Rise of the Wolf (Mark of the Thief 2)

Brutus excused himself, and the Praetors closed into a tight circle for a discussion that was loudly punctuated by more than a few curses against both me and Radulf. We only smiled at each other. I knew this was as irritating to them as an outbreak of lice, but in the end, they would not be able to challenge it. Callistus was qualified to race, and even if they went to the emperor himself, they would not be able to stop me.

Finally, Brutus separated from the other Praetors and walked back over to me. "Your unicorn will race, then. But when my charioteers come at you on the track, and trust me, they will, it will not be my fault if your ... horse ... is injured beyond saving."

"Charioteers?" Radulf asked. "You are allowed only one competitor against Nic. Whichever of the two crosses the finish line first is the victor."

"Yes, I know that, but in the Ludi Romani, there are twelve teams who race." Brutus nodded to the Praetors. "Have the charioteers brought in."

Radulf pulled me aside. "They're going to bring in the strongest racers they can find, but there's only one that you must defeat. The rest are simply meant to intimidate or scare you. Don't let them."

"I won't," I said, which wasn't exactly true. Even with Callistus for my team, I was already plenty scared.

And just as Radulf had warned, the charioteers who came to the stables looked like monuments of muscle and cruelty. Some were quite large -- they'd weigh down their chariots like boulders, but their purpose obviously wasn't winning. They were to make sure I didn't. Some of them were lighter on their feet, but every cut of their body was chiseled in strength. Based on appearances alone, any of them had a chance of coming in ahead of me.

"These are none of Rome's usual charioteers," Radulf said. "Where did you find them?"

"They are slaves, all of them," Brutus said. "Some were collected from the rowboats, others are builders, and others are charioteers who have won great victories elsewhere in the empire."

My heart pounded. If he had chosen slaves, then I could already guess at their agreement. Anyone who knocked me off my chariot would be given his freedom. Anyone who failed would be given death. Their motives to win were just as desperate as mine.

"This is a waste of time," Radulf said. "Nic does not have to defeat them all, only the one you have chosen. Which one is that?"

I counted them. Ten charioteers. I was the eleventh. Who was the twelfth?

Near me, Crispus had been doing the same. He stepped forward. "You're missing one."

"Am I?" Brutus looked back at his men as if surprised, though he obviously wasn't. "Well, before I bring out my final charioteer, I want to finalize the last term of our agreement." His eyes fell upon my bulla.

"I won't use magic," I said. "I'll keep my promise."

"How will I know that?"

"The magic I do is never subtle," I said. "If I use magic, you'll know it."

Brutus stepped closer to me. "If you use magic, if even a scent of it is released in that race, it will be an automatic loss."

I glanced at Radulf, whose mouth was pressed in a tight line. I knew he wanted to dispute this rule, but I didn't see how we had any chance of winning the argument. With magic, my victory would be assured from the beginning, meaning there was no reason for the Praetors to compete.

"No magic," I promised. "Now, let me see the Praetor I have to defeat. Because so far, you've shown me no one who's any threat. They're too big to even catch the dust from my wheels."

I didn't mean any of that. The truth was that any of these men was a significant threat to me, both to my safety and my chances of winning. And if these were the ones that Brutus didn't want to use, then I worried about the person he had chosen.

Brutus smiled. "The twelfth charioteer is no Praetor and, in fact, isn't really a charioteer at all. But my racer is highly motivated to win. If she fails, then she will die."

My heart sank. "She?"

Two more Praetors rounded the corner, and between them was Aurelia. Her hands were chained, and her eyes were wild with fury as she resisted their pushing her forward. That is, until she saw me, and then a tear rolled down her cheek and she shook her head as an apology.

Aurelia had been chosen for the race, perhaps the only competitor who could have sent my head spinning. Because now, I genuinely had no idea what to do. I had to win, or else the empire would collapse, and a war would be launched between the gods. I would lose everything.

But she had to win, or she would be dead. And then I would lose even more.

I rushed forward, my enti

re body filled with magic. "No!" I yelled at Brutus. "This is not what we agreed!"

Radulf caught me and pressed me back. "We can't fight here, Nic."

"I won't race against her!"