Hercules, his orange and black pelt streaked with crimson from his own wounds and the blood of his enemies, faced his fleeing opponents and roared one last time. Then he shook himself, flinging drops of blood and bits of gore like rain upon the men around him before turning to slowly limp back to Marcus and the others. The survivors of the legion gave up a heartfelt cheer, shouting the hexatiger’s name over and over.
The big cat came to Marcus, whose eyes were tearing up as much from the giddiness of unexpected survival as from pain. Nuzzling the centurion with his nose, Hercules mewled unhappily, his big orange eyes looking around them.
“She’s not here, boy,” Marcus whispered as he reached up and stroked the hexatiger below the chin. “Septimus,” he said.
“Here.”
Septimus was covered in blood, as he always was after a battle, but it never seemed to be his. Today was no exception. Marcus couldn’t help but grin at his old companion’s luck. Aside from a split lip, his friend hadn’t received so much as a scratch. “Let’s find the princess and the boy, shall we?”
“Where’s the Ghost?” Septimus asked, looking around them. “He was right here!”
But once again, the Ghost had vanished.
***
Valeria had settled into Paulus’s arms, listening to the waning sounds of battle and wondering who the victors would be. The only thing that gave her cause for hope was that she still heard Hercules roaring. She had seen the damnable horrors drag him to the ground, but they obviously hadn’t killed him.
Impatience finally got the better of her, and she began to wriggle free of the sandy cleft where the Ghost had left them.
“What are you doing?” Paulus hissed, pulling her back.
“Let go!” She whispered, jamming an elbow into his chest armor. “I need to—”
She froze at the sound of a deep growl above her. A dark wolf, then another, clambered down the bank, their menacing heads swinging from side to side. The beasts sniffed at the carcass, then they turned to stare at Valeria and Paulus.
One of the beasts approached to sniff at the two terrified youngsters, its wet snout brushing against Valeria’s toes. Then it turned and lifted its leg to send a spray of urine over her feet. Satisfied, it scratched at the ground a few times, then trotted off with its companion as more wolves poured down the bank. The survivors of the pack, moving now in unnerving silence, ran past as Valeria and Paulus gripped each other in stark terror. Valeria barely heard the ragged cheer that went up from the battlefield, so focused was she on the nightmares passing by. A few of the monsters glanced her way, but none so much as paused for a closer look.
The huge pack splashed across the stream and up the far bank to disappear into the forest.
After they’d gone, Valeria didn’t so much as move a muscle. She and Paulus stayed right where they were, clinging together and shivering with fright.
Not long after the dark wolves had disappeared, the Ghost returned, holding a pair of bloodstained tunics. He gently took Valeria’s hand and pulled her from the cleft, then did the same with Paulus.
“Thank you,” Valeria said. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“I owe you a debt I suspect I’ll never be able to repay,” Paulus told the stranger, bowing his head.
The Ghost only nodded in return.
Valeria turned and began clambering up the bank to see what had become of Hercules, Marcus, and the others, when she again felt the Ghost’s hand on her arm. He shook his head vigorously before pointing to the stream.
She laughed. “I can take a bath later.” Again, she tried to move up the bank, but he stopped her, more forcefully this time.
In the distance, Hercules made a pitiful mewling sound that tore at her heart. “I have to get back.” She pointed in the direction of the sound. “He needs me. And we must see what we can do for the others.”
The Ghost shook his head. He pointed at his nose, then at Valeria, then in the direction leading to Hercules, and put his hands together to mimic jaws closing around Valeria’s throat.
“Of course!” Paulus said, as understanding suddenly dawned. “We have to wash away the scent he showered us with that deceived the beasts. If you go up to Hercules now, you’re going to smell — very strongly, I might add — like a dark wolf. He might not hurt you, but I don’t think you should take the chance. I know I don’t want to.”
“Right,” she said, eyeing the water with disdain.
Paulus laughed. “You’d better hurry before half the legion comes and stands up there, staring down at the Emperor’s daughter, naked as the day she was born.”
“You’d better make sure they don’t,” Valeria huffed. “And no peeking, either.”
He blushed. “I promise.”
“And you can’t look, either.” She pointed to the Ghost, then covered her eyes.
He tossed her one of the tunics, then turned away.
After stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the water, which ran waist deep in the middle. She blew out a deep breath as her skin rose in gooseflesh. It wasn’t freezing, but it certainly wasn’t the near-scalding bath water she was used to. She rubbed herself vigorously and dunked her head, soaking her hair. “There,” she breathed. “That should do it.”
The Ghost, however, wasn’t satisfied. He stood at the bank, his eyes riveted on hers. For a long moment, she simply stood there, thoughts of modesty overtaken by fascination.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
In answer, the Ghost stooped down and scooped up a handful of mud and stepped toward her, making an unmistakable washing gesture.
“He wants me to bath in mud!” she protested to Paulus.
“Can I look?” Paulus laughed.
“No, you may not!” Uttering a venomous oath of which Septimus would have been proud, she took the proffered mud and began to gingerly wipe it on her skin.
With a low growl like that of an animal, the Ghost squatted down and grabbed up more. After carefully rubbing his own hands and lower arms with it, he began to roughly rub it on her arms.
Valeria gasped, both at the uninvited touch and the roughness with which it was made. “What are you…unhand me!”
Batting away her hands as if she were an infant, the Ghost smeared mud over her face, and her protests dissolved into a sputtering fit as she got some in her mouth. Then, with his hands, using motions that were as quick as they were rough, he rubbed the mud over her arms, chest, belly, buttocks, and back, then took her by the back of the neck and shoved her into the water. She came up, gasping for breath, only to have him slap a huge blob of mud into her hair, which he then worked in with one hand while he held her still, cursing and sputtering all the while, with the other.
After dunking her again to rinse the mud from her hair, he marched her to the bank and proceeded to wipe down her legs with more mud. She tried to kick him, which he easily blocked before pushing her backward, arms windmilling, into the water.
“Oh!” She came up, sputtering, and glared at Paulus, who stood uncertainly at the edge of the water, looking at her. His hand was on his sword, but his face betrayed an amused expression. “If you breathe a word of this to the others…” she warned.
“Your secret is safe with me, princess,” he said, bowing low at the waist before holding up her tunic for her.
She stalked from the water, one arm over her breasts and the other hand protecting her nether regions, favoring the Ghost with an angry glare before she snatched up the tunic and quickly pulled it over her head. Not surprisingly, it was far too large and hung on her slender body like a tent.
“My turn,” Paulus said in resignation. He had already stripped out of his armor and took off his tunic. He did to himself just what the Ghost had done to Valeria, earning a nod of approval from the stranger as the Ghost handed him the other tunic. After putting it on, Paulus rinsed off his sword and the belt that held it before strapping it around his waist. He decided he would come back for his armor later.
&
nbsp; “Now let’s get back,” Valeria snapped. Pausing just long enough to glare at the Ghost once more, she stalked up the bank.
Paulus followed right behind her, doing his best to keep his eyes focused down on the sandy bank and not on Valeria’s legs and what might be revealed beneath the oversize tunic she wore.
“By the gods,” Valeria whispered as she reached the top of the bank and could see the full extent of the carnage in the meadow. She had heard Marcus and the other soldiers tell stories of battles, of course, but she had never personally witnessed one. And she suspected that no one, not even Marcus, had seen anything like this.
Hundreds of soldiers lay dead, literally torn apart, and many, many more were wounded. But Legio Invictus had not given the enemy any cause to celebrate. For every soldier who had fallen, two or three animals lay dead, as well.
Then her eyes fell upon the sight she so wished to see: Hercules. With a deep grunt as he caught sight of her, the hexatiger ran in a limping gait straight for her, dodging around or jumping over the soldiers in his way, soldiers who were still chanting his name in a cry of victory. The great beast nearly bowled her over as he bumped against her with his head, a deep purr rumbling from his chest. Marcus and the others raised shouts at her appearance, and began to run her way, as well.
“Look,” Paulus whispered from beside her, tugging her arm as she stroked Hercules’s bloodstained muzzle.
She turned to see the Ghost on his knees, facing her, his sword held up in both hands as if it were an offering in a temple.
Hercules moved past Valeria, sniffing in curiosity at the stranger, who bowed his head low.
And in words bearing an accent Valeria had never before heard, the Ghost said in quiet Latin, “To the one who is consort to the greatest of gods, my sword and my life are yours.”
CHAPTER NINE
Valeria stood for a moment, her voice caught in her throat as she stared at the stranger who knelt before her. “I thank you,” she said at last, “for saving my life. I owe you a debt of gratitude. I owe you my life.”
“As do I,” Paulus said.
“May as well include all of us in that,” Septimus quipped as he, Marcus, and Pelonius arrived. “You and this oversized pussy cat.” He reached out and patted Hercules, careful to avoid the many cuts and punctures in the hexatiger’s hide.
Marcus marched right up to Valeria and pulled her into his battered and bleeding arms. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
Nodding, gently releasing herself from his bloody embrace, she said, “Paulus and I are both fine. But you’re hurt! You need to see the medicus.”
“I will, once things are sorted out,” he reassured her.
“What happened to your clothes?” Pelonius asked with an arched eyebrow.
Valeria blushed. “We…ah…”
“The Ghost squirted us with one of the dark wolves’ scent glands,” Paulus explained, wrinkling his nose.
“I see,” Pelonius said with a glance at Hercules. “It was wise to wash it off.”
“It was a most loathsome smell,” Valeria said. “But it saved us. He saved us.”
The Ghost remained silent, still on his knees, sword raised in his hands.
“I think he’s waiting for you to accept his pledge,” Paulus told her.
“And what pledge was that?” Marcus asked, his eyes narrowing.
“His sword and his life,” Valeria replied. Taking a step toward the warrior kneeling before her, and before anyone else could argue against it, she said in the formal tone she had learned from her father, “I accept your sword and your life as my own.” In a softer voice, ignoring Marcus’s muffled curse, she asked, “What is your name?”
“Karan,” he said, bowing his head to the ground. Then, in a smooth motion he rose to his feet and sheathed his sword.
“I would look upon your face, Karan,” she said, stepping close to him. It was odd, she thought. He had seemed so much larger to her in the heat of battle. But it was clear that he was about the same height and build as Paulus.
With rough, callused hands that bore numerous scars, Karan reached up and drew his hood back, revealing a head of close cropped hair that was a brown so dark it was nearly black. A pair of pink scars ran across the left side of his head, leaving furrows in the hair. He unwound the scarf that had covered all but his green eyes, revealing his face.
“By all the gods,” she whispered, aghast. From the look of him, he was roughly the same age as was she, but must have endured an unspeakably brutal life, even by Roman standards. His face would have been quite handsome in an exotic way, were it not for the patchwork of scars that marred his olive skin.
One set of scars, however, was unlike the others, which were random wounds. These were like scrollwork upon his skin, creating a pattern of vines on his right cheek that mirrored the ornamentation on his chest armor. Unable to help herself, she reached out and brushed her fingertips over the puckered scar tissue.
“Only a slave would bear such a mark,” Pelonius said, bitterness evident in his voice.
“And a runaway, obviously,” Marcus said grimly.
Valeria pulled her hand away from Karan and turned to face Marcus, a tingle of fear running through her. Despite the efforts of her father to eliminate slavery in the Empire, the laws still governing their existence were explicit and inviolable, and enforced with unflinching severity by the military under the will of the Senate. A runaway slave, once captured, faced crucifixion. Even the Emperor himself could not intervene. “We will not reward this man, who just helped save all our lives, with death!” Turning back to Karan, she said, “Are you a slave?”
Karan looked confused. “I do not understand.”
“Did you have a master before coming here?” Pelonius asked.
“All who are born to the sword have masters.”
“Where are you from?” Paulus asked, trying a different approach.
Pointing north, Karan said, “There. From across the waters.”
“Jupiter’s balls!” Septimus exclaimed, igniting a cacophony of protests sparked by disbelief among everyone in earshot.
“Silence!” Mouths clicked shut at Marcus’s bellowed order. Valeria opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it. She was smart enough to realize that Marcus no longer wore the mask of the doting uncle, but was Centurion Tullius, First Spear of the Empire. To Pelonius, Marcus said in a tight voice, “I would have the truth of this, scribe. And quickly.”
With a nod, Pelonius stepped forward to Karan. “I am Pelonius, the personal scribe of the Emperor.”
Karan bowed his head, but made no further sign of acknowledgement. Pelonius may as well have just told him that he was the local butcher.
Valeria reached out and took one of Marcus’s bloody arms and whispered, “What concerns you beyond whether he is a runaway slave?”
Without taking his eyes from Karan, Marcus answered, “If he is truly from the Dark Lands, if they have some way to cross the Haunted Sea that eludes us, the Empire may be open to invasion.”
“I’d say the invasion’s already begun,” Septimus added in a whisper as he nodded toward the blood-soaked battlefield.
“You must know that the waters to the north,” Pelonius asked Karan, “which we call the Haunted Sea, are deadly to all who sail upon it. How, then, did you come to be here?”
After a long look with haunted eyes at Valeria, Karan began to speak. “I was among those chosen for the Great Hunt, when warriors are chosen by the Masters to act as prey for the fisi, the beasts that set upon you here. It is held once every five summers in the great preserve along the sea that long ago was set aside for the purpose, that our deaths may entertain the Masters. The jungle of the preserve is crossed by many trails and open areas, not unlike this, where the Masters view our deaths from aback great elephants.”
“Elephants?” Pelonius whispered, with a glance at Valeria, whose eyes were wide with surprise. Elephants were fearsome creatures de
picted in some of the most ancient texts preserved by the Survivors, and had been used by Hannibal, one of Old Rome’s greatest enemies, with devastating effect. But none had survived the Long Winter, at least in any lands of the known world.
“Two moons past,” Karan went on, “a great storm swept in from across the sea four days after the Hunt began. By then, the fisi had driven me from the jungle and were hunting for me among the rocks of the shore. The Masters had retreated in the face of the winds, which were strong enough to tear trees from the ground by the roots, and drove the rain so hard the drops felt like tiny spears against the flesh.” He paused and looked down for a moment. “I feared that I would die without their eyes upon me. A Sword cannot suffer any greater shame.”
“He’s a bloody gladiator,” Septimus whispered.
Marcus silenced him with a glare.
“Then what happened?” Valeria prompted. She was near to bursting with questions, but knew they would have to wait.
Karan’s eyes lifted, his gaze meeting hers. “The beasts, too, were driven back to the shelter of the jungle by the storm. I would have followed, so fierce was the wind, but I slipped and fell from the rocks into the water…but I found myself upon more rocks, save for when the waves came. It was dark then, and I lost my way as I searched for the shore. Many times I was nearly carried away by the water, battered by the rocks when I fell and was torn by the wind, but I did not drown, nor did the spirits of the water take my life. The storm lasted for what I think was four days, maybe five, I do not know. I finally fell from exhaustion, and when I awoke I found myself upon the shore of these lands.”
“That would fit,” Valeria told Marcus. “The reports of the Ghost began to appear about two months ago, after one of the worst storms ever recorded.”
“The legend of the bridge between here and the Dark Lands is true, then,” Pelonius said.
“But why does it appear now, after being lost for so long?” Marcus asked.
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