The swords in her hands felt like home—good Liisian steel, sharp as razors. She’d need them, and all her strength, if she was to survive what was to come.
“Citizens!” came the cry. “Behold, your gladiatii! Chosen from the finest collegia in the Republic, here to fight and die for the glory of their domini! From the Tacitus Collegium, we present to you, Appius, bane of the Werewood!”
The portcullis before them shuddered upward with a metallic groan. A huge man strode past Mia, up into the arena, raising his spear and shield to the din of the roaring crowd. His helm was fashioned like a wolf’s head, sunslight glinting on his sleeves and breastplate of steel.
“From the Livian Collegium, Ashbringer, Terror of the Silent Sea!”
A Dweymeri gladiatii strode up to the sand, raised a twin-handed mattock longer than Mia was tall. He prowled about the arena’s edge, stamping his feet upon the sand, and the crowd fell in time until the entire world seemed made of thunder.
And so it went. Each collegium was announced, fearsome gladiatii with equally fearsome titles marching up to take their places, riling the crowd with their theatrics. Mia noticed with interest that Leonides wasn’t fielding a warrior in the Ultima—unusual for a collegium of stature. She wondered if he had some inkling of the nature of their foe …
More than two dozen warriors stood on the sands before Mia heard the editorii call, “From the Remus Collegium…”
“Furian!” came a cry.
“Unfaaaaallen!” came another.
“… the Crow!” roared the editorii.
Mia marched up into the sunslight, raising her twin swords above her head. She was met by bemusement, scattered applause, a few jeers from folk who’d been expecting the champion of Remus Collegium rather than some skinny girl half his size. Not a one of them had any clue who she was.
Soon.
Mia grit her teeth, silently vowing to herself.
Soon, the sky itself will know my name.
In a grand booth on the arena’s edge, Mia saw the governor of Stormwatch, the city’s elite gathered about his chair. An editorii stood in a separate booth, clad in the traditional blood-red robe trimmed with golden daggers. A smoke-gray cat was curled on his shoulder, eyeing proceedings with an air of distinct boredom. The man spoke into a great horn, voice amplified across the vast space.
“And now!” he cried. “Gentlefriends, steady your hearts. Children, avert your eyes! Dragged from the depths of the Ashkahi Whisperwastes at the command of our glorious consul, a horror polluted by the corruption that brought the old empire to its knees. Behold, citizens of Stormwatch, your Ultima!”
Mia felt the floor tremble, heard the great mekwerk beneath the sand begin to move. Rocky outcroppings rose from the sand like teeth, tall and wicked-sharp. The arena’s heart split apart, sand cascading into the depths as a pit opened wide. And, as if from the abyss itself, up rose a horror unlike anything Mia had ever seen.
“’Byss and blood…,” said a voice beside her.
Mia looked to the Dweymeri gladiatii; the man named Ashbringer. His eyes were wide. His great mattock trembling in his hands.
The monster roared, shaking the very earth. The crowd answered, rising to their feet, cheering, howling, giddy. Not a one among them had ever seen the like, but all had heard the tales. Nightmare of the deepest deserts. More terrifying than the sand kraken. More fearsome than a hundred dustwraiths. A word that struck panic into every caravaneer and trader who ran the Ashkahi wastes.
“Retchwyrm…,” Ashbringer whispered.*
The beast roared again, raising the end of its body that Mia supposed was its head. Its skin was pitted, cracked and browned like old leather. It moved like some obscene caterpillar, lunging toward the crowd as they screamed. But an iron collar and thick lengths of chain bound the monster to the arena floor, prevented it from getting anywhere close to the audience. Once they realized they were in no danger, the crowd burst into applause, cheering and chanting.
With all eyes on the beast, Mia turned and strode across the sand, thirty more steps, until she stood beneath a statue of Tsana on the inner wall. Stabbing her swords into the earth, she knelt, bowed her head as if in prayer to the goddess. But with her right hand, she began searching beneath the sand at the arena’s edge.
She felt nothing at first. Her shadow rippling as her stomach ran cold, as the thought that Ashlinn had betrayed her rose like a dustwraith in back of her—
No.
Her fingers felt softness. Leather.
There it is.
She pulled the object from the sand—a leather pouch filled with spherical objects—tucking it beneath her spaulder.
The editorii raised his hands, calling for silence.
The crowd fell still as a millpond.
The man drew a breath, heard across the arena. His cat simply yawned.
“Ultima!” he cried. “Begin!”
The crowd roared, deafening and rapturous. The beast chained in the arena’s heart writhed in response, its blind head swinging side to side as its stomach bubbled up in its throat, desperate to consume the prey it could sense but couldn’t reach. And in answer, it let out another sky-shaking roar.
And not a single gladiatii
moved
a
single
muscle.
“… can’t blame them, really…,” came the whisper in Mia’s ear as she took her place back alongside her fellows.
The crowd began to get restless, several starting to boo as the gladiatii all stood paralyzed, a few circling the retchwyrm as it thrashed and growled.
“Kill it!” someone roared.
“Fight, cowards!”
Standing beside Mia, Ashbringer prickled at the word “coward.” He looked about the bleachers, up to his domini in the sanguila’s boxes. And hefting his mattock, he bellowed, “With me!” at the top of his lungs and charged the beast with weapon raised. Several other gladiatii took up the call, Mia among them, rushing forward with bloody cries. They attacked the wyrm from four sides, hewing and stabbing with spear and sword. Preferring the flank, Mia darted out from behind one of the fangs of stone, burying her blades to the hilt. Ashbringer charged head-on, swung his mattock, pulping a great hole in the beast’s hide. And with a revolting wet burping sound, the retchwyrm reared up and spewed its stomach all over the men in front of it.