The Rebels' Assault (4 page)

A
crowd of more than a hundred merchants gathered in the courtyard of the Suvius Tower. A large, flat scaffold had been erected, supporting a grand stage that was overlooked by a balcony that jutted from the tower like a great jaw. Standing on the balcony, surveying the crowd, were Slavious Doom and Drin Hain, deep in conversation.

A rumor had started among the merchants that Doom had only graced the event with his presence because he had been assured by Hain that the planned executions would draw out the escaped slaves whose faces adorned so many wanted posters across Campania. One thing was certain: An air of excitement was swirling among the growing crowd, eager to see the promised executions.

In the highest room of the Suvius Tower, Ruma stared through a large, barred window at the drama unfolding below. The crowd looked like a hive of insects swarming before a great mound. Once again, Ruma was reminded just how high the tower stretched.

“It practically pierces the clouds,” he said aloud, “ . . . and, sometime in the next hour, I'm going to be thrown from the top of it. How LUCKY am I?”

“Luckier than me,” Argon snarled, practically spitting the words out. “At least you can avoid being ripped apart by—what was it?—oh yes: lions, crocodiles, or snakes. Only, I don't get to know which ones until I actually drop into their lair.” He kicked at the rough stone wall of the cell. “That's okay, though—because it doesn't matter what I get. I'm absolutely terrified of them all.”

“You'd rather be hanged like Teo, would you?” Ruma snapped, indicating the slave who sat, uncomplaining, in the corner of the cell. “I suppose you think he's got it easy?”

“I'll tell you who has got it easy,” the Gaul growled, turning his attention to the slumbering form of Gladius. “Gladius, that's who. Dispatched by the sword? It's not exactly going to be long and drawn out, is it? Hain is probably so quick he won't even see the end coming. And why? Just because he got lucky and picked the right necklace . . .”

“We can't turn on one another now,” Ruma warned, moving through the room to stand between Argon and Gladius. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. “That's exactly what Doom and Hain want.”

“Nonsense,” said Argon dismissively. “All Doom wants is to capture Decimus and Olu. Our deaths are nothing but bait . . . well, that and entertainment for his bloated merchant friends.”

“He'll come back,” said Gladius quietly. It was the first time he had spoken since the trial of the torcs. All eyes turned toward him.

“What?” Argon prompted. “Did you actually say something worth listening to?”

“Decimus will come back,” Gladius repeated. “I know I've been pretty mean about him since he escaped, but that's just because I was angry that we didn't get away, too. I know what sort of person Decimus is. He'll come here and give himself up.”

“Yeah,” said Ruma doubtfully, returning to the window and squinting down at the courtyard. “Well I hope he picks up some speed, because it looks to me like the executioners are ready.”

The
Caveat
was hosting a war. More than half the ship's complement of abused and starving slaves had broken against the bewildered crew like a tidal wave washing over a beach. Despite the fact that most of the captain's men were armed, they were quickly overpowered by the sheer weight of numbers. The remaining slaves had accompanied Decimus to the cabin, where swords, shields, and a variety of brass knuckles and mailed gauntlets had been acquired.

The slavers themselves were being shown as much mercy as they had previously awarded their prisoners. Several were dispatched by the sword, while others were simply thrown over the side of the ship. The captain had drawn his own blade and was being backed to the starboard side of the deck by a group of heavily scarred slaves intent on providing him with a painful death. A short distance away, the hulking brute who'd so gleefully whipped and beaten the prisoners in his care was now being introduced to a world of tar and flames. His agonized screams echoed all over the ship until he stumbled overboard and the ocean claimed him.

Far above the developing chaos, Olu was struggling with the oily-haired, one-eyed crewman. The little man had caught up with the slave in the crow's nest and, after exchanging several heavy blows, both of them had fought for control of the crewman's dagger. Fortunately, Olu had managed to force the weapon out of his enemy's grip, sending it spearing toward the deck below. Now they were even or, Olu reflected, as even as they were ever likely to be.

A punch knocked the slave back against the top of the mast, momentarily winding him. One thing was certain: The little man was deceptively strong. Olu ducked a second punch and the one-eyed slaver's bloodied knuckles glanced off the wood. He tried to deliver a kick of his own, but the attempt was swiftly blocked, and the slaver snatched hold of his neck instead.

Throwing his considerable strength into the fight, the crewman drove Olu back to the edge of the crow's nest, his iron grip still closed around the young slave's neck.

Olu felt his back press firmly against the wooden rail, and knew he only had one chance against the wily sailor. Dropping to his knees, he used every ounce of his own energy to drag the little man onto his back and hoist him over the edge of the rail.

“Whatyaaahhahaahahaahhahaahahahahah!”

The high-pitched scream from the slaver was abruptly cut off as he plummeted to his death.

Away from the explosive confusion, Decimus Rex had climbed onto the higher galley, where two of the stronger and more agile slaves were wrestling with the ship's wheel.

Decimus cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled across the deck, continuing to belt out his drowned words even as the rioting ceased and the captain was dumped over the side of the ship.

“. . . en to me!” Decimus finished. The assembled slaves turned their attention to the young warrior and his nimble companion, now climbing down the mast to join him. “Please! Listen to me! My name is Decimus Rex and, like you, I am a slave! I come from Arena Primus, where Slavious Doom had my friends and me imprisoned to pay off the debts of our parents! My friend Olu and I escaped his grasp, and now our faces appear on scrolls throughout the continent! Our time is limited and our fates are all but sealed. Nevertheless, we have released you all today, not only to give you your freedom, but to ask—no, to BEG you—for help!”

As Olu finally reached the upper galley, he saw that Decimus had drawn the attention of the entire slave gathering. Every eye was upon him, and all of the men seemed to be listening with a mixture of wild confusion and gratitude.

“In a tower,” Decimus continued, pointing toward the landmass that was now clearly visible from the starboard side of the ship, “that I believe stands just along the coast from here, four of our friends are about to be put to death.” He raised an arm and gripped Olu by the shoulder. “They are no older than me and Olu, and have committed no crime except to be born to those less wealthy than the merchant classes! It is our plan to attack the tower, and to free our friends! We may not succeed, but we will try. I would not ask any of you to come with us . . . but if you could suffer our company a while longer and get the ship to our destination, then Olu and I would be greatly in your debt. We ask this—”

Decimus tried to continue, but his voice was drowned out by a thunderous roar from the slaves. Instead, he turned to Olu and whispered, “How far do you think we are from the Suvius Tower?”

The slave smiled back at his friend and pointed over Decimus's right shoulder.

“Unless I'm very much mistaken,” he said, “that's it.”

A
fternoon arrived in southern Campania, though it failed to herald the arrival of even the slightest breeze. An unbearable heat haze had forced the land into submission. Guards cooked in their armor without a word of complaint as their miserable masters were fanned with giant palm leaves, and a restlessness gripped those who were eager to be distracted.

A deathly silence came over the merchant crowd as Slavious Doom appeared at the entrance to the Suvius Tower and began the long climb to the base of the scaffold. Drin Hain trailed after the overlord, his black cloak billowing out behind him. Following the pair at a respectful distance was a small party of guards, and each one was dragging their own hooded prisoner.

As Argon, Teo, and Gladius progressed along the scaffold, they could hear the shouts and jeers of the crowd all around them. Though the hoods prevented them from seeing the crowd or the scene that lay before them, the slaves were more consumed by their own fears than the thought of the eager, overfed faces that would be gathered all around the courtyard, baying for their blood. Argon thought of his impending death in the cages that were undoubtedly ranged beneath the scaffold, Teo thought of the pit over which he would frantically struggle when the hangman's noose was placed around his neck, and Gladius could think only of Drin Hain raising a curved sword and striking him down without the slightest flinch of mercy.

Far above the slaves, the courtyard, and the scaffold itself, Ruma—the only slave whose head had not been covered with a cloth sack—surveyed the scene from the very top of the Suvius Tower. His mind was galloping furiously, taking in the surrounding buildings, the guards at his side, the chains around him, and the rising noise from the distant courtyard as his friends were sent toward their doom. He looked down and squinted at the scaffold: His friends were being separated.

Ruma's gaze shifted back to his chains as several of the guards departed, leaving a single large brute behind—presumably the one who'd been given the task of throwing him over the edge.