Robert Newcomb: Rise of the Blood Royal

At once the centurions started walking toward a group of male and female slaves performing acrobatic tricks. Each wore nothing but a simple white loincloth and flowers in their hair. Their oiled bodies glistened in the reddish light filtering through the canopies.

After getting their new orders from the centurions, the slaves disappeared through the Gates of Life. They soon ran back out carrying huge baskets of freshly baked bread. As they tossed the loaves into the stands, the crowd went wild. In honor of the spectators, Vespasian sometimes ordered that thousands of such loaves, each branded with the letter V, be given away. Such royal bread was rarely eaten. Instead it was taken home and displayed proudly as a personal gift from the emperor. There it would remain in some domicile or shopkeeper’s window until it molded and fell to dust. The loaves had become so revered that stealing one had recently been made a capital crime. For most Ellistiumites, owning such a loaf of bread was as close as they would ever come to touching royalty. In honor of highly special events, Vespasian sometimes enchanted the loaves, ensuring that they would never spoil. Such was the case today.

With the crowd distracted for the moment, Vespasian opened the diptych and began reading the beeswax pages. The elegant script had been deeply etched with a stylus. As always, Gracchus had personally put the Oraculum’s verbal pronouncements in writing, and Vespasian recognized the cleric’s unique hand. As he read, his anger rose. He snapped the diptych shut, then handed it to Lucius. As the First Tribune read the pages, his expression mirrored Vespasian’s.

Persephone touched her husband on the arm. “What does it say?” she asked.

“TheJin’Sai lives,” Vespasian whispered. “Despite all our efforts, that son of a thousand fathers escaped Crysenium and returned to Eutracia. Moreover, he now commands the gift ofK’Shari. He killed Xanthus, the being thePon Q’tar created to lure him to our side of the world. That Vigors bastard seems to have a thousand lives. Perhaps even worse, the Conclave now possesses both the Scrolls of the Ancients and their indexes. I can see no end to the trouble this defeat will cause.”

Lucius handed the diptych back to Vespasian, and the emperor angrily tossed it to the floor. “The one blessing in all this is that we were able to kill the traitorous Envoys of Crysenium,” he breathed. “But only time will tell how much Tristan was able to learn from them before he fled back to his homeland. Now he is untouchable.”

Vespasian turned and glared angrily at Gracchus. “It was thePon Q’tar ’s plan to lure theJin’Sai here!” he growled. “In the end, not only did your idea fail, but we were forced to trick Serena into killing herself and her child! In doing so, we lost the last of our Vagaries allies who shared Tristan’s blood! The failure is yours!”

“We must accept our misfortune,” Gracchus answered. “Our sudden need to summon the Borderlands was regrettable, but no one could have foreseen it. It had to be done because of the Shashidan cohorts that were approaching. I admit that the timing could not have been worse, and had we been permitted to leave the Borderlands dormant, Xanthus would have certainly delivered theJin’Sai into our hands. But what’s done is done. Sadly, the azure pass was an amazing opportunity that will likely never come again. We made the best of it that we could. But with the pass gone, just as we cannot threaten Eutracia, those in Eutracia cannot threaten us. And Crysenium and its traitorous Envoys have been destroyed. So it would seem that theJin’Sai lost as much as we. The stalemate persists.”

Vespasian thought for a moment. “Directly after the games, I will call for a meeting of the Suffragat,” he ordered. “We must discuss this turn of events. I will not tolerate another failure.”

“I understand, Highness,” Gracchus answered. “And although it grieves me to mention it, there is another urgent matter that we must face. The latest treasury count-”

“I am aware of the treasury count!” Vespasian snapped. Trying to calm himself, he sighed and gave Gracchus a hard look. “ThePon Q’tar does little else but whine about it! Do you think I wanted to pay for these games with public funds? But what other choice did we have?”

He angrily rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry, Gracchus,” he said. “It seems that I’ve heard all the bad news I can stomach for now. But you’re right about one thing. I doubt that the crowd will be willing to wait much longer. The last thing that we need is another citywide riot on our hands.”

As Gracchus nodded and returned to his seat, Vespasian looked at the Games Master and clapped his hands. At once the man walked toward the edge of the box and swiveled another gilded sign. When the crowd saw the centurions again unlock the Gates of Life and hurry through, they stood and shouted, their rising clamor quickly becoming deafening.

Persephone turned to look at Vespasian. Normally at the start of the games her husband showed the same eager excitement as the mob, but now he only looked concerned. She did her best to give him a reassuring smile.

Below, the customary processional sounds rang out. The massive Gates of Life swung open, and dozens of Imperial Order horse-drawn chariots charged into the arena. Driven by accomplished centurions, they began speeding around the arena wall in opposite directions, narrowly missing one another for the amusement of the crowd. Following the chariots, a large band of Imperial Order musicians entered, dressed in their finest uniforms and beating on drums and blowing into trumpets, fifes, and flutes.

Today’s killings were special. Seeing the usual lot of common criminals ruthlessly butchered always held great amusement for the Rustannicans of Ellistium. But watching Shashidan fighters taken fresh from the battlefield and forced to fight to the death held a special appeal. By watching the Shashidans die in the arena, the crowd could share in the legions’ victories. Vespasian knew that this united his countrymen like nothing else, and so he too welcomed the coming slaughter.

Trying to forget his troubles, Vespasian took up that day’s handbill and read it. As usual, the Shashidan prisoners of war possessing low military rank would be killed first. Because of their relative unimportance, they would be creatively tortured and murdered without the right of combat. These first killings served to whet the crowd’s appetite for the fighting that would follow later in the day.

As he read further, what the emperor saw on the handbill stunned him. No wonder the crowd was in such a heated frenzy! More than three thousand Shashidan fighters were slated to die during the first act of the games alone. He had never seen such a huge number. Looking angrily out toward the arena, Vespasian shook his head.

“What troubles you?” Lucius asked.

“Look at these tallies,” Vespasian answered. “They’re far too high! Although I do not object to the way skeens die, I must protest this terrible waste! Most of these slaves should have been branded for sale at auction! Imagine the tax revenue they would have provided to the treasury! Did you know about this?”

Lucius’ expression darkened. “I assumed that thePon Q’tar had informed you, as usual, of the number before the handbills were printed.”

For the second time that day, anger roiled up inside Vespasian. “Apparently the lead cleric didn’t see fit to inform his emperor,” he growled. He glanced over at Gracchus, then back to Lucius again.

“I have called for an emergency meeting of the Suffragat to take place directly after the games,” he said quietly to his friend. “We have much to discuss. I plan to dress down those willful clerics-especially Gracchus. And I want an audience when I do it, so that my words cannot be misconstrued. For such a supposedly learned mystic, Gracchus sometimes possesses an amazingly short memory. But mark my words-before this day ends he will experience my displeasure.” Vespasian sat back in his chair, scowling.