down, huddled over something.

I didn't see the small hole in the shield wall where Licinus and Mania had escaped the confines of the games, but I heard the wind rushing in through it. Julia pointed to a small box on the ice beside the wall, which generated the field that kept the gap open.

“Serve them right if I kicked the generator over and left them out there,” I said.