Free Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator by Claudia Christian and Morgan Grant Buchanan Page A

seek me out, and he wouldn’t be easy to deal with. The loss of Mother and Aulus changed him, and the war that followed had only made things worse. He had become overly cautious, paranoid, and easily angered. He drank too much and didn’t sleep well. Most of his waking hours were spent at the Senate dealing with matters of war and the affairs of the empire, trying to keep House Viridian from collapsing like a house of cards under the strength of the Sertorian advance. He’d managed me at a distance through Bulla and the other household staff. Perhaps because I shared too many of my mother’s features, I reminded him of what he’d lost. In his heart, I was certain, he wished I’d gone on the trip to Olympus Decimus in place of my brother. Then he would have a son to follow in his footsteps, a real warrior instead of a daughter who knew only how to shame him.
    My thoughts were wandering into dark places. Already, I was ignoring Marcus’ advice to focus on the present, but every moment my lanista failed to appear, I felt less self-assured, less capable, and then, just when I thought he would never come and that I was abandoned, he returned.
    â€œWe’re on,” he said with no more drama than if he were ordering some food off a street vendor.
    Now I saw what had taken him so long. He’d stopped to get changed into his own costume.
    Marcus was dressed as a murmillo. His helmet was crested with a stylized fish, and he also wore a manica and light armor, black streaked with patterns of silver designed as an abstract representation of a bird’s wings. His weapons were those of a soldier, the tower shield (that would be projected from his armilla) and a short twenty-five-inch gladius. Marcus took the only traditional weapons that were part of a legionary’s basic equipment and turned them into an artwork of attack and defense.
    â€œThe committee’s on board?” I asked.
    â€œI had to assure them a real blood match,” he said.
    â€œSo whoever wins, if the crowd turns against the loser…”
    â€œThe Colosseum sand will soak up the blood,” Marcus said, “as it has for millennia.”
    â€œI’m ready.”
    As we headed back into the arena, we passed the emperor’s cousin being carried out on a stretcher, bruised and bleeding.
    The crowd chattered loudly in anticipation of our match. The She-Wolf fighting to regain her place and against her own trainer.
    V
    W E STEPPED INTO THE bright light of center stage. A separate spotlight illuminated the announcer.
    â€œNext up, Accala Viridius Camilla—Lupa She-Wolf—and Ludus Magnus’ Marcus Calpurnius Regulus—The Regulator—who is making use of his trainer badge to enter the contest. Lupa is competing for a place on the Calpurnian team!”
    The crowd howled with excitement, chanting Marcus’ fighting nickname again and again. My reputation was solid, but Marcus’ was solid gold. Here was a living legend reentering the arena after refusing to fight for so long.
    The arena floor could be reconfigured in thousands of ways by the game editor to cater to the competitors’ strengths and weaknesses. For Marcus and me, they’d arranged three floating platforms, each level higher than the other, with stairs running between them. On each platform were half-a-dozen translucent high-wall formations, each in the shape of an equal-armed cross, providing corners that would give Marcus the advantage if he could manage to maneuver me into them. There were also an equal number of metallic posts that I could use to ricochet my discus off of as well as position myself behind to keep Marcus at optimal range.
    The media spherae swung in lazy arcs above us, green eyes glowing, capturing every moment, every word. How many citizens were watching? A surprise match like this could summon an empirewide flash audience, and when there was a buzz on the vox populi, who knew who many would tune