Next morning, Morpheus released me from his clutches to the sound of rhythmic noise, like that of a distant surf. I sat up groggily, but without having to ask for a winch. The surf wasn't a surf, but a bustle of human activity all around me. That's right, I slept at the dormitory, and the bastards didn't wake me up. Not even Quintus...

"Es tu, Quintus?" I groaned. One groan should have been enough groaning for one day. Yet, I made an even longer, even louder, and definitely more obnoxious sound once I crawled out of the school: Rufius Fulgentius waited for me on the street, looking mighty important.

Worse, he pointed at a curtained litter. "Junius said that you needed to travel like a virtuous matron, Maximus."

I groaned for the third time and pulled my cloak tighter around me, despite the warm summer morning. I could have been fighting today. Instead, I fastened my sandals without crying and took pride in it. I felt ravenous too—after I slept for ten hours—but the litter was waiting to carry me to the Colosseum. If I ran back inside to grab a bite to eat, they would call me the matron-mother till the end of my days.

Naturally, Arsenius and his quad were on hand by the Colosseum to see me descend from the contraption.

"Not too shabby for our pretty damsel Maximilla," Arsenius said. He was tall and finally approached age when his wispy almost-white hair looked natural. The scoundrel even bowed to me.

"We aren't fighting him, I take it?" asked the guy who had worked next to me to free Victor on the Night of the Behemoths.

I would have sighed, if sighing didn't hurt my ribs. Since it did, I responded with stoic silence.

"Lanista's taking a holiday," Quintus said.

"Yeah, let's call it that." I started smiling at the bastards, when my glance was intercepted by someone I had never seen around the arenas of Fidelium before. He didn't bother with psyching us out, because he didn't have to. Malice that slithered behind his eyes was enough to unnerve anyone. He directed it at me with the intensity I reserved for mortal foes.

I did a double take to make sure I hadn't run across him until today. I hadn't.

The way Quintus bristled, however, told me I was looking at another frontier child. Only, unlike my young trickster, he rolled a luckier dice roll with his appearance. His coloring was that of Fidelis, brown skin and brown hair, but his blue eyes belong on either Nanciscor or Earth.

Where Quintus was noticeably lankier than a Fidelis, this guy had a stout torso, short legs, square jaw and a unibrow, nothing out of the ordinary. Aside from blue eyes, the only other sign of barbarian blood were his arms, muscular and too long, hanging almost to his knees.

So, this man was Arsenius' secret weapon from the provincial circuses. The more I studied him, the more my empty stomach squeezed. I should have tried him on for size first, then taught Laurentius. Shoulda, woulda, coulda...

As soon as our quad settled into the break room, I clapped Laurentius on the shoulder with a fake smile. "I'll go see Arsenius' jesting routine."

"Should I carry you?" the giant quipped.

"No. Warm up properly." I limped down the tunnel, watched the show for a minute, then barreled back as fast as I could in the stupid, lurching gait.

"Laurentius! Junius! You all!" I shouted before even stepping inside the room. "They'll cheat. Their shield-wall's a secret aggressor and they'll try to overwhelm Laurentius."

He huffed. "Let them try."

I punched the closest thing—a bench—with my unhurt fist. "Laurentius! Clean sand out of your ears! If they risked this bullshit expecting to fight against me, the asshole is good."

Junius lifted his hand to clap me on the shoulder, then stopped at the last moment, conscious of my injuries. Good man, Junius. The best with Victor out of commission.

"We'll remember this, Maximus."

I frowned at Laurentius, who nodded his agreement. He seemed solemn now. Well, forewarned is forearmed... If I kept nagging, worry would set in. I needed them to be alert, not anxious. "Luck!"

"Luck!" The four fighters and the jester made the beeline for the arena. I limped behind them, stilling my face to a neutral expression.

At the stands, I leaned on the railing and rested my chin on my two stacked fists. My knuckles stung where I'd scraped them when I hit the bench. I sucked on the cuts thoughtfully, ignoring Quintus teasing Valentine, who went on the sand as a jester.

So far, so good.

"He was a legionnaire with the Sixth Legion, I tell you. Brutus, that was what they called him at the garrison," a man said next to me.

My ears perked. They had to be discussing Arsenius' new shield-wall, since all the other guys were picture-perfect barbarians and, therefore, not legionnaire material. If my guess was correct, Brutus impersonated a Fidelis.

"Aye, my uncle still lives there," my accidental source babbled on. "He said that Brutus is pure evil. Hunted some villagers' kids, caught them one by one, tortured, raped. When it came out, he took the gladiator's slip rather than be crucified. Maimed so many in the circus there, they shipped him to Fidelium. I reckon, the poor sods would get justice at last, with him going against real fighters here, not some backwater hacks."

The stranger was right. My guys weren't hacks. I would still feel better if I was on the sand, not on the stands. However, I didn't shoulder my way back to the exit, just waved at my quad and Valentine. I even smiled. Gossip would have to wait until we returned to the school.

The brassy note blared, calling for our attention.

The herald called out Arsenius and Rufius Fulgentius' names, then reminded the arena that my trio was in this year's glorious fight versus the behemoths, and everyone's current ranks, and so forth and so on.

I sucked on my knuckles again. Someone with even less patience hurtled a turnip at the herald. It exploded in the front row, but despite its lack of range, the missile had the desired effect.

The trumpets blared again, and the two quads came out for the bow.

Since neither Claudius Caesar nor Messalina Augusta were in attendance, it was a simple 'Ave Fidelium!' for the greeting, not 'morituri te salutant'.

As always, I said it under my breath anyway, and the words lifted some weight off my chest.

The eight men closed on each other.

Laurentius locked shields with Brutus, hoping to push him back, while Quintus would attempt to snare one of the swordmasters. It was as common an opener as pouring dice out of the cup before the game of dice. We all just did it.

What happened though, wasn't typical. Four swords, the net and the shield hit Laurentius from all sides. He roared, aware that I had warned him about it; that it was harder than he thought it would be; that he had to fight on. He lashed out at the two swordsmen.

Didius hacked our opponents' net that trailed off Laurentius' head like a damn veil—who was a damsel now?—while Junius covered his flank.

Quintus changed his tactics, going after their net-less trickster. His attack ended with both youngsters rolling in the sand, pummeling at one another, while tangled in Quintus' net.

Honestly, given Brutus' reputation, I didn't mind having both of them as far out of his reach as possible. Let them fight someone of their own size and experience.

Junius was engaging the swordsmen, Didius was trying to free Laurentius, and Laurentius thought he was tying down Brutus—

I cupped my hands by my mouth and hollered. "Tat! On your right! Tat!"

Two things happened at once.

Didius cut Laurentius free and dashed around to hit the closest swordmaster in the rear.

Brutus yanked his shield, breaking Laurentius' lock on it. His shield was a touch narrower and shorter than a standard rectangular, head-to-toe shield we used. Maybe it was lighter too, though I couldn't tell without hefting it.

What was far more obvious was the work of Brutus' over-long, muscular arms.

In the same mighty swing that freed him from Laurentius, he wiped his shield into Junius' face. It was basically fused to his arm, moving as an armored claw of some monstrous crab.

Junius' helmet was properly on, chin strap tight. So, the cheek-guards didn't block his vision much... only just enough for him to think that Laurentius had his left flank.

But Laurentius, slightly off balance, didn't.

"Mithras' bull... Shit. Shit."

Didius drew one of the enemy swordmasters away from Junius. Even without expecting the blow on his left, Junius had his sword up to parry in time, but his arm folded in with a sickening crunch. Or it should have been a sickening crunch.

I couldn't hear anything with all the bloodthirsty screaming going on. Mercifully so...

Alas, I could see just fine. Slower than in a waking reality, like I would forever see it in my nightmares, the shielded arm broke through Junius' defense.

I could have turned the attack off, since my left was far stronger than Junius'—or any other man I'd met in a hand-to-hand—but it wasn't me standing there, feet planted into the sand. It was Junius. His nose and mouth turned into an explosion of indigo, skin broke, blood spluttered.

I pushed against the barrier, screaming like I was being flayed alive. This was the Night of the Behemoths all over again. Again, I wasn't in the arena with them when they needed me the most. And this time I could have been, if not for that stupid, fucking private fight!

Laurentius launched himself at Brutus, aiming to tackle him, protect his swordsman. He was meatier and taller, a threat to reckon with, but Brutus didn't abandon his pursuit of staggering Junius.

Didius yelled for help frantically, defending against four swords at once.

If it wasn't for Quintus, who rolled in, grabbed his opponents' tattered net and whipped it around the legs of one of their swordmasters, Didius would have been done for.

"Go, go, go!" I yelled, swiveling my glance furiously between my guys. Laurentius was on Brutus, Junius was still standing, and Didius was near spent.

How I wished Quintus would have gone for Brutus! And how glad I was that he didn't! My gut was caving in, tearing in two with this contradiction. I tasted ashes in my throat.

Brutus, with his stupid-long reach, cheater's sword, extended it beyond what was fucking civil and sliced at Junius' ankles.

My besieged swordmaster went to one knee.

Brutus shook off Laurentius for a blink of an eye. Less than a blink. Most idiots in the arena didn't even see it. But it was just long enough for Brutus to throw a lightning-fast kick at Junius.

Junius went down.

Laurentius froze in his tracks. The law of the arena demanded that he left Junius to his triumphant opponent and the spectator's mercy. He issued forth a cry so deafening, I heard it in the arena's pandemonium.

"Tat! Laurentius! Save Didius! Tat!"

My shield-wall reversed his direction—praise Mithras!—and crashed into one of Didius' assailants, sending him flying back five feet.

I didn't envy the guy. Laurentius' wasn't an absolute top, but enraged like that, he hit like a battering ram. The guy danced, gripping at sand with his feet to remain standing.

Laurentius kept coming at him.

Their trickster flew in from the sidelines, waving his trident menacingly at Quintus. Quintus, naturally, shouted insults. Their scuffle became of secondary import. I trusted my men to hold their own there.

My gaze glued to Brutus who was advancing to the spot where Junius barely twitched on the sand.

The asshole looked like armored doom as he stood his shield on Junius' throat, stopping the wounded man's attempt to lift on one elbow. Junius, instinctively, grabbed at the smooth sides of the shield. His fingers slipped, but he kept fighting for what air his mangled mouth could suck in.

Brutus thrust his sword into the air, calling for judgment.