'Lucky, lucky!' said Voltan, seeking to unsettle his opponent. But Rage remained focused, not bothering to reply. In his movement, however, there was a growing exhaustion. 'Not much strength left now, Rage,' said Voltan. 'How does it feel to know you are going to die?'
Still no response, and Voltan began to feel a growing irritation. He had always found a way to unsettle opponents, to make them rash, or careless, to dismantle their concentration. But not Rage. It was as if he was fighting a statue made flesh, a creature without feelings or emotions.
Even so, Voltan was winning. It was just a question of time. As they circled he noted that Rage's sword was a little lower than before, as if its weight was dragging it down. The old man was also breathing heavily. 'Perhaps you should rest a little,' said Voltan conversationally. 'Step back and catch your breath.' As he spoke he attacked, almost taking Rage by surprise. The old man's sword came up more slowly than before, and Voltan's blade slid by it, glancing off Rage's ribs and ripping the skin. Rage spun on his heel, turning full circle, and lashed out. Voltan only partly blocked the cut and the blade sliced the flesh of his shoulder. He leapt back. Rage did not follow up his attack and Voltan grinned as he realized the old man had come, at last, to the end of his strength.
Then the drum sounded. Voltan blinked and glanced to the crowd, locating the black-bearded Telors.
As the beats sounded out, the crowd, knowing of Rage's legend, began to clap their hands in time to the booming drum. Voltan returned his attention to Rage, and saw that the old gladiator was standing straighter now, and in his dark eyes there was a gleam where before there had been only weariness. Voltan swore. It was going to take longer to kill the old bastard now.
Rage took one deep breath, then advanced. 'Cara sends her love,' he said softly, his voice friendly and warm.
For a moment only Voltan froze. Then Rage was upon him. Voltan parried desperately, but Rage's sword tore into his belly, ripping up through a lung and out through his back. Voltan sagged against Rage, letting go of his sword and resting his head on his killer's shoulder.
'Clever… move,' he whispered.
'It needed to be, boy,' said Rage, lowering him to the ground.
The crowd erupted in applause, and a burst of cheering filled the stadium.
'I… think… they're glad to see me die.' Voltan forced a smile. 'You should… get those wounds stitched.'
'I'll wait awhile,' said Rage.
Voltan lay quietly for a moment. There was no pain, and he felt curiously at peace. 'Does… Cara… know about me?' he asked.
'No. Nor will she. She's a fine girl though, strong, courageous and loyal. Any man would be proud to be her father.'
'I would have been… had I known.'
Voltan's head rolled to the side. He found himself staring at the two execution stakes erected at the centre of the arena, rising like spikes from mounds of oil-soaked brushwood.
'She forgave me,' he whispered. But Rage did not hear him.
Bane sagged against the railing as Rage rose from beside the dead Voltan. The old gladiator raised his sword in salute to the emperor, then strode from the arena, thunderous applause ringing in his ears. Slaves ran out to grab the dead Voltan's heels and drag his body across the sand.
From the far end of the arena came a troop of soldiers, leading out two figures. The first was Nalademus. As he saw the stake he began to struggle, throwing himself to the ground. Soldiers hauled him up and dragged him towards the pyres. He screamed and shouted, and the crowd jeered.
A little way back came the Veiled Lady. She was small, and slim, her pale blue dress gleaming with oil. Two soldiers were holding her bare arms, but she did not struggle, and walked with her veiled head held high.
'Burn them! Burn them! Burn them!' chanted the crowd.
'I suppose', said Jasaray, 'that I should offer you another wish, since Rage has robbed you of your revenge. Ask and it shall be given to you. You want Voltan's estates, or other lands. Chests of gold perhaps.'
Bane was staring down into the arena. 'I'll take her,' he said softly. 'Give me her life.'
'What? You know her?'
'No.'
'Then think again, Bane. She is the heart of these Cultists, and if I pardon her there will be a riot.'
'You said I could ask anything, Majesty,' Bane reminded him.
Jasaray's face hardened. 'At this moment I am your friend, Bane. Emperors are good friends to have. If you persist in this, you will become my enemy, and there will be no place for you in Stone or any of the lands of Stone. Why make me your enemy for a woman you do not know?'
Bane stared down at the woman, and listened to the baying of the crowd. While Nalademus screamed and begged, she merely stood, shoulders back, aloof and proud, the jeering of the crowd washing over her. 'She has courage,' he said softly. 'And, with all due respect, Majesty, I think her life is worth far more than your friendship.'
Jasaray rose from his seat and walked to the balcony's edge. The guards holding the prisoners were waiting for his signal. He pointed to the woman, beckoning the guards to bring her forward. He swung to Bane, his expression calm, but his eyes angry. 'Go down and collect your prize,' he said. 'You have two days to leave Stone – never to return.'
Bane bowed and walked from the enclosure.
In the arena Nalademus was dragged screaming to the stake. Bane ran down the aisle to the lowest level, climbed over the wall and leapt the twelve feet to the arena floor. He approached the guards holding the woman. 'The emperor has granted her freedom,' he said. The guards glanced up at the tall, stooping figure of Jasaray, who nodded to them. Instantly they released the arms of the Veiled Lady.
A single trumpet sounded, and the flames were lit beneath Nalademus. His terrible cries were pitiful, and the crowd hooted and yelled abuse at him. The Veiled Lady turned towards the tortured man and raised her hand. The Stone elder's head came up and he stared through the rising smoke at the frail woman in blue. His screams ceased, and he rested his head back against the stake. Rising plumes of smoke covered him.
'What did you do?' whispered Bane.
'I took away his pain,' said the woman.
Without his cries of agony there was no entertainment for the crowd, and they began to shout for the Veiled Lady's death. Bane took her arm and led her across the sand towards the gate to the Sword Room. Her clothes were slick with lantern oil, the smell sweet and pungent. She walked silently beside him, saying nothing. Once the mob realized she was not going to burn they began to yell and scream. A fight broke out in the western stand. Soldiers moved in to quell it. Seats were ripped from the stone, and someone hurled a cushion at the Royal Enclosure. More and more soldiers poured into the stands. Bane reached the Sword Room and ushered the Veiled Lady inside.
Rage was sitting there, a surgeon stitching his wounds. His face was grey, and he was holding a blood-covered towel to the wound in his chest. The Veiled Lady moved to his side. Taking the towel from him she dropped it to the floor, then laid her slim hand upon the bleeding gash in his chest. The wound closed instantly. The surgeon stood by astonished, for where there had been an open cut, bleeding profusely, there was now a long white scar, perfectly healed. She did the same for the cut on his temple and the wound in his shoulder. As Bane watched he saw the colour return to Rage's cheeks.
'I thank you,' said Rage, taking her hand and kissing it.
'And I thank you, Vanni,' she said, 'for without your sacrifice I would have burned.' She turned slowly towards Bane and lifted her veil.
He gasped and almost fell back. 'Sweet heaven!' he whispered. His limbs began to tremble and shake, and he sank onto a bench seat.
The Veiled Lady was Lia.
The door burst open and Telors ran in, followed by the gladiator Brakus. 'There is a riot outside,' said Telors. 'Mobs are gathered at every exit. They are shouting for her death. And the soldiers have been withdrawn.'
Rage heaved himself to his feet and reached for his sword. 'There will be no need of weapons,' said Lia. 'Trust me!' Rage stood still for a moment, then turned his attention to Bane, who was sitting slumped on the bench.
