Rage took one deep breath, then advanced. ‘Cara sends her love,’ he said softly, his voice friendly and warm.
For a moment only Voltan froze. Then Rage was upon him. Voltan parried desperately, but Rage’s sword tore into his belly, ripping up through a lung and out through his back. Voltan sagged against Rage, letting go of his sword and resting his head on his killer’s shoulder.
‘Clever . . . move,’ he whispered.
‘It needed to be, boy,’ said Rage, lowering him to the ground.
The crowd erupted in applause, and a burst of cheering filled the stadium.
‘I . . . think . . . they’re glad to see me die.’ Voltan forced a smile. ‘You should . . . get those wounds stitched.’
‘I’ll wait awhile,’ said Rage.
Voltan lay quietly for a moment. There was no pain, and he felt curiously at peace. ‘Does . . . Cara . . . know about me?’ he asked.
‘No. Nor will she. She’s a fine girl though, strong, courageous and loyal. Any man would be proud to be her father.’
‘I would have been . . . had I known.’
Voltan’s head rolled to the side. He found himself staring at the two execution stakes erected at the centre of the arena, rising like spikes from mounds of oil-soaked brushwood.
‘She forgave me,’ he whispered. But Rage did not hear him.
Bane sagged against the railing as Rage rose from beside the dead Voltan. The old gladiator raised his sword in salute to the emperor, then strode from the arena, thunderous applause ringing in his ears. Slaves ran out to grab the dead Voltan’s heels and drag his body across the sand.
From the far end of the arena came a troop of soldiers, leading out two figures. The first was Nalademus. As he saw the stake he began to struggle, throwing himself to the ground. Soldiers hauled him up and dragged him towards the pyres. He screamed and shouted, and the crowd jeered.
A little way back came the Veiled Lady. She was small, and slim, her pale blue dress gleaming with oil. Two soldiers were holding her bare arms, but she did not struggle, and walked with her veiled head held high.
‘Burn them! Burn them! Burn them!’ chanted the crowd.
‘I suppose’, said Jasaray, ‘that I should offer you another wish, since Rage has robbed you of your revenge. Ask and it shall be given to you. You want Voltan’s estates, or other lands. Chests of gold perhaps.’
Bane was staring down into the arena. ‘I’ll take her,’ he said softly. ‘Give me her life.’
‘What? You know her?’
‘No.’
‘Then think again, Bane. She is the heart of these Cultists, and if I pardon her there will be a riot.’
‘You said I could ask anything, Majesty,’ Bane reminded him.
Jasaray’s face hardened. ‘At this moment I am your friend, Bane. Emperors are good friends to have. If you persist in this, you will become my enemy, and there will be no place for you in Stone or any of the lands of Stone. Why make me your enemy for a woman you do not know?’
Bane stared down at the woman, and listened to the baying of the crowd. While Nalademus screamed and begged, she merely stood, shoulders back, aloof and proud, the jeering of the crowd washing over her. ‘She has courage,’ he said softly. ‘And, with all due respect, Majesty, I think her life is worth far more than your friendship.’
Jasaray rose from his seat and walked to the balcony’s edge. The guards holding the prisoners were waiting for his signal. He pointed to the woman, beckoning the guards to bring her forward. He swung to Bane, his expression calm, but his eyes angry. ‘Go down and collect your prize,’ he said. ‘You have two days to leave Stone – never to return.’
Bane bowed and walked from the enclosure.
In the arena Nalademus was dragged screaming to the stake. Bane ran down the aisle to the lowest level, climbed over the wall and leapt the twelve feet to the arena floor. He approached the guards holding the woman. ‘The emperor has granted her freedom,’ he said. The guards glanced up at the tall, stooping figure of Jasaray, who nodded to them. Instantly they released the arms of the Veiled Lady.