The Warrior Race Trilogy BoxSet

by T. C. Edge

  "Jaeger," said Finn, his voice clotting. "It's Jaeger, isn't it?"

  Claudius nodded.

  "Yes, it's him." He looked over the two young gladiators, then at Merk, and then to Cicero and Polus at the back. "I'm afraid you've come too late to affect any change. The household has been put on red alert, and we are ready to escape as soon as we have any hint that the Imperial Guard are coming." His gaze went to the opened passage, and the large stone door torn off to one side. "Unfortunately, any retreat can no longer be concealed by the secret door. The passage will be immediately discovered, and any escapees will be pursued."

  "Damn it, Finn," said Merk. "I told you not to tear the door off!"

  "How was I to know?! Anyway, I can fix it. Just give me a minute..."

  "No." The voice was a boom, sending a shockwave through the room. All eyes swept straight for Polus, who stepped right forward, several inches taller than all the rest. He looked to Finn. "Leave the door for now, Finn," he said. Then his eyes moved to Claudius. "Now, Claudius, tell us everything you know. Until I fully understand the situation as it is, I cannot make an informed decision."

  "An informed decision about what?" asked Claudius, still trying to catch up. Was this really the Polus? Had Merk somehow discovered his whereabouts?

  "A decision as to whether the Prince, and Kira, can be saved," said Polus firmly. He looked to Merk and the others. "They came to me for a reason, and for my help. I have wavered in my thinking, but now that I'm here, it seems that my task has become clear." He took a long breath, the room otherwise entirely silent. "I must help, in whatever way I can, to rid this city of Vesper. Too long have I hidden in the shadows. I must step forward into the light."

  Merk's eyes lit at Polus' words, and his pacing heart continued to gallop, though now with hope and not dread. He looked upon Polus as he'd always imagined him. For the first time since they'd met, he saw the hero he knew. He saw the great man, climbing from his shell, wreathed in purpose and deadly intent.

  A short pause followed, and then Claudius started to nod.

  "OK, follow me upstairs. I will tell you everything, and wish to hear everything from you as well. But time is short, and we must be quick. A lot may now rely on it."

  They group nodded, Silia standing to one side and awestruck by the gathering. She looked not only in wonder at the returning gladiators and Merk, but at the figure of Polus, whom she knew little about, but had heard enough. She hardly even realised he was real. Yet here he was, flesh and blood, flooding the room with a strange power and aura, exuding from his every word.

  And as they began heading off through the villa, the mighty old telepath himself slipped to the back, calling out for Finn to join him.

  Finn did so, looking up into the strange, deep eyes of Polus, wild and vast as the ocean. For a moment, Polus just stared. And then he began to nod.

  "You have a pure heart, Finn," he said. "There is nothing evil in you, no vice, no regret. But there is something...something powerful that you're only just tapping into." He looked up to the others, wandering off up the passage, and shook his head. "None of them can help," he said. "They can talk, and plan, but what we're set to do requires action." He looked back down at Finn. "This is down to you and me now, young man. Do you believe you have the heart for the fight."

  Finn fixed his jaw, barely spouting much stubble, in place. His blue eyes flushed with a dose of vibrant colour, and he nodded a single, firm, dip of the chin.

  "I will do anything to help Kira," he said. "And to protect the people of this city from that tyrant."

  Polus smiled.

  "Good. Then we have work to do."

  117

  Dom woke in a thick gloom, lying on his side and with a warmth to his back. Returning from the fog within his mind, he looked down to see an arm draped over his flank, a graceful and yet work-worn hand lying against his tunic.

  Gently, he turned himself around, his midsection stabbing him with pain. His head was aching, his lips swollen. He felt like he was half dead, though when he looked upon the beautiful face behind him, felt life surge in him anew.

  Kira lay there, tucked up close behind him, dressed only in a white tunic and with her armour removed and placed to one side. They were in a cell, stuck down in the dungeons Dom had visited once or twice before, lying upon a set of robes stretched out over a thin mattress. By the blood stains upon them, Dom figured they were his.

  It was cold in the cell, and Kira was shivering lightly in her sleep. Dom continued to shift his position, grunting in pain. His movement was enough to wake her, Kira's eyes opening in the dim light, and looking upon the battered face of the Prince.

  She didn't slowly transition, but was immediately awake. Fighters like her learned to go from deep sleep to wide awake in the blink of an eye. Often, it could mean the difference between life and death.

  "You're awake," she said immediately, her voice a croak. "How...how are you feeling?"

  She worked herself onto an elbow and reached out to touch his face, a grimace covering hers. Dom took her hand and gripped it tight, squeezing her fingers.

  "It's nothing. I feel fine," he said. "Ares sure can pack a punch."

  "Ares? Ares did this?"

  "Ares will do anything his master commands. He'll do it...even if he doesn't like it."

  Dom quickly recalled the doubts Ares was showing, and the manner in which his mother spoke to him. He'd never seen her so disrespectful to the man. And he'd clearly noted the displeasure Ares got from it.

  But it didn't matter now. The game was over, and Dom had lost.

  "How long have I been out?" he asked, looking around the cell.

  "All night. I think it's Saturday now. I was worried you wouldn't wake before..." She cut off her own words. A smile rose. "I'm happy I get to see you again. I hope you don't mind using your robes as a sheet. The mattress is..."

  "Disgusting," said Dom. "I know. I've seen them before. And it's fine, Kira. Good thinking. Are you cold?"

  A shudder was working through Kira's body. She nodded.

  "A bit. I thought our body heat could help us both."

  "It helps," whispered Dom, never wanting to be any further from her than he was now. "I'm surprised I'm here, though. I didn't think I'd be given such a lovely cell mate."

  Kira hid her smile. Really, she wanted to cry.

  Yet Dom could see the twisted thinking of putting them together. It would only deepen the pain, when it came, of their parting. Of seeing her killed upon the sand the following day. It was a last cruelty from Vesper, letting them spend this time alone together, these fleeting moments that would never flourish and blossom into anything more.

  But Dom looked upon it differently. This time was a gift, as long as he accepted their fate. She would die, and so would he. These hours were theirs, and theirs alone.

  He lay back down, struggling to work into a position that was more comfortable. He found that lying on his back worked best, the pain in his midsection suggesting that a couple of his ribs were broken. Once settled, Kira lay down too, lying against his shoulder. Dom turned his head so he could look upon her, gaze into those emerald eyes, marvel at the tousles of red hair flowing down her neck and draped upon her shoulder.

  "You are so...beautiful," he whispered.

  She blinked, and with each flutter of her eyelids, a sheen of tears appeared. She sniffed, her emotions on edge, and gently stretched her neck forward to kiss him. The touch of her lips against his, sore and split, sent a quiver of pain through him. She seemed to notice and drew back.

  "I'm sorry. It must hurt..."

  He shook his head, reached out, and pulled her right back towards him. Their lips crashed together like opposing waves in a swell, merging into a firm and violent kiss. He ignored the discomfort, focusing only on the pleasure she brought, her touch sending strong shudders of longing and need through him.

  And as they kissed, he felt a drip of cool, and opened his eyes to see the tears now falling down Kira's face
. He drew away and looked at her, reaching up to dry her eyes.

  "No, none of that," he said. "Please, don't cry."

  She sniffed, the sound spreading off through the empty passage.

  "I never get like this," she said. "And...with you?" she shook her head, laughing through the tears. "I should hate you, shouldn't I? But...I can't. You've made me feel the opposite..."

  She launched in for another kiss, a mixture of love and hate, fuelled by fiery passion. It was as though she was walking the line between the two, confused by her feelings. To feel such a way about a man who stole you from your life? Who'd done such wicked things in the name of his mother?

  Kira had always fought against slaves, and fought to save them too. The soldiers she fought against back home, even the Stalkers, were slaves to the rule of a tyrant, just as the Imperial Guard were here. And Dom, though a prince, was still another pawn in his mother's game.

  Kira had spent her life walking that line, battling slaves in a bid to save them. And here she was, falling for a man who, really, wasn't any different. She'd battled against him, and then tried to save him.

  He was her life in a nutshell.

  And so they kissed in that cell, and became coiled up in one another's arms. Kira cast off her hate and anger and let her passion and desire rule. Dom forgot his broken bones and bruises, his aches and pains, and became caught up in the heady storm. In the private darkness of that cell, they lost all sense of where they were, of what faced them.

  There was only each other, two people in a state of hopelessness, spending their final moments as one.

  118

  The living room of the villa, where Dom had so often entertained guests with its lush furnishings and mood lighting, had become something of a war room. Hidden away to the rear of the residence, it had been almost perpetually occupied by the team from the safe house, along with Claudius and, occasionally, Silia, who'd been tasked with seeing to their needs.

  Her role was to bring food, water, wine, and answer any questions she might be able to help with. The other members of the household, in fact, were not even aware that the new group were there. Claudius was keen to keep it that way, and had thus assigned most staff to stay within the servant's quarters, leaving the guards to patrol the yard, external balconies, and watch over the gate.

  As yet, no force of Imperial Guards had ventured towards the compound, and yet time was still running quick. The final of the warrior race was set for the following afternoon, likely calling an end to Kira's miraculous run. Dom would surely follow, Claudius and Merk alike suggesting that the Empress would wish for Dom to witness Kira's death before being brutally invited to join her. The rest agreed with the assessment, though thought further torture might fill the gap between their passing.

  Really, it depended on how cruel Vesper wished to be, and how angry she'd become by her son's behaviour. She'd been treating dissidents and heretics with no mercy whatsoever, hanging them publicly and lopping off heads. Rufus' body, following his lone wolf assassination attempt, had been cut apart and distributed around the city as a further warning. And Dom's crimes, against his own mother, trumped them all.

  His punishment, therefore, may well too.

  The team knew, then, that they had little time to work with. For Gwyn and Finn, the priority was saving Kira. For Merk and Claudius, it was Dom. For Cicero, it was staying alive and keeping his distance.

  And for Polus, it was righting the wrongs of the past. It was seeing Vesper to the grave.

  The divergent motivations of the group, however, converged into one. Saving Kira and Dom, and killing Vesper, all joined into a single task that drew the collective will of that secret group together. Their presence in the city was unknown, and they could plot and plan in secret.

  Yet in the end, it all came down to one man. A man thought dead by so many, nothing but a myth to others. A man whose mind was so powerful that even Vesper feared him, who could bend the will of the strongest men to his own. A man so vast in the gifts bestowed upon him that he could even enhance those hidden in the depths of others.

  Thus came their only real hope. And as the Saturday drew on, Polus began spending more time aside and away from the group, accompanied by only one man. A man who was really little more than a boy.

  Within a silent room, the great telepath sat with Finn, ordering him to shut his eyes. He lay his hand down upon Finn's wild locks of blond hair, centring his mind on the task.

  "I haven't done this in a long time," he whispered. "It may take a while, but it's necessary. Think of those you love the most, Finn. Only the pure of heart can be changed. If we don't work together, we will fail. Now, are you ready?"

  Finn kept his eyes shut. He nodded slowly.

  Polus worked a long flow of air into his lungs.

  "Then let us begin."

  119

  For the first time in his life, Dom was in chains.

  He had become just like those he'd taken, all the gladiators he'd gathered from around the globe. His ankles were fastened to a rail, and his wrists were cuffed. He was to be led to the arena like a common criminal, his treason against Vesper now well publicised and adding an extra dimension to what had been an eventful few weeks.

  Word had spread now across the entire city, not only of Dom's failed assassination and coup, but of his bolstering and support of the uprising in Southside. He had stood up to his mother, finally, and had attempted to usurp her.

  And like all those before him, he'd failed.

  As the carriage in which he sat rolled along through the city streets, he felt a heavy desolation spread through his heart. That morning, as they woke in each other's arms, Kira had been swiftly drawn away from him, taken to be prepared for her final contest. She would be there already, Dom knew, down in the arena cells awaiting her fate. She'd been snatched from him so quickly he hadn't even given a chance to say goodbye. His voice attempted to croak, to call out as she was hauled into the gloom, but found itself caught in his tight throat. He'd rushed to the bars as the cell door was slammed, and watched her dragged off, kicking and writhing, her eyes staring at his as a bag was slammed down over her head.

  Then, she was gone.

  Now Dom sat on show, the carriage he was in open for the public to see. It was a mobile cage and little more, a prison wagon used to cart criminals around, designed to humiliate and shame, to tell all the world a single, undeniable truth - this here is a criminal. He deserves everything that's coming to him.

  It was a thought Dom could hardly deny.

  The crowd were silent as he went. They'd gathered for the games, lining the street from the palace to the Colosseum. The long road was travelled at a gentle pace, giving all the city a chance to view the fallen prince, to see him garbed in his dirty tunic, reduced to a miserable wreck.

  This is what happens when you cross Empress Vesper, they'd be thinking. Even her son isn't immune to her wrath.

  The silence began to give way, however, as they ventured further from the palace, rolling along the cobbles as the huge great stadium came into view. Pockets of people began to jeer, perhaps paid to do so, perhaps not. They sneered and spat and started tossing rotten fruit and vegetables. Those who remained loyal to the Empress, through coercion or manipulation or simply misguidance, joined their calls and taunts into a din, and the wagon was assaulted for some time as it went.

  Most of the detritus didn't make it through the bars, but some did, soiling Dom's white tunic and shaming him further. He kept his eyes low, sitting as though in prayer, trying his best to ignore the rebuke of the crowd.

  Of a people he was trying to serve. And save.

  Yet the truth was that these people weren't affected by the Empress as the poor in Southside were. These weren't them, nor were they the nobility. They made up the middle ground, people perfectly satisfied with the status quo, if a little sympathetic to the woes of the wretched. Over the years of her rule, Vesper's domination of those living around the central regions had grown. Her m
ental powers, manipulating the masses, had spread and led to such submission. And even now, with the terror that she'd become, so many of the people turned a blind eye to her actions. As with Ares and the Imperial Guard, many were subjugated beyond repair, slaves to her will and unwilling to speak against her.

  These weren't Dom's people, nor were the nobles who stood back and did nothing, too frightened to rock the boat. Only Lord Pontius, though arrogant and cruel and an enemy to Dom, had the guts to do something, even if it was in secret, and in the shadows, and driven by nothing but his bottomless ambition and greed. The rest were sheep, frightened of the fearsome wolves under Vesper's command. No one stepped out of line. And the city had fallen to darkness because of it.

  The irony for Dom, who'd been an established part of the system for so long himself, was that he now looked upon Southside only as the light. The core of the city was rotten, not the outer reaches beyond the Tiber as they so appeared. The slums and swamps, the putrid manner in which some people lived, was only a symptom of their neglect. It was here at the centre that the true problem lay. The bright white buildings and marble pillars could not hide that fact any longer.

  But Dom's thoughts were dark as he neared the Colosseum, ready to be transported to the gallery and locked in place upon his seat for the final time. He'd done what he could, but it hadn't been enough. Now, he relied only on his enemy, Pontius, to complete the job and rid Neorome of its tormentor. He could but pray that Lucius then acted as he'd promised, and stripped away all the injustice that had spread so liberally, and for so long.

  And so, with the jeering crowd now growing more violent, Dom reached the entrance and was snatched from the wagon. In chains he went, shuffling along and flanked by a cordon of six Imperial Guards. More fruit came, splashing against him, until the soldiers manning the entrance called a halt to the fun. The volleys died down, but the cries continued to ring out, only fading as Dom entered the stadium and was marched slowly towards his seat.