circumstances, there was a sense of commanding authority in his eyes. This had once been a man of some note, Vespasian guessed. Stopping about two paces away, the emperor folded his arms over his chest.
“What is your name, skeen?” he asked quietly. Vespasian took care to employ the skeen’s native dialect, and he used the craft to make sure their words would reach the ears of every spectator.
“I am Tanjiro of the House of the Six Rivers,” the man answered.
“What was your rank in the Shashidan army?” Vespasian asked.
“I am the First General of the Twelfth Cohort,” Tanjiro answered. “And I do not answer to you.”
Vespasian smiled. “Ah, but you are wrong,” he answered. “Not only do you answer to me, but you are no longer a general. As a once high-ranking officer, you must also have been a craft practitioner.”
“Yes,” Tanjiro answered bitterly. “But my gifts are gone, courtesy of your endowed Twenty-third Legion’s centurions.”
“That’s only fair, don’t you agree?” Vespasian answered. “After all, your forces do the same thing to our captured officers who are trained in the craft.”
Enraged, Tanjiro stepped menacingly toward the emperor. The stalkers lunged to protect Vespasian, but he knew he was in no danger. He stopped his grotesque servants with a wave of one hand.
“We don’t murder our captives,” Tanjiro growled, “or sell them at auction like cattle! Nor do we work them to death, or use them as sexual playthings! We treat them as respected prisoners of war! Shashida has but one class of people! All people-be they of endowed blood or not-are treated equally!”
His chest still heaving, Tanjiro tried to catch his breath. “That’s a concept with which you Rustannican Vagaries worshippers seem to be unfamiliar.”
Tanjiro was surprised to see Vespasian’s expression soften a bit. Then the emperor stepped closer.
“You Shashidans are as skillful at lying as you are at fighting,” he said. “Even so, I find that I like you. Under different circumstances we might have been friends. You have courage. Moreover, you are the first skeen to send one of my standards tumbling to the ground during a coliseum spectacle. You risked everything to dare that last act of defiance. You could scarcely have asked for a larger audience! Had I been in your place, I would have attempted the same thing. But that does not change the fact that we are mortal enemies.”
As his words echoed throughout the arena, Vespasian looked out toward the multitudes. Every spectator was on his or her feet, eager to know what would happen next. The emperor decided. He looked back at the slave.
“Get down on your knees,” he said.
“No,” Tanjiro growled. “Not today, not ever. If you’re going to kill me, I demand a warrior’s death. Let me remain standing so that I can see it coming.”
Vespasian was in no mood to barter with a slave-especially with one hundred thousand citizens, thePon Q’tar, the Priory, and the Tribunes all watching. He extended his hand again. Calling on the craft, he forced Tanjiro to his knees.
“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter,” he said softly.
Reaching to his side, Vespasian drew his dress sword. When it came free of its scabbard, its razor-sharp blade glinted in the reddish light. The crowd held its breath. Persephone leaned forward in her chair.
Vespasian employed the craft to force the slave’s head down, exposing the back of the man’s neck. He raised his sword, then decisively brought it down.
A collective gasp went through the crowd. Rather than separating Tanjiro’s head from his shoulders, Vespasian had buried the sword in the sand before the slave. Tanjiro hadn’t flinched. But when he saw the shining blade standing upright only inches from his face, he looked up at Vespasian with unbelieving eyes.
“I free you,” Vespasian said. “You fought well, and you were ready to accept death with equal bravery. You are now a Rustannican freeman of the Phrygian class. Arise, Tanjiro. You have but to take possession of my sword to claim your freedom.”
The slave was stunned, as was the crowd. Letting the air rush from her lungs, Persephone sat back in her chair. When an emperor gave his sword over to an arena slave, the gesture granted the slave perpetual freedom. From that day forward, the newly minted freeman needed only to show the sword to prove his status.
Lucius smiled to himself, then turned to look at thePon Q’tar. As he expected, they were huddled together, anxiously discussing this unexpected turn of events.
Then the First Tribune remembered what Vespasian had said about wanting to dress down Gracchus. As he took another gulp of wine, he realized that freeing a Shashidan general whom Gracchus had personally marked for death had just done that very thing. And as Vespasian had said, one couldn’t have asked for a larger audience!
Well done, my liege, Lucius thought. This is indeed a day of firsts.
Vespasian released Tanjiro from his enchanted hold over him. The freeman stood and looked his new emperor squarely in the eyes, then reached down and pulled the sword from the sand. He admired it for several moments. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, Tanjiro tossed it away. The mob gasped.
“I reject your offer,” Tanjiro said. “Better that I should be killed this day than to live in this monstrous dictatorship and watch my fellow comrades die for your pleasure in the arena. Kill me, Vespasian. Kill me and let’s be done with it.”
Vespasian respected Tanjiro’s answer. As a fellow warrior, he had half expected it. He looked Tanjiro in the eyes.
“Are you sure, Shashidan?” he asked. “I will not ask again.”
“Kill me or send me home,” Tanjiro answered.
“Very well,” Vespasian said. “I have tried to be merciful. Let your death be on your head.”
Vespasian opened his palm and held it out toward the sword lying in the sand. At once the weapon obeyed and jumped into his grasp. He stood there for a moment, thinking. After wiping the blade clean he calmly sheathed it.
Tanjiro glared at him. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Get it over with!”
The spectators were again restless for action, and they began shouting and stamping once more. The chant “Kill, kill, kill!” started thundering through the arena.
Vespasian looked around at the decorated arena walls. Choosing an image, he pointed toward a place on the wall just to the right of the Gates of Death. An azure bolt left his fingertips and tore toward it. It struck the stone surface, then flattened out, blanketing the beastly image that Vespasian had selected.
The creature represented on the wall started to come alive. The sight was terrible, mesmerizing. Crying out in agony as it emerged from the dark stones that seemed to give it birth, the thing took form. On recognizing the beast, the crowd roared in approval. The azure glow faded, and the newly born creature launched itself from the wall to pounce, snarling, onto the arena sand.
It looked like a giant wolf, except that it stood on its hind legs. Spotted tan fur covered its body. Its teeth were long and sharp, and its eyes glowed bright red. Its hind feet were padded like a wolf’s, but its front legs had five long, taloned fingers. Like the Blood Stalkers, it drooled copiously. Dark armor encased its torso; greaves and gauntlets protected its lower legs and forearms.
Vespasian looked at Tanjiro. “It’s called a Rustannican Heart Wolf,” he said quietly. “And the heart it wants is yours. You did say that you wanted to see it coming, did you not?”
Vespasian looked over at the hideous creature and then pointed at Tanjiro.
“Kill,” he ordered. His menacing whisper reached to the far corners of the arena.
The snarling wolf bounded in gigantic leaps across the arena. Calmly, Vespasian stepped aside. Knowing that there was no escape, Tanjiro stood his ground. Just before the wolf took him, he gave Vespasian a final, defiant look.
The Heart Wolf pounced on Tanjiro, pinning him to the sand and disemboweling him in seconds. Eagerly rooting around in the screaming man’s ravaged chest cavity, the wolf latched onto Tanjiro’s heart with its jaws and tore it free. With the Shashidan general dead, the monster devoured the heart and then started gorging on the rest of the corpse.
As the giddy crowd chanted his name, Vespasian returned to his private viewing box and reclaimed his seat. Persephone gave him an admiring look; Lucius respectfully tipped his wine goblet toward him.
“Well done, my liege,” the First Tribune said. He turned to look at thePon Q’tar clerics. Unlike the overjoyed crowd, they sat in stony silence. Lucius barked a short laugh.
