IT IS HOT AGAIN TODAY, VESPASIAN THOUGHT, AS HE STARED out over the massive, bloodthirsty crowd. It was barely midday and already the huge red canopies had been stretched over the arena, shielding the spectators from the sun. After taking a sip of wine, the emperor again looked down at the carnage.
So many skeens, centurions, and wild animals had already been killed that one couldn’t tell whether the sandy coliseum floor was bathed in blood or simply tinted by the sunlight filtering down through the red canopies. Scattered limbs, bodies, and organs lay partly submerged in the sand like bizarre islands in a sea of blood. Shattered chariots and smashed carriages lay about as though they had been tossed there by giants. Dead and dying horses, wild beasts, and weapons of all types could be seen by the hundreds.
And yet the first act has not concluded, Vespasian thought. The games had been going on for four hours, but even now the first group of hard-fighting skeens continued to resist.
The emperor turned to look at Persephone. Sensing his gaze, she returned his glance and smiled. She looked splendid in a yellow silk gown and delicate gold jewelry. Vespasian reached out to grasp her hand. Despite the ongoing spectacle, for a moment her easy smile made it seem as if the insane world inside the coliseum didn’t exist.
She is so beautiful, he thought. And I love her beyond words. Surely she is the best part of me. After taking another sip of wine, Vespasian returned his attention to the games.
This was the seventh day of what would soon become nearly a fortnight of death and mayhem taking place on the coliseum floor. Thousands of skeens and centurions and a host of wild animals had already perished for the amusement of the crowd. Every day seemed to bring with it some higher form of savage cruelty. Surprisingly, the unprecedented games had produced another effect besides delighting the mob. Because he had personally ordered these games, Vespasian’s already great popularity had risen even higher. Moreover, his newly proclaimed campaign against Shashida and his announcement of the successful auspicium had also added to his charisma.
Graffiti had sprung up throughout Ellistium providing adoring testament to the emperor’s bravery, his vision, his amazing ability to use the craft. Heralds had taken to writing their own scripts that proclaimed Vespasian’s magnificence, and they were brazenly reading them aloud from their citywide towers. Young men-each one suddenly eager to become a part of their emperor’s new campaign-were joining the legions in record numbers. For the first time in decades the mood sweeping over Ellistium was wildly joyful. From the most august krithian all the way down to the lowliest phrygian tradesman, each believed that his august emperor could do no wrong.
Vespasian looked around his viewing box. As usual, thePon Q’tar clerics were in attendance, as were the maidens of the Priory of Virtue. But Lucius and the other Tribunes were absent, readying their mighty legions for the new campaign. Those forces of the Imperial Order that were afield had been sent new directives telling them to withdraw from their current struggles and to turn north toward home. Vespasian realized that an order of that magnitude would surely alert the Shashidan Ones that something was brewing, but that couldn’t be helped.
When the forces stationed in the capital were ready, they would move south to join their brothers. There they would regroup and head toward Shashidan territory. While the barges sailed south on the six rivers, the legions would curve around from the west and east, devouring Shashidan towns and armies while approaching the mines in a gigantic pincer movement. One week from now the capital troops would be ready to depart Ellistium. Once they joined their fellows, the combined invasion force would dwarf any in Rustannican history.
Hearing the crowd roar again, Vespasian looked back down at the grisly spectacle. The combatants were reenacting the Rustannican victory at Messalina, a city that had been lost to the Shashidans three centuries ago and then retaken in one of the bloodiest and most protracted battles ever fought in the War of Attrition. Reenacting Rustannican victories was something that the mob especially relished. Although no details about the new campaign would be made public, its impending start was reason enough for the crowd to revel even more joyfully than usual in today’s retelling of a Rustannican military triumph.
Vespasian watched as the Gates of Life swung open. Another ten chariots bearing three tribunes each raced into the arena to go charging toward the Shashidan skeens still alive on the sandy floor. Each chariot held a driver, an archer, and a lance thrower, every man an expert in his field.
Of the one thousand skeens that had been shoved into the arena at the start of the day, only thirty remained standing. Most of them were bloodied and broken, and Vespasian doubted that they would survive this fresh onslaught by the tribune charioteers. Even so, he reminded himself that he could be proved wrong. The surviving skeens were clever and battle-hardened, and like all Vigors worshippers they would fight to the death. The crowd knew this and reveled in it. Chanting and stamping, they watched breathlessly as the ten chariots thundered in.
Unlike other spectacles, battle reenactments were staged affairs that more or less accurately portrayed famous Rustannican military victories. With help from the craft, the entire coliseum floor could be flooded, allowing mock warships to actually fight and sail atop the waves. Reenacted sea battles were especially popular, and sometimes the small ocean entrapped within the arena walls was filled with sharks and other man-eating creatures, adding a brief but grisly flavor of unpredictability.
Although their outcomes were a certainty, these reenacted battles were not entirely without a twisted brand of fairness. The Games Master was always careful to set equal numbers of centurions and skeens against each other. No craft use was allowed by the centurions, because all Shashidan skeens had been stripped of their power to use magic. The skeens were well armed and given various forms of terrain that they could use as cover. Beasts were often conjured from the mosaics adorning the arena walls to threaten and kill centurions and skeens alike, adding another unpredictable facet to the spectacle. The skeens were even granted food and water so that their strength would not falter and anger the crowd.
Because the battle to retake Messalina had been fought in rugged terrain, a miniature mountain had been constructed of wood, painted gray, and placed in the center of the arena floor. Measuring nearly fifty meters across and nearly as high, during the previous night it had been brought piece by piece into the arena, where it was painstakingly rebuilt. Complete with rocks and foliage, from a distance the small mountain looked amazingly genuine. Wild man-eating animals that had been starved nearly to death roamed the entire area, threatening skeens and centurions alike.
Despite such concessions made in the name of authenticity, the result was always a Rustannican victory, lest the usually drunken crowd stage a riot. And so ever more centurions-usually volunteers who were paid handsomely for the privilege of showing off their various skills before an adoring public-were continually sent in until the last of the skeens and the wild beasts were annihilated. If the skeens were proficient, killing them might take an entire day. Despite their contrived outcomes, the finales always resulted in jubilant crowds. Whenever a land or a sea battle was reenacted, the best seats often went for double the normal price, and the bet takers, wine merchants, and prostitutes were even busier than usual.
Vespasian watched one chariot speed straight toward a group of skeens who had not been quick enough to take refuge on the mountain. The specially crafted chariot was a beautiful thing-too beautiful, Vespasian thought, to serve such an ugly purpose.
The chariot was painted dark blue and adorned with gold filigree. Two magnificent black stallions sped it across the sand. The axle shafts running through each wheel hub had been extended, reaching a good two meters sideways from either side of the cart. The wildly spinning axles were also adorned with gold, and along their sides lay sharpened steel blades that spun madly with the revolutions of the chariot’s wheels. As the driver whipped the team the archer drew back his bow and the lance thrower hoisted his shining spear over one shoulder, preparing to strike.
But the clever skeens acted quickly. Banding together, they placed their shields side by side and over their bodies, creating a dome that would provide them cover. Knowing that he had little time to lose, the chariot archer loosed his arrow. It pierced a skeen shield but did not reach its owner.
Still the driver charged his chariot onward, directly toward the fragile house of shields. It seemed that he was intent on driving his team straight into it regardless of the outcome. Then the lance thrower tried, but his weapon skidded harmlessly across one of the angled shields and fell to the sand.
The three charioteers immediately drew their swords. As the chariot charged ever nearer, the turtle of shields defiantly stood its ground. Just then Vespasian realized that the defiant skeens surely had a plan. They must act soon, he guessed, or they will be mowed down.
Sensing that a great collision might occur, Vespasian quickly stood and cheered his centurions onward. Seeing their beloved emperor rise to his feet caused the crowd to shout even louder as they too anticipated the crash.
Just as the chariot was about to mow them down, the skeens abandoned the turtle tactic and formed two straight lines on either side. Unable to change direction quickly enough, the chariot charged straight through the gap. But three of the skeens hadn’t been quick enough. Although they tried to jump aside, the axle spikes found them, slicing each of them through at the waist. Spurting blood, the grotesque halves tumbled to the thirsty sand.
As the horses tore between the skeen lines, the surviving slaves plunged their swords deep into the stallions’ chests and struck out at their front legs. Screaming wildly, the two horses went down, the stumps of their severed front legs burying into the sand. As the crowd roared, the horses flipped forward onto their backs. Still harnessed to the team, the chariot also launched into the air, turning upside down and crashing ahead of the tortured horses. The three charioteers went flying onto the sand some distance away.
The tables had been turned, and the centurions were now at the mercy of the skeens. Because the other nine chariots and their riders were busy elsewhere, Vespasian realized that this trio was done for. Before they could rise to their feet, the jubilant skeens were on them, hacking them to pieces. Starving animals then rushed in to pounce on two of the busy skeens and to devour the scattered corpse halves.
Vespasian took a deep breath. So much blood and violence, he thought as he again sipped his wine. But that part of our nature must remain if we are to defeat the Shashidans. We must stay hard, brutal, and unyielding, for the price of our freedom is constant vigilance. Looking down, he used an index finger to thoughtfully trace the rim of his wine goblet.
Perhaps if the Vigors are defeated we can someday forgo all violence, he mused. That is my secret dream. But I fear that brutality might be forever ingrained in our blood signatures. After aeons of cultivating violence, it will not be easily dismissed, even if I can secure a lasting victory.
He turned to look at Persephone again. Flushed with excitement, she watched eagerly as the fighting raged on. More centurions were being let into the arena to take the place of their fallen comrades, while the exhausted skeens could do nothing but watch and wonder how much longer it would take them to die. As Vespasian’s attention focused ever more on Persephone, he was reminded of the great request he had made of her the day before…
“What bothers you so, my love?” Persephone asked. Dipping her sponge into the warm water again, she soothingly used it to rub Vespasian’s naked back. Closing his eyes, the emperor luxuriated in his wife’s loving gesture.
There were only two places in the world where Vespasian felt that he commanded total privacy, and they were both in the royal residence. The first was in his and Persephone’s vast and luxurious bedchambers. The other was here in their private bath.
Like attending the games, bathing-both public and private-had become something of an addiction in Ellistium. Most people used the public baths, but some of the wealthiest citizens possessed private baths. The public baths were often linked to other facilities such as massage rooms, meeting places, exercise areas, eateries, and shops. Sometimes the water was heated by the craft, but most often it was warmed in underground boilers connected to wood-burning furnaces and was then piped into the bathing pools. As would be expected, the royal bath was a sumptuous affair. Unless Vespasian and Persephone deigned to invite guests, this place was for their use alone.
The room was large and beautifully appointed. Measuring thirty meters square, its walls and ceiling were made of the finest turquoise and onyx. The floor was a subtly patterned mosaic of white marble squares. A large rectangular skylight in the center of the ceiling allowed sunlight to flood in. A dozen fluted columns stretched from the floor to the ceiling to support the four sides of the massive skylight. The rest of the ceiling was comprised of a series of indented squares, each one bordered by ornate gold moldings and painted with a different scene from Rustannican antiquity. Shaped like the dark blue mosaic pool lying directly beneath it, the skylight let in not just sunlight but also rainwater, reducing the need to continually add more water.
The bath walls were covered with colorful frescoes, separated every few meters by decorated pilasters reaching from floor to ceiling. Scented water burbled from a golden spout in the center of each wall to fall into another stone pool. Luxuriously upholstered sofas and chairs and ornately framed mirrors had been placed about the room, and a host of handmaidens stood by to serve every need of the Blood Royal and his wife. Two of the handmaidens provided lyre and flute music, and caged birds added a soft chorus as sunlight streamed down through the atrium to shimmer in the pool water. Vespasian’s personal masseur, a stout skeen who had served the emperor for two decades, stood ready to employ his strong hands and exotic oils.
As Persephone gently rubbed his back, Vespasian flexed his naked body. He loved the royal bath, but his mind remained troubled. His recent night terror had shaken him and he feared that another might come. But even more worrisome was the thought that he might somehow be struck down by one of these terrifying visions during the day for everyone to see. He knew that he could not afford such an occurrence-especially with the advent of his new campaign.
He turned to look at Persephone. Only she understands me, he thought. Not even Lucius knows me so well. Nor does he know about my secret weakness. How I need this woman…
Reaching up, he removed the elegant diamond clasp that collected her long blond hair. Tossing it across the floor, he shook her tresses free, letting them slip into the warm water, and pulled her naked body to his. Persephone smiled knowingly as she playfully laid her wet forearms on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.
Smiling, she touched the tip of one index finger to the end of her husband’s nose. “You still haven’t told me what troubles you,” she said. “Arousing me won’t stop me from asking, you know.”
Vespasian nodded. “Come,” he said. “Let’s talk.”
Looking across the chamber, he snapped his fingers at the handmaidens and the masseur. At once they gathered up their things and left the room, bowing as they went.
Vespasian led Persephone through the shoulder-deep water toward the pool steps. As they walked up he reached out to a nearby table and took up a heavy white robe, which he draped around her wet body. Smiling, she squeezed the water from her hair.
Vespasian donned a matching robe, then led her to one of several lounging sofas and bade her lie down. After filling two wine goblets resting on a nearby table, he handed one to her. As he sat down beside her, the look in his eyes became searching.
She reached out to touch his face. “It’s your night terrors, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s what you need to talk about. I understand, my love. They would frighten anyone. But the two guards have been killed. Only I know your secret, and it will never leave my lips.”
Looking down at his goblet, Vespasian shook his head. “It’s more than that,” he said. He took a deep breath. “There is something that I must ask you to do for me. It will be dangerous, but I hope that you will consent.”
“I would do anything for you, you know that,” she answered softly.
Vespasian put down his goblet. “I want you to accompany me on the new campaign,” he said simply. “We leave in one week.”
Persephone was overjoyed. Her eyes widened and she took a quick breath.
“You know that I will!” she said.
Tears started welling up in her eyes. She had desperately feared watching him go to war, just as she had done all the times before. But this time was different. This was to be an all or nothing campaign, and the greater dangers involved had been driving her nearly mad with worry. As Vespasian brushed away her tears, a short laugh of relief escaped her. At least if he dies I will die with him, she thought.
“But why this time?” she asked. “I have never accompanied you before.”
As Vespasian sipped his wine his eyes took on a thoughtful, faraway look.
“There are several reasons,” he answered. “First and foremost, I have not been convinced by thePon Q’tar that theJin’Sai won’t somehow find his way into our side of the world. He is amazingly resourceful, as are his mystics. If that happens you will be far safer afield with me and the legions than here in Ellistium, protected only by the Home Guard.”
“What leads you to worry that he can cross over?” Persephone asked. “If it is impossible for us to do so, then surely theJin’Sai and his mystics cannot. After all, their powers in the craft pale when compared to ours.”
“That’s true,” Vespasian answered. “But Tristan has surprised us before. And remember, we still cannot know the full extent of what he might have learned from the traitorous Crysenium Envoys. But there is something more…something tugging at my heart since experiencing my first night terror. It is almost as if he and I are connected somehow, despite the mountain range that separates us. I can almost see him trying to reach us.” Shaking his head, he gave Persephone a reassuring smile.
“But do not worry, my love,” he said. “If he should come we will deal with him and his flying monstrosities.”
“And your other reasons?” she asked.
“I no longer trust Gracchus as I once did,” Vespasian answered. “I haven’t done so for some time. I do not brand him a traitor, but I sense that he has some personal mission that does not entirely match mine. Like my suspicions about theJin’Sai, these are feelings that I cannot justify. But my instincts are strong enough to tell me that should I be killed on this campaign, Gracchus might not continue it in the way that I have planned-and our victory is vital. Four days ago, his scheme to sacrifice so many skeens in the arena without my consent only added weight to my convictions. While it’s true that Lucius might protest a change in the battle plan that Gracchus engineered, even the First Tribune is outranked by the leadPon Q’tar cleric. But you outrank them both. With you in attendance, my wishes would be carried out. To override you, Gracchus would first have to kill you while deep among Lucius and the combined legions. Lucius would immediately become suspicious. Even thePon Q’tar ’s powers in the craft could not overcome their combined strength, and Gracchus knows it. He would have no choice but to honor your commands.”
“I understand,” Persephone said. “But there is more to all this, isn’t there? I suspect that your need to have me near also has something to do with your recent night terror.”
A grim look came over Vespasian’s face. “Yes, my love,” he answered. “I must admit that it does. You are the only person that I dare trust with my secret. I have considered confiding in Lucius, but even he needs to remain convinced that his emperor is totally fit and able to conduct this campaign. And I am fit, aside from these strange and terrifying episodes. But there remains something else about them that worries me even more.”
Reaching out, she lifted his chin and turned his eyes toward hers. “And what is that?” she asked.
“That someday one of these awful visions will overtake me while I am awake, for everyone to see,” he answered. “I have no proof that such a thing will occur. Again, it’s only a feeling. But should it happen I will need you by my side. You might be able to spirit me away before anyone realizes that I am in such terrible distress. Should I suffer such a daytime attack in public, Gracchus might well have me declared mad. According to Rustannican law, that is his right, but only if he has reliable witnesses of my supposed incompetence. A day terror would provide him with more evidence than he would ever need. With you by my side, should I fall ill, you can make the needed excuses. Such explanations will be far more commanding coming from the empress than from the First Tribune.”
As she listened to Vespasian’s words, Persephone realized that her husband was right. She would gladly accompany him to the ends of the earth if it meant helping him win this new campaign-to say nothing of keeping him in power.
“How will you explain this to thePon Q’tar?” she asked.
Vespasian gave her a wry smile. “You need to stop thinking in those terms,” he said. “If something happens to me, you will become the new ruler of Rustannica. You must quickly put your personal grief aside, no matter how overwhelming it might be, and immediately take charge. Gracchus and the others will start appraising your performance from the first moment. Stop worrying about howyou will explain things tothem. Rather, it istheir task to worry about whatever ordersyou might give. To answer your question, I am the emperor. I will simply command that you come, and I will do so without giving my reasons. To be forced into explaining myself would be seen as a sign of weakness. That is something that we cannot afford-especially now.”
“And what of Rustannica?” Persephone asked. “If the campaign fails and we die, who will oversee our beloved country?”
“After I announce that you are joining the campaign, I will ask Lucius to recommend a tribune who commands his full trust,” Vespasian answered. “He will remain here and oversee the nation. It is the most that we can do.” Vespasian sighed and took another sip of wine.
“But if the campaign fails, given the state of the treasury there will surely be a citywide riot,” he added. “It might not be immediate, but it would surely come eventually. As the news of the defeat and the treasury collapse spread, anarchy will devour the nation. With most of our forces destroyed, we will be wide open for attack. The Borderlands will become useless, and the Shashidans will be able to walk into our country unimpeded. The Vagaries will be destroyed and the Vigors will rule forever.”
Persephone gave him a somber look, then lowered her face. “If I had been able to give you an heir, some of our troubles would be solved for us,” she said softly. “The child would be young, but at least someone of our bloodline would rule after we were gone. I’m so sorry, Vespasian. I wanted a child more than anything in the world. But it was not to be…”
Vespasian put his hands on her cheeks and looked into the eyes that he so loved. “We haven’t failed,” he said with a smile. “We simply have yet to succeed. We are far from the day when there will be no more reason to try.” As he looked at her, his gaze suddenly became hungrier.
“I suggest that we waste no more time talking,” he said. “Actions speak far louder than mere words.”
Standing, he removed his robe. As he did, Persephone looked up to see his muscular body still wet and glistening with bathwater. She parted her robe, readying herself for him.
As Vespasian took her, the empress trembled and cried out as never before…
As another terrible scream reached his ears, Vespasian’s thoughts returned to the present. A Rustannican Heart Wolf freshly conjured from the arena walls was rooting about in the innards of a fallen skeen. For a moment the dreadful creature paused its feasting to look around the huge crowd. Fresh blood dripped from teeth and muzzle. As expected, the mob cheered and stamped, begging for more.
Vespasian took a quick count to find that only five skeens remained standing. For the sake of moving on toward the next act, the last skeens would be dispatched quickly. Then would come a brief intermission while the fabricated mountain was dismantled and taken away. Another act of today’s games would soon follow, then more after that until nightfall. When Vespasian reached over to take Persephone’s hand, she turned and gave him a short smile.
This morning the emperor had publicly issued his order regarding Persephone’s attendance on the impending campaign. As a precaution he had also handwritten the proclamation, then commanded that the heralds shout it from every tower in the city even before the news was made available to the Tribunes and thePon Q’tar.
Vespasian had little doubt that the public would receive the news favorably. They loved their empress, and he rightly guessed that seeing her go to war alongside her beloved husband would only endear her to them more. He was quickly proved right when Persephone’s name was soon being joyfully shouted aloud both in the city streets and amid the mayhem that was the coliseum. But it had not been only for Persephone’s benefit that Vespasian had done this. Rather, if the public widely approved, thePon Q’tar would be harder pressed to accept his terms.
So far Vespasian’s gambit was working. He had heard rumors of some minor grumbling among thePon Q’tar and of surprise among some of the Tribunes. Even so, no formal protest had been lodged. Vespasian knew that the longer the public rejoicing in this matter reigned, the better his council would come to accept his edict.
Even so, despite the overwhelming agreement among the populace, Vespasian remained somewhat worried that thePon Q’tar had accepted his new order so gracefully. The surprising lack of discourse usually accompanying so unexpected an order had unnerved him, forcing him to again question the clerics’ motives.
Turning around, he looked at Gracchus. The lead cleric was on his feet, waving his fists in the air as he cheered the deaths of the remaining Shashidan skeens. When at last he found Vespasian’s gaze upon him, he bowed and smiled broadly. It was a wry smile, forcing Vespasian to guess at what might lie behind it. Nodding in return, Vespasian again faced the arena, wondering.
As the last of the skeens died, hundreds more centurions rushed through the Gates of Life to start disassembling the fabricated mountain and removing the debris. It would take some time, Vespasian realized, for much of the mountain was littered with blood and the bodies and body parts of skeens, centurions, and wild animals. Vespasian took another sip of wine and sat back in his ivory throne. He would never forget that moment, for in the space of an instant his life suddenly changed.
First the dizziness took him. It did not come all at once, but gradually, like the onset of too much wine. Then the sweating started. As he tried to put down his goblet, he spilled a bit of wine. Soon his hand was trembling, and he knew.
Desperately hoping that he could hide his condition from everyone but Persephone, he immediately leaned over as best he could and touched her hand. When she turned to look at him, she knew.
“Can you walk on your own?” she urgently whispered.
The best response that Vespasian could muster was to nod. Standing, he and Persephone started making for the rear entryway that led to their private hallway. The empress knew that if she and Vespasian could reach their private litter waiting just outside the coliseum walls, she could draw the litter blinds and tend to him.
As they left the viewing box, everyone else stood and bowed. Luckily, most of them quickly returned their attention to the arena floor. After quietly telling a few of the clerics that she and Vespasian would return after the intermission, Persephone wasted no time following her husband out.
Entering the relative safety of the hallway, she turned to look back. No one was following. Breathing a short sigh of relief, she considered taking one of Vespasian’s arms to support him, then thought better of it. If their charade was to go undetected, the emperor must be seen entering his litter under his own power.
As they finally exited the coliseum, Vespasian was on his last legs. Summoning the craft, he used it as best he could to help himself. His head still held high, he entered the ornate blue and gold litter bearing his insignia. Persephone followed, then drew the curtains and called to the litter bearers and the accompanying squad of centurion bodyguards to proceed quickly back to the royal residence.
Vespasian lost consciousness in Persephone’s arms, leaving her to wonder again what was happening to her husband’s mind and why. They were safe for the moment, she realized, but when would Vespasian return to her, and what would he be like when he did? Despite her many questions, one thing was certain.
Vespasian’s day terrors had begun.
Robert Newcomb
Rise of the Blood Royal