Then he moved away, leaving her cross and alone as he and the new fighter started to circle each other.
Attia had the incredible urge to throw her sword at someone. Ennius was probably pleased. Maybe he thought if she didn’t have the chance to take part—if she saw that she wasn’t needed—then she’d just go back to her little rock-walled cell and stay quiet.
We’ll see about that.
The Ardean’s trident met the angle between Xanthus’s crossed swords, sending sparks raining down onto the sand. The man pulled free before striking again. Xanthus blocked with ease. They continued their striking and dodging while Attia stood uselessly off to the side. She needed to find a way to join the fight without interfering with Xanthus’s concentration, but she couldn’t see an opening.
Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe her presence would only put Xanthus at even greater risk. For now, she couldn’t do anything but wait and watch.
The Ardean contender swung his trident at Xanthus’s legs. Xanthus jumped to dodge it, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. The heel of his right boot caught on one of the prongs, and he tumbled to the sand, rolling to a stop just a few feet away from Attia.
The Ardean charged.
No.
Attia took a running step and used Xanthus’s shoulder as leverage to launch herself into the air, twisting her body so that she landed on her feet just behind the Ardean. She drove her sword into his back, and the tip emerged through the front of his chest. When she pulled the gladius free, the Ardean fell to the ground with a thud.
The entire arena went deadly silent again, but this time it was with shock. They all stared at Attia as though she’d spontaneously grown a new limb. Then someone in the crowd started to cheer—finally—and soon everyone joined in.
Attia’s satisfaction faded when Xanthus stood, sheathed his swords, and grabbed her arm. He peered into her eyes, and the same expression that Attia had seen on Ennius’s face dawned on Xanthus’s—shocked, terrified recognition.
“Attia?” The exhaustion vanished as his face contorted. “What are you doing here?”
Attia grasped his tunic, belatedly realizing that he wore no armor. “I couldn’t let you do this alone.”
“You need to leave—”
“No, I can help,” Attia said. “I … I don’t want to lose you.”
“And how do you think I’ll feel if you die here? You have to leave.”
“I won’t.”
Xanthus’s fierce green eyes bore into hers.
“You’re stuck with me,” Attia said. “And if we die, we die together.”
Xanthus released a heavy breath, his eyes never leaving her face. “Together,” he said, and raised their clasped hands into the air.
They released two contenders at a time after that, but Attia’s presence had sparked a fire in Xanthus. He’d looked close to submitting from sheer exhaustion, but with her at his side, he seemed to find renewed energy to keep fighting, not for himself or for the crowd, but for her.
And, yet again, she had little need of his protection.
Lucius’s introduction proved chillingly prophetic. Attia moved like a demon of myth—quick, light, so fast that it looked like she could walk on walls and appear like a phantom behind her target. Her style was a complete contrast to Xanthus, who moved as purposefully as the sun.
They were shadow and light. Death in two forms. Together, they killed ten, twenty, forty men before the sun rose.
At last, when predawn turned the sky a deep gray that mirrored Attia’s eyes, they panted beside each other, almost completely spent. They had a short reprieve while Fido and Lucius argued over who the last contestants would be.
“One more,” Attia said, breathing hard.
“You mean two.”
“So what usually happens when you win?”
“What you’d expect,” Xanthus said with a shrug. “Food, gold, jewels, horses. Sometimes new slaves, but not always. In this case, we’ll get another night in the city, supplies for the journey, and Timeus will be gifted twelve Iberian stallions.”
“Lovely. And the ass isn’t even here.”
Up on the balcony, Fido grumbled and rubbed his rolling gut.
Lucius raised his hands. “Ardeans!” he cried. “We have witnessed a true spectacle tonight! Xanthus, the Champion of Rome, and Spartacus, the Shadow of Death, have shown us something that we have never seen before—invincibility!”
The crowd jeered. They had gotten their spectacle. They had seen the Champion of Rome in action. But it had come at the price of Ardean lives.
“For their final feat, let them prove that they are truly immortal!” As he spoke, Lucius looked straight at Xanthus and nodded his encouragement.
A rusted gate opened just below the balcony, and wet snarls rippled out from the dark. Little clouds of dust rose into the air as furry paws stomped onto the sand. Flat heads, long snouts, elongated canines attached to gray, matted bodies.
Attia almost laughed as five wolves prowled into the arena. “You know, it’s fitting,” she said. “I’ve wanted to gut a true Roman for some time now.”
“You’re being unfair to the wolves.”
“Shall we make this interesting? One kill with one hit. Consider it a challenge.”
Xanthus laughed bitterly. “You mean something beyond the challenge to live?”
“Yes, and the prize is that you name what you kill.” Attia winked at him before running straight toward the center of the arena.
The crowd took one long, simultaneous gasp.
Attia jumped off the ball of her foot and twisted in the air, narrowly missing the snapping jaws of the first wolf. She landed on its head and stabbed it through before coming to rest with both feet on a narrow ledge protruding from the far wall. She raised her sword with a flourish to the roar of the crowd.
Xanthus couldn’t help but glare at her from across the arena, but Attia thought the expression warred with a slight smile.
The four remaining wolves stalked her from below, snarling in frustration. Xanthus gripped his swords and feigned an attack on the wolf nearest to him. When it lunged, he caught its neck between his swords and beheaded it in one smooth motion.
While the wolves were distracted, Attia leapt off her ledge and landed close to Xanthus. “I name the first one Timeus.”
“You’re mad, you know that?” Xanthus said.
“I’m tired, though at this point there’s not much of a difference.” She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”
“That one’s Sisera,” he said, nodding at the other fallen wolf.
Attia laughed and jabbed her sword at the forelegs of one of the animals. It growled ferociously and lunged, baring its belly to Attia’s blade. “Fido,” she said as it fell. “They actually smell quite similar.”
“Again, you’re being unfair to the wolves.”
They crouched back-to-back as the last two wolves circled them.
“You take that one, and I’ll take this one,” Attia said.
“How am I supposed to tell which is which?”
“Do I really need to explain the fundamentals of ‘right’ and ‘left’?”