Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (83 page)

“That's a good idea, go quickly,” I said to Lumen.

Concretus picked him up in one swoop and moved to the rear as the others fell into place, forming a defensive arc.

“False alarm,” Caninus said. “Some Hyperborean workers were wandering about out there. They must have tripped the perimeter alarm.”

I could sense that Lumen had something urgent to tell me, but I still couldn't hear his voice. I called him to me, trying to remember the knack of mind-to-mind communication. He started forward ahead of Concretus when suddenly the icy ground beneath the Hyperborean warrior fell away. Concretus plummeted into the darkness of a deep crevasse then I heard the sound of a body hitting running water. An underground river. Lumen tried to rush after him, but I quickly gripped his wrist and held him back.

“We have to rescue him,” I said.

“We can't,” Pavo explained. “We have to move forward to avoid the enemy. That river is running right back in their direction. He's gone.”

“Just as well it wasn't one of us,” Carbo added without the slightest note of sympathy.

A sonic mine. We were not under attack, there were no incoming chariots, but there was the telltale blast pattern on the ice shelf where it fell away. This was an ambush—Carbo's work.

I led Lumen away, back toward my shelter. He came willingly, without complaint.

“Can you sense Concretus? Is he alive?” I asked Lumen.

But there was no answer. For now, at least, it seemed I was Lumen's only protector. What could I say to Marcus? That I thought Carbo just ambushed Concretus? It'd split the group at once, splinter us when we most needed to be together for survival. And I couldn't be sure; maybe the crevasse formed naturally or maybe it was an ancient land mine, but it didn't seem likely. I'd talk to my uncle when I got the chance to speak to him alone. He would believe me, he'd take action to see that Carbo didn't endanger the mission. Family looked out for family.

XLIV

T
HE NEXT MORNING WE
packed up camp and headed out on the highway. Aquilinus' next challenge was marked by a shining icon in the distance and shield walls prevented us from leaving the road. Once again, the Talonites appeared behind us, driving us forward. Still no sign of the Blood Eagles. I still couldn't be sure that what happened the night before wasn't an accident—the gods knew that Fate had stolen enough lives since this tournament began. I still needed to speak to my uncle alone as soon as the opportunity presented itself. I was even more concerned about my inability to communicate with Lumen. What had changed in me that now the song had reverted to a buzzing hum, no more mind-to-mind transmission? I tried to comfort him, to tell him that I was there for him, even without Concretus I'd allow no harm to come to him.

“Accala, you have the attention of the mob,” my uncle said as we neared the challenge. “Your words and actions must keep them focused on the emperor's promise of reinstating the real tournament. They're impatient, demanding, and we must fan those flames until they start to burn Aquilinus.”

Julius Gemminus directed us off the highway and onto a high plateau banked by steep ledges. He ordered that we split into separate groups designated by house. The Viridian chariot also held Lumen and Crassus, leaving Marcus to head up the remaining chariot and Titus Cursor to pilot a skirmisher. As soon as we'd complied the shield walls generated from above suddenly appeared and precisely cut the space between our vehicles, separating our party into three lots. These shield walls were nonlethal, no electric charge; they were just meant to herd us in the direction of Aquilinus' choosing. We were driven into three corridors that ran parallel. We traveled like that for a mile before we reached the game zone.

Spherae hovered around the field but Aquilinus had learned his lesson and none came near enough for Julia to seize control of them.

Ahead of each of the three pathways was a unique, oddly shaped course, also demarcated by the energy fields.

The Calpurnian course comprised staggered cubes, four in all, each one connected by a narrow passage. Titus Flavius Cursor's course was a large domed sphere.

And ours, the one intended for the Golden Wolves, was a long, narrow channel, only seven feet or so across.

All the paths resumed on the other side of each course, running out to the open air and the triumphal arch beyond marking the exit.

“Emperor Aquilinus is asking you a question.” Julius Gemminus beamed. “He let go of the gods, cut away the weakness in his own house, did not let the death of his family and friends deter him from seeking the truth, and in the end, when he was beaten and tormented by his enemies, he endured. He understood that you must let go of all attachments if you seek to ascend to divinity. Today you will be tested to your limits. You've nothing left but yourselves. You are where Aquilinus the man himself once stood. How much punishment will you endure before you accept the wisdom he is trying to impart? There are no gods, no force that can hold back death while we travel the mortal realm. Death will claim you as it claimed your gods, your allies, your families. Now is the time to cast off mortality and join with Aquilinus.”

He wasn't just asking us a question. He was asking a question of the whole empire: How far will you let me push before you push back? Can I just swoop in and take it all without a word being spoken?

As Julius Gemminus made his speech, in the sky above us, large black cargo carriers dropped in. They took up position above us.

“The fustuarium supplicium—the punishment of cudgeling—was originally a legion punishment for disobedience, cowardice, or the commission of a serious crime,” Julius Gemminus announced. “The perpetrator would run through a course between two rows of men who would beat him with cudgels, and if he lived he was considered to have paid for his crime. From that the sport of the obstacle gauntlet arose.”

The editor's voice grew excited as he continued, “Let's watch these dogs run for us. Let's whittle them down and see if there's any sense left in them, any iota of wisdom that will lead them to the logical conclusion—that they can't win, that they must join with us or be trammeled into the earth as we rush to ascend.”

“Contest!” I called out. “Where is the contest we were promised? Where are the true games?”

Laughter boomed from the sky. “You want conflict? Then choose. Face your enemies and prove your worth, or face the mystery obstacles.”

Now the Talonite teams appeared, dropped in behind us. The sounds of war horns and drums boomed out from the sphera in the air above us. The enemy charged forward, coming in for the kill. They had advanced weapons loaded up on the front of their vehicles—ion blasters that fired repeatedly, shattering the ground ahead of them.

“Minerva, he's mad as a March hare,” my uncle said. “If we make a stand, we'll be dead in seconds.” Carbo quickly ordered us forward, to face whatever awaited us in the course ahead.

The thin ion bolts caught us, a horizontal hailstorm of energy. It was like being pierced by dozens of hot needles, narrow holes punched right through our bodies. We were hit again and again, but no one fell. They were using advanced targeting systems; they hit arms, shoulders, legs only, no fatal wounds to the head or heart. One seared the back of my hand, another hit Julia again and again, targeting her hand, but the hand strangely seemed to absorb the energy. They were draining us, wearing us down for what lay ahead.

We rushed down the narrow corridors, the Talonites hot on our tails. Just as we were about to enter the oddly shaped zones, our pursuers backed off and new shields appeared, covering the way behind us, sealing us in. Carbo called a full stop, and we quickly looked back and forth at one another through the transparent shields that separated us, wondering what would come next. Now the carriers used force field beams to lower their cargo, large black shipping containers, into each of the three corridors behind us. They passed effortlessly through the shields before coming to rest.

I heard howling at first, and then new pursuers rushed into the narrow way behind us, taking the place of the Talonites. Wolves. Dozens and dozens of large gray wolves, each the size of a fully grown man, came rushing in. Maddened, starving, they howled, streaming toward us along the channel, hungry for our blood. There was no way to turn around, to bring the chariots' weapons to bear. Forward was the only way. “Charge!” Carbo ordered.

The chariot was fast, but the wolves seemed unnaturally fast and able to keep up.

As we raced, all about us on the transparent shield walls that contained our course were projected the fates of the other teams. Marcus Calpurnius faced a different enemy: Large ravens with shining yellow eyes streamed into each of the square segments he had to race through. The monstrous birds swarmed him, plucking not at his eyes and face but pulling at the vegetables that hung from his breastplate, ripping and tearing. Marcus couldn't stop every beak and claw, and with the wounds he already suffered, he would soon die of blood loss.

Titus Flavius Cursor suffered a different fate. Sparrows with razor-sharp silver beaks surged in, thousands of them, filling the dome, crashing into one another, fluttering in a chaotic pathway, slicing Titus' skin again and again. He was going to be overwhelmed in seconds, except suddenly he rose above the flock, his small implanted wings flapping desperately, carrying him just above the swarm for a few seconds before the feeble wings tired and he sank back down into the flurry of silvered beaks.

This would be death by a thousand cuts—slow murder at the hands of our house emblems. Ripped apart by wolves, eaten by ravens, shredded by sparrows.

“Look out!” I called. Ahead, as we approached the exit, the way narrowed, and there was no way for the chariot to pass on level ground. Nervo yelled for us to hang on and then he tilted the craft. We all went skittering across, bracing ourselves as we hit the bottleneck. The chariot jammed.

“I'm going to have to turn it on its side to get it through. Everyone up!”

We climbed for our lives, taking up position on the high ground as the wolves hit. Caninus, Carbo, and I held them back while the others helped free the chariot so Nervo could power us clear. Except the wolves were coming in thick and fast, fifty, maybe more of them, a fast-moving blitz of teeth and fur, yellow eyes crazed with whatever process Aquilinus had put them through before sending them on to us. We took bite after bite, sharp teeth rending flesh. Nervo finally got our craft moving, but we were about to be overwhelmed. We would die, crushed by the pressure of the canine bodies, if not their fangs.

A trumpet blared, and suddenly a field appeared between us and the wolves. The teeth clashed against an invisible wall, keeping them from our throats.

“Stop! Stop!” Julius Gemminus called out. “All of you! Listen!”

I looked around. Marcus was on the ground, defending the final gate of his course, close to the exit. But in the spherical run, Titus Flavius was on his knees. An energy field now separated him from the sparrows, who flew above his bleeding body. He was broken, haggard; his head hung.

“Say it again,” Aquilinus' voice boomed from the sky. “Say it louder so they can all hear.”

There was a pause and then, “Mercy,” Titus mumbled, but now there was a sphera above him, amplifying his words, cleaning up the sound so that there was no doubt that we were hearing a capitulation of the worst kind. I couldn't believe my ears. The last of his team. The father had died yesterday at the hands of Aquilinus' spinning tops. Now the son had had enough; he had hit his limit and couldn't go on. I felt it. I wanted to give in too, but I couldn't. I'd given my life to a higher cause, for something bigger than myself. No matter what Aquilinus took, he couldn't take the light at the heart of me, the numinous spark that was left when everything was stripped away.

“Do you accept me as your emperor?” Aquilinus asked. “Speak clearly and you shall be spared, raised up above others, even. The child who repents, having learned his lesson, is loved by the father even more than those who saw the light without suffering.”

“If you will stop this,” Titus said weakly.

“Then I will spare not only you but also your house. Offer up your prayers to me, and I shall grant them. Worship me with a sincere heart, and you may share in my divinity.”

Titus slowly straightened up, raising his head, and then shook it with as much strength as he could muster.

“I didn't say anything. I was just coughing up some feathers that were stuck in my throat,” he said, “but if you like I'll say something now. One man may bow to another. There is no shame in the stronger man defeating the weaker, the faster beating the slower, but a man is still only a man. When the emperor leads a triumph through Rome, the one who holds the laurel wreath above his head whispers to him that he is mortal, that he will die. It's a good idea. Keeps rulers from going crazy. I bet you don't have a guy like that, whispering the truth to you.”

“Speak again!” Aquilinus boomed. “Speak again and quickly, or my fleet will burn your homeworld to the ground. A whole world wreathed in nuclear fire. Speak words that will assure your good fortune, not spell the doom of your people.”

“Do what you will. We Flavians are not religious. I'm not sure I even believe in the gods, but we call it how we see it. I will never call you or any other living emperor a god. No self-respecting Flavian would. Shit, and it's just not our way, it's positively un-Roman.”

The sky was filled with upturned thumbs. The crowd wanted to spare him. They admired his courage. Aquilinus was learning that being emperor wasn't all about getting what you wanted, that the citizens of the empire were always more powerful than any ruler or coalition of houses when they spoke with a single voice.

The fields kept us trapped, helpless to do anything but watch as the sky was cleared of constellations of thumbs, the people's voice erased as the sparrows rushed in, the whole dome filling with them, but somehow the cameras managed to get in and capture the action as the small creatures tore at Titus' body. Still, the Flavian's voice came through, taunting Aquilinus. “I've been cold ever since I came to this world. I'll take these warm feathers with me to the underworld.” Brave Titus Flavius Cursor! The sparrows swarmed and soon only bloody bones remained.