Rise of the Wolf

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

"For a single second -- no more!"

  "That single second might cost you the race. When the gates open, your horses must already be in motion."

  "If I leave a little behind the others, then I'll get to the spine without competition from their chariots!"

  "No. You must be first to the spine and block them. Or else they will block you and it's very difficult to overcome that. Now try again."

  So I did. Again. And again. Over and over.

  Each time I left the gates, the routine was the same. To leave the gate as quickly as possible and make a full round of the tracks before coming back to start again. The only difference each time was the particular criticism Radulf shouted at me as I rode. However, he was becoming more specific in his attacks on my performance, down to the way I managed the reins and the angle of my feet on the chariot floor. I hoped it meant I was getting better, though each time I returned to the gates, his frustration with me was the same.

  "You're acting tired," he said late that afternoon.

  "There's a reason for that," I countered.

  I was exhausted. Not only from being awake for most of the night, but I'd also been on my feet all day. Even if my mind would be ready in three days, I was beginning to doubt whether my worn body could handle seven rounds of the track. I had stupidly promised not to use magic in the Ludi Romani, though I knew Brutus never would have agreed to the bargain otherwise. Maybe it wouldn't be fair to use magic, but I didn't much care about fairness at the moment.

  "Why are you so tired?" he asked. "Perhaps you can tell me where you were all night."

  I rolled my eyes. Yes, I had known all along that he would ask. I just wished he hadn't waited until my mind was as tired as my body.

  I handed the reins to a nearby stable servant, removed my helmet, and jumped off the chariot. "I don't have to explain anything to you."

  "No, that's true, you don't."

  Surprised at his response, I turned back to look at him. Respect and understanding were the last things I ever expected from Radulf.

  Then he stepped forward and continued, "I can't force you to talk to me. But too often, you make decisions without thinking, ignoring all the danger you are in, until you get into trouble, and then you call me for help. So if you are going to ask for help, I have the right to know where you were!"

  "I understand, and you're right," I said, keeping my tone even. "So I won't ask you for help, not anymore."

  And I backed away from him into the stands. I wasn't sure why I went there, only that it was someplace to go. I watched the other charioteers manage their horses as they practiced, and compared myself to them. Then I stopped. Mostly because I didn't compare well.

  "Look at that man, the one in green." As he spoke, Radulf sat down beside me. Servants accompanied him, carrying some food.

  I said nothing, but I did look. I had been watching the green charioteer for some time, trying to figure out how he stayed ahead of the other racers. It didn't even look like he was trying that hard.

  Radulf took my silence as an invitation to stay, and maybe it was. I definitely wanted the food, and if I lowered my pride, I also knew that I needed more of his help.

  "See how he stands at an angle to the chariot," Radulf said. "It helps him shift his weight when it's time to make the turns."

  Then, a few minutes later, Radulf pointed to another man, one with a white tunic. "He's no good. The horses drive him and not the other way around. Let's hope the Praetors choose him to compete against you, eh?"

  "They won't choose him," I said grumpily. "His own mother wouldn't bet on him winning."

  And I wondered at that, if my mother would bet on me. Then an even more curious question -- if I had any money, even a single coin, would I bet it on myself to win? Probably I would, but only because if I failed in the race, losing that coin would be the least of my worries.

  "Of all the games of Rome, I've always loved the chariot races the most," Radulf said. "I know all the best drivers in the city. There are perhaps six or seven who are especially good, and who would be happy to race against you, if they were paid well enough. But no amount of gold in their pocket can compare to your reasons for wanting the victory. It's your heart that will win this race, Nic. You must race with passion, above everything else."

  Passion was important but so was sleep, and the latter was far more important to me now. I had wanted to think more about the words from the vestalis last night, but thinking about anything at all was difficult. Finally, we decided to return to Radulf's home, where I could bathe and then have the rest of the evening to myself. A man was nailing a curse tablet to the wall as we exited the circus, and when he saw us, he dropped the hammer and tablet and ran.

  Radulf went over and picked it up, then used enough magic to crush it to dust in his fist.

  "What did it say?" I asked.

  "It had your name on it," he said.

  Obviously. "But what did it say?" To escape his home, I'd collected plenty of curse tablets, and a few of them had mentioned me, as part of the red faction.

  "This was specific," Radulf said. "It calls you a plague to the empire and begs the gods to curse you before you can do them any more harm."

  I grinned. "The gods have already cursed me, Radulf. They won't do any worse now."

  "Let's hope not," he said. "I'm afraid for what happens to you if things get any worse."

  Yes, so was I.

  On the second day, I returned to the tracks early. I'd already been awake for hours, trying to learn some of the magic that came so easily to Radulf, and doing more poorly than I wished to admit. So I was glad to leave when Radulf called for me. His new, finer team of horses would be waiting here and he wanted us to begin working together as soon as possible.

  But before we reached the tracks, we were met by new curse tablets that had gone up overnight. Dozens of them. I didn't read them all, but every single one I glanced at had my name engraved on it.

  Normally this meant the odds had been calculated and people would be betting against me to win. But this time, I thought the tablets meant something else: that the Praetors were nervous. They believed it was possible I might win, and they were begging the gods to side with them.

  Their pleas would go unheard. The gods would never help them. If the Praetors won the race, the gods would lose.

  Diana alone would be on the side of the Praetors, and I had no doubt that she'd be happy to curse me. Or more correctly, to curse me even more. She needed the Praetors to win if she was to finish her rebellion against the other gods. It was partially for that reason that I would not use the bulla in the race. Diana would surely use her power to sabotage any magic I might attempt.

  Radulf seemed more upset by the tablets than I was, though this time we only passed them by. If he tried to destroy all of the ones that had been posted, he'd collapse half the stands.

  Once we got back to the stables, Radulf was presented with his new horses, which looked as fine as any I'd ever seen. The four horses were tall with broad chests, bright fur coats, and eyes that seemed every bit as alert as Callistus's were when he looked at me.

  "They have been tested in other races and performed well," Radulf told me as he ran a hand over the mane of the tallest horse, a muscular black male with a white star on his forehead. "With them, you'll be faster than ever before."

  I patted the horse, and whispered to him my excitement to test Radulf's words. I knew he was right.

  Today, our plan was to work on managing the curves around the spine. The spine itself was the narrow center of the track that kept racers from crossing into oncoming drivers. It was built of brick and stood off the ground about four feet. A large obelisk rose up in the center of it, looted from Egypt after Rome's victories there. At either end, three tall poles were stationed to protect the spine from any chariot crashes. The turns there were so sharp that few races were ever completed without at least one charioteer losing his balance. For that reason, the more cautious charioteers made wider turns on the ou
ter rim of the track. Maybe they'd survive the race, but cautious drivers never won. As a rule, I was rarely cautious, and besides, I had no choice but to win. I needed to practice those curves.

  With the Ludi Romani being so close, at least twenty teams were already on the track today. Many of them were doing full races, hoping to be chosen for their faction.

  "We'll come back tonight." Radulf's tone was tense, and he spoke in a low voice so that we wouldn't be overheard. He was worried, that much was obvious. But I doubted it was for my safety. More likely, he thought I would expose my inexperience to the other charioteers and look even worse by comparison.

  But I was already hooking up my chariot to the new team of horses. "No," I said eagerly. "I'm riding."

  I used the first few laps to test the new horses. They were far stronger than my original team, so much that I knew I was borrowing strength from the bulla just to keep them from pulling too hard on their reins. They were faster too. I nearly lost my balance on our third lap.

  These were winning horses, certainly. Radulf had chosen them well, and he was right to insist I use them. I nodded my thanks to him as I rounded the track. He shouted back something at me, a criticism of my performance, of course, but I didn't care. I'd rarely felt happier in my life. My hopes to win the race were growing.

  I spoke to the horses as we rode, freely using the bulla to tell them what I wanted and expected of them. The horse farthest to my right was the fastest; because he was on the outside, he would run more distance than the others. But the horse on the inside had to be the strongest. I needed him to keep the entire team together as we rounded each turn. I told them these things and hoped to understand what they expected from me as well. Though I wasn't competing against the other teams on the track, it was a successful morning. When I gave them a midday break, along with a fat apple and a pat on their backs, I thanked each horse personally for his strength and speed.

  Radulf and I were eating lunch again in the stands when a charioteer in a green toga approached us.

  "You drive well, although I think you are far too young to race," he said to me.

  I glared back. "And you drive well for someone far too old to race."

  Radulf lightly swatted my leg, then said to the charioteer. "Is there something you wanted?"

  He nodded at Radulf. "The grandson of Rome's finest general is on the tracks. It would be an honor to race against Nicolas Calva."

  Radulf shook his head. "Today is a practice for the Ludi Romani. If you qualify, you may race him then."

  The charioteer motioned toward the tracks, where several of the horse teams had stopped to watch us. "Actually, we all want to race the boy. We've seen the curse tablets and wondered, why are all of them in his name? Is it because he's so bad" -- he arched an eyebrow and stared directly at me -- "or so good?"

  I started to answer but Radulf spoke over me. "He's a fair driver. Not worth your trouble."

  "What a pity." The charioteer was still looking at me. "I saw you in the amphitheater. I know the things you can do with a wave of your hand. I suppose what the people say is true, that without that bulla around your neck, you are helpless."

  I stood. "I don't need the bulla to race."

  "Nic --" Radulf began, but this time I ran over his words.

  "I accept your offer," I said, putting the knife back in my belt. When I finished, I reached for my helmet.

  "Perhaps the loser will muck out the stables of all the winners," the charioteer said, smiling.

  "If you think you can spare the time for all that work." I made sure my smile was just as wide as his.

  He nodded, and I started to follow him down the steps toward the track.

  "You'd be easier to control if you didn't insist on such foolish agreements all the time," Radulf called down to me.

  I stopped long enough to grin at him. "Yes, Radulf, that is my plan. I will not be controlled."

  He wasn't smiling back. "Then I am sad to say that you will have to learn the hard way."

  Several minutes later, I and nearly twenty other chariot teams were in two rows at the break line of the track. There was no room for all of us from the gates, and out here, we drew for positions by the length of sticks in one of the players' hands. I pulled a middle length, meaning I was in the front row but nearer to the outside. It could've been worse.

  It also could've been better. Namely, that I just might be the sort of person who was determined to learn everything in the hardest possible way. Radulf was right about that.

  Up in the stands, money was already changing hands as people realized an unofficial race was about to begin. The empire might pretend not to see any gambling on game days, but they'd be less tolerant today. I noticed Radulf shaking hands with a couple of men and handing them a small sack of money. I wasn't sure how much he was gambling, and especially wasn't sure whether he was betting in my favor. I wanted to think he was on my side, but I also knew he wasn't a fool. Some of the drivers here seemed to know what they were doing, far more than I.

  A man was chosen to drop the white cloth that signaled the start of the race, and as he raised it, I recalled what I had learned from Radulf so far. By the time the cloth fell, I was already in motion.

  My chariot was the first to launch from its position, which gave me a small advantage. Although I'd made no official agreement to withhold magic, I still wouldn't use it. Today was a test of how the Ludi Romani race would go in only two days.

  By the first turn, I had cut midway into the center, which gave me an easy angle around the spine. The horses of two teams ahead of me collided in the turn and fell in a tangled mess. Their drivers cut free, and it looked like they were about to start a fistfight, when the oddest thing happened: Two other drivers slowed enough to pick them up.

  That made no sense to me. A second driver weighed down their chariot while giving them no advantage, and the time they'd lost would surely cost them the race.

  But I also couldn't worry about any of that. I was quickly headed for the second turn, which would complete the first lap of seven, and I was determined to be inside by then.

  Three chariots were ahead of me, each of them riding so close together that it almost looked like they were one wide chariot with three drivers and a team of twelve horses. I thought about the story Radulf had told me of Nero's ten-horse chariot. It had sunk him, and it would hurt these teams as well.

  Another charioteer to my left was doing his best to edge me out, but my horses were strong and I wasn't about to give him any room. When we took the corner, I leaned my weight hard to encourage the horses farther inside and it forced that chariot to back off or be crushed against the columns.

  The stands around us had come alive with cheers and shouts. Radulf was on the other side, opposite from me, so I didn't bother looking for him, or at anyone else, but I did hear the crowd. As always, the green and blue factions were the most popular, and they were receiving their encouragement, though I also heard a few calls for white. My faction, the red team, only had a couple of other charioteers amongst them, and both were behind me. So most of what I heard for the red was hope that we lost.

  The second lap went well. The three chariots were still ahead, still locking me out of position, but everyone else had fallen behind. I'd never keep up if I tried overtaking them from the outside, and they were riding so close together that my horses had no way of pushing between theirs. My only chance was to beat them on the inside. It would require an extremely sharp turn at the spine, but I figured it was better to test my team of horses today than at the Ludi Romani.

  I got into position and pushed so near the center that I could've touched the columns if I held out my hand. When it was time to turn, the other teams made the usual wide arc with their horses, but I pulled hard on one rein and then counterbalanced with my weight. My chariot bumped into the first column when we turned and I nearly fell, but I grabbed the side of the chariot long enough to reset my feet and saw all the other chariots slide into place behind
me.

  Although five laps remained, I could already taste victory in my mouth, like the sweetest fruit at perfect ripeness. I cared nothing for the win itself -- no emperor was here to place a laurel wreath on my head, none of the gambling money would come to me, and from the chants in the stands, nobody here would be particularly happy if I won. But at least I would know that I had crossed the finish line first and, more important, that I could do it again in two days.

  With half the race still to complete, I was the clear leader, and as Radulf said, it was much harder to get ahead than to stay ahead. All I had to do was keep my place on the inner track, and I would win.

  And then I looked behind me, to the three chariots that had been riding in such a tight formation. They clearly weren't happy that I'd passed them, and they were motioning to other chariots still racing.

  That didn't bother me. Or didn't bother me too much until I realized the other chariots had slowed to near crawls. Why would they? There was still plenty of time for any of them to pull into the lead, or to attempt it anyway. But at this pace, I'd be finished and back at Radulf's home sipping a hot tea before they started their final lap.

  The two teams who had picked up the fallen charioteers had no hope of winning now; at best they were still a full lap behind me. They rode evenly but were spread apart at about the length of a horse team. It was risky to drive between them, but it was the only choice if I wanted to keep my lead.

  The instant I committed myself to this route, the extra charioteer to my left tossed one end of his whip to the man on the right, who caught it, and then together they pulled it tight.

  There was no time to react. At the speed I was going, I would run directly into the whip. If I ducked too low to avoid it, then I'd pull on the reins tied at my waist and lose control of my horses. And if I didn't duck low enough, the whip would catch me across my neck. It'd create an entirely new definition of the phrase "sore throat."

  As it was, I pulled the knife from my waist and began to cut free of my reins, but I'd only sliced through one when the whip connected at my chest, stripping me off the chariot. With one rein still pulling me forward, my whole body fell to the ground and was dragged through the dirt while I tried to get free. The sand on the track covered a hard dirt surface, one without forgiveness. Every one of the small rocks kicked up by the horses found my arms, legs, and my side. The knife was still in my hand, but I was being dragged at such a high speed, it was difficult to get the knife against the knot. A chariot was also coming up directly behind me, ready to run me over if I didn't get out of his way. And perhaps he had already decided that I wouldn't get out of his way.