Robert Newcomb: Rise of the Blood Royal

Lucius took a long sip of wine, then smiled. “So be it,” he said. “In the meantime, I suggest that you not let the tail wag the dog.”

Vespasian nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.” As he considered his friend’s words, a plan started forming in his mind.

Just then more oiled slave boys and girls in loincloths entered the box. Each one carried an elaborate gold tray laden with jewelry, which they presented for the emperor and empress’s perusal.

After looking over one tray, Vespasian declined. He glanced over at Lucius. “Spoils from the Twenty-third’s recent campaign?” he asked.

Before answering, Lucius watched Persephone select a diamond and sapphire ring. Smiling, she slipped it onto the little finger of her right hand.

“Yes,” the First Tribune answered. “They sacked many Shashidan towns before the Borderlands were activated.”

“How much raw gold was brought home?”

Lucius shook his head. “Not enough to make an appreciable difference,” he answered. Understanding, Vespasian returned his attention to the arena.

As the chariots charged dangerously around the inner walls, the musicians played and the acrobats leaped and whirled. Vespasian quickly ordered the Games Master back to his side and held up the handbill.

“There are far too many slaves marked for execution, you idiot!” He raised his voice to be sure that Gracchus and the otherPon Q’tar members heard him. “Have you gone mad, you ignorant son of a street whore? I want the women, children, and one-third of the healthiest men spared for sale at auction on the new moon!” Finished, he lowered the handbill and calmly returned his gaze to the arena without bothering to turn and look at Gracchus.

The Games Master simply stood there, stupefied. Such a huge last-minute change in the program was unprecedented. He turned to look open-mouthed at Gracchus, but the lead cleric seemed strangely unperturbed.

With a shaking hand, the Games Master nervously wiped the sweat from his brow. He had no wish to become a pawn in a dispute between the two most powerful men in Rustannica. But Vespasian had given him a direct order, and he had no choice. Swallowing hard, he looked back at his emperor.

“It will be as you command, Sire,” he said.

The Games Master also knew that this immense and unexpected change in the program would have to be handled personally. He would not be able to communicate this new order to the arena centurions by signal. He would have to go down there himself. His greatest fear was how the audience would react when they learned that the first-act killings had been so severely curtailed. Surely the clever emperor had some way to make it up to the crowd, he reasoned.

Just as the Games Master turned to run down to the Gates of Life, Vespasian again surprised him by reaching out and grabbing his wrist.

Calling on the craft, Vespasian augmented the strength in his arm and violently spun the man around to face him. The pain in Gaius’ shoulder was excruciating. Vespasian drew the Games Master so close that their faces almost touched. Then he looked over at Lucius.

“Tell me, First Tribune, was this huge group of captured Shashidans first discovered by Blood Stalkers?” he asked.

“They were,” Lucius answered.

“And are those stalkers quartered here at the coliseum?” Vespasian asked.

Lucius nodded. “As you know, we must keep them caged when they are not deployed or they would rampage through the streets, killing every Shashidan skeen they could find. The one hundred stalkers assigned to the Twenty-third Legion are locked up below the arena floor. And as your highness also knows, after the huge number of captives was taken, I ordered the entire Twenty-third back to Ellistium. They had been on constant campaign for more than two years and they deserved a visit home.”

Vespasian smiled. “Good,” he said. “Then we will do something else today that the crowd won’t expect. We will publicly honor the stalkers by watching them do what they do best.”

When he glared back at the Games Master, Vespasian could see the astonishment in the man’s eyes.

“Force one hundred Shashidan skeens into the arena at a time,” Vespasian ordered. “Bring no females, for we need them for procreation. Then I want fifty of the Twenty-third’s Blood Stalkers turned loose on them. When the first group of skeens is dead you will bring in one hundred more, and so on. See to it that all the skeens are armed. I doubt that we will lose many stalkers, and it will add to the flavor of the first act. Tell the stalkers that they are not to start the bloodletting until they erect their legion standards and form ranks before my box.”

The Games Master couldn’t believe his ears. Before today, stalkers had never been allowed participation in the games. Although they remained partly human, they were also products of the craft and largely uncontrollable by anyone except an experienced magic practitioner.

“I understand, Sire,” Gaius finally answered. “It will be as you order.”

Vespasian finally released his grip on the man’s wrist. “Good,” he said. “See to it at once. And have the crowd informed of the program changes their emperor has made.”

Vespasian didn’t need to tell the slave twice. As fast as his legs could carry him, Gaius left the emperor’s private box and hurried toward the arena floor.

Seated among his fellow clerics, Gracchus smiled as he heard Vespasian give the unexpected orders about the skeens and the Blood Stalkers. Well done, he thought. I couldn’t have produced a cleverer countermove myself.

Benedik Pryam, one of Gracchus’ most trusted fellow mystics, sat beside the lead cleric. Casually grasping the shoulder folds of his white and burgundy robe with one hand, he leaned closer. The look on his face was not reassuring.

“Sometimes you push the Blood Royal too hard!” he protested under his breath. “We all agree that he should be continually tested so that he learns how to deal with unexpected pressure-we have done so since the day that he was born. And I agree that such tactics have made him into the strongest and most beloved ruler that the empire has ever seen. But when you defy him in public-and before the entire coliseum audience, no less-you go too far! Hemust have the continued respect of the mob if he is to conquer Shashida for us!”

Smiling, Gracchus turned to look at his friend. Despite his great age, Benedik remained an attractive, vigorous man, because the time enchantments had been granted to him when he had passed only fifty Seasons of New Life. His dark eyes were sharp, and he had a full head of iron-gray hair that he kept cropped close.

“Worried about our young prodigy, are you?” Gracchus asked, as he popped a grape into his mouth. “Don’t concern yourself unnecessarily, my old friend. He is everything that we could have asked for and more. If I’m right, this unexpected order of his will do nothing but further embed him into the public’s heart. Vespasian knows what Rustannica is. It’s the mob, pure and simple. They will soon love him even more for the unprecedented spectacle that he is about to grant them.”

“Be careful, Gracchus,” Benedik pressed, “lest this monster that we have created get out of hand.” But Gracchus only smiled and turned his gaze back to the arena.

As he waited for the news about the change in the program to reach the crowd, Lucius also found himself curious about Vespasian’s motives. After taking another sip of wine, the First Tribune turned to look at his emperor.

“What are you playing at?” he whispered. “Blood Stalkers in the arena? That’s a first, even for you.”

“My guess is that Gracchus planned to take full credit for the huge number of slaves who were to be killed today,” Vespasian answered quietly, “even though he is not personally paying for them. I intend not only to spare most of the slaves and sell them, but to upstage that old cleric and steal his thunder at the same time. I’ll give the mob something the likes of which they have never seen. We’re about to see how Gracchus enjoys having the tables turned.”