A Sword Of Wrath, Book I by K. E. MacLeod (e manga reader txt) 📖

did. Very deeply. So deeply, in fact, that he married her - a highly illegal act in this fair city, in case you are unaware."

Juko fell to the ground just as the ropes dropped beside him.

The Vandal bent down and wrapped a firm arm around the young man's ribs to help him stand. As they rose, his voice took on an unexpected tone of concern, "Go and wash in the baths, Juko. Get plenty of water and I will give you a day of rest before you train. You have a long battle ahead of you, my son. A very long battle."

Juko was silent as he limped towards the gladiators' bathhouse, which stood just past the practice field in a squat, bricked building that was built atop their quarters. His mind was overwhelmed with all that had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours and he wondered if he should trust such a person as Euric, then very quickly concluded that it did not matter, as he had no longer had any choice.

The lanista watched Juko disappear into the bathhouse and thought of Suna, amazed at how different two men from the same family could be. Felix stepped onto the dais beside him and, breaking through his thoughts, announced, "Sir, there is an emissary from the White Palace here to see you."

"Hm, an emissary, you say? Well," he scoffed, "that's always good news, isn't it?" He looked past Felix and saw a young man with a parchment roll in his hands speaking to his servant, Posides. He beckoned the messenger towards him.

"My lord-," the young man stepped forward.

"Ah, no, no, no, boy, I am no lord," Euric corrected him, "lanista will do just fine."

"Lanista, then, the Emperor's advisor, Lucan, requests that you tend to this matter on behalf of the Emperor, urgently." He handed the parchment to Euric and, after a bow, dismissed himself from the training area without further prompt.

Euric broke the wax seal of the parchment, the peacock upon it denoting that it had indeed come from Lucan's own hand, and unfurled the paper. As he read the words of the message, his wide face slowly took on a glowing crimson pallor and a snarl began to cross his lips. Euric suddenly balled up the note and threw it to the ground, "Complete madness! How can the Emperor expect such a production in a fortnight? Is he mad?"

"I'm sorry, sir?" Felix asked, surprised by his employer's behavior.

The lanista didn't answer right away. Instead, he paced slightly, his hands on his hips as he tried to compose himself and control his anger. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally spoke, putting a large-ringed finger in the trainer's face, "Just know that we have our work cut out for us, Felix. How far along are these men? Will they be worth their salt in a fortnight?"

The trainer shook his head, laughing in disbelief at the question, "They're some of the weakest fighters we've ever recruited. I don't know that they'll be ready to fight in six months, let alone two weeks!"

"That was my fear," he nodded. "How many do we have left from our previous batch?"

"Three, sir, not counting Castor and myself."

Euric thought for a moment, pondering his next move, then spoke as he scratched at his chin, "I know what we'll do, then. I want you to personally train that new N’bari recruit. His brother was phenomenal - there has to be some of that talent in him as well. We'll parade some hero story around town and turn that boy into a star. It's the only way. We'll bluff the audience - give them an underdog for a hero. They'll be so excited over him and the spectacle we've created that they'll never even notice how short we are on actual talent! Do you understand?"

Felix nodded, even though he didn't, "Yes, sir."

Euric laughed to himself, muttering beneath his breath, "That boy may be getting his revenge a whole lot sooner than he thought."

Further afield, a fatigued and aching Juko was unimpressed with his surroundings. The inner walls of the bathhouse were covered in brightly colored mosaics depicting the past triumphs of some of Odalia's greatest gladiators but, even as he washed in its heated waters, Juko felt it was all too plain and he missed the mountains of his village.

His mind, meanwhile, was fractured and adrift from not only the lanista's punishment, nor the still fresh news of his brother's death but also because Juko had never intended to fight in the dust of the arena. In fact, he had never even wanted to step foot in Lycania and it was only out of love for his father and brother and loyalty to his family that he had even ever made the journey to her shores.

Juko's heart ached with renewed grief as he thought of his brother again. He had always looked up to Suna, who had been older by nearly three full years. He was handsome, strong and quick-witted and while Suna had been well loved by all the members of their clan, their father loved him most of all.

Growing up, almost everything that Suna did brought a smile as bright as the rising sun to their father's face. For the Chieftain, his eldest son could do no wrong - not even when, as a mischievous child of eight years old, he had added the oil of the itching plant to the Healer's muscle rub.

But, despite bearing the inability to anger their father, Suna could break his heart like no other. Juko thought back to the night that Suna, who was next in line to be Chieftain of their clan, publicly rejected his birthright during the Inheritance Rite. The act had all but shattered their father, although the rejection had come as no surprise to anyone else in the clan - for Suna had stated time and again that he had never had any desire to lead. He had always been adventurous and restless, with a wanderlust that would never be sated in the Mountains of Selene.

Juko remembered the last time he had seen his brother alive: the day that Suna had left Noba for Lycania. His brother's engaging smile lit up his face even as he said his farewells. "This isn't goodbye, little brother. We'll see each other again! Maybe you'll even join me in Lycania one day?"

"No," Juko shook his head firmly. "I don't have the same desire for danger as you do. My place is here, by father's side, and nowhere else."

Suna's face fell slightly, "I know he is angry with me right now-"

"He's not angry, he's hurt. You've disappointed him, Suna-"

"I know, but... I cannot live my life for him. God forgive me but I have my own path to follow - as do you, little brother."

Juko frowned slightly, "He will never choose me as his heir."

"Then he is a fool. You are a good son; you do what is expected of you. I," he laughed, "I, on the other hand, am a horrible son!"

A bell clanged in the distance, signaling the last call for passengers to board the Lycanian trading ship, Minerva.

"Goodbye, Juko," Suna hugged his smaller brother tightly, lifting him up off the ground for a brief moment. "Come and see me fight in the arena! I will give you a good show!" Then, with a last wave, Suna turned away and quickly disappeared into the trading vessel that would carry him off to adventures in faraway lands, leaving behind a hurt and angry Juko.

For the next year and a half, Juko tried everything within his power to relieve his father's broken heart but it was of no use. The Chieftain very nearly became a recluse, shutting himself off from his wife, children and the rest of the clan, leaving Juko to act as Chieftain in his stead. But, despite his best efforts, Juko's father steadfastly refused to pass the Birthright to his younger son, holding onto it for the day that Suna would return home.

Back in the bathhouse, Juko stepped from the water. He dried himself off, then picked up a brown training tunic from the pile of clean ones and put it on along with a pair of sandals. He silently cursed his brother, a tear forming in his eye as he laced the training sandals upwards along his calves. He resented his brother's leaving, his father's lack of favor but more than anything he resented that, even from beyond the grave, Suna was forcing him into a fight he did not want - just as he had when they were children.

Juko gritted his teeth and stood. But, he would fight because he had given his word and a man was only as good, as honorable, as the word he gave. Juko picked up a small practice shield and a wooden gladius from the rack that stood next to the door and headed for the gladiator quarters that were now his home.

 

* * *

 

Severus hefted the crying infant into the air to the cheers of the villagers of Two-Crows. It had been eight days since the birth of his son but as was customary among the Cavalli he hadn't been allowed to see him until just before that moment, when Nona had exited the Birthing Lodge. Then, according to tradition, the two of them were given space to themselves to confer on a name while the other villagers gathered around and lit a bonfire.

As the air around them soon filled with celebration over the new birth, more of the villagers joined in the gathering, bringing food and ale from their own pantries in order to prepare a large makeshift feast for Nona and the new baby. Live births were very rare among the Cavalli, so when one occurred, they celebrated that new life with relish.

"Marcus!" Severus shouted above the music and cheers, still holding the infant up for all to see. "This is Marcus, the son of Severus, the Giant-Killer, of the village of Two-Crows! He will one day carry my sword into battle!" A new cheer rose up from the crowd as his wife appeared radiant beside him.

Tacitus, meanwhile, stood just outside of the revelers, in the shadows a little ways away from his own lodge. He watched the others dance and sing before the large fire and around the many tables that were filled to overflowing with hunted game and root vegetables, which lined the area. He smiled wistfully upon the celebration, remembering the exuberance over the birth of his own daughter only a generation before.

"Uncle?" He heard a tiny voice call out to him and looked down to find his five-year-old niece, Aelia, tugging on his breeches. Her red hair was wild and unkempt, for she disliked letting her mother put it into braids, which caused it to form a strange sort of tangled scarlet halo around her cherubic face.

"Aelia, what are you doing over here?" He knelt down beside her. "You should be out there with your mother, celebrating your baby brother's naming!"

"No," she shook her head emphatically.

"Why?"

"I don't want to. I don't like him," her voice took on a surprisingly serious tone for such a young child.

"Who? The baby?"

"Yes," she answered sullenly.

"But, why?"

"Because," her eyes started to shine in the moonlight, "he's a boy. And I wanted be a boy! And it's not fair because I'm not one!"

Tacitus laughed, "Oh, Aelia, that's nothing to be sad about-"

"It is! Because father will teach him to fight with a sword and not me! I just know it!" She stomped her foot angrily, then started to cry.

"Ohhhh," Tacitus reached out tenderly and held her to his chest. "Now, don't cry, Aelia. That's such a silly thing to cry over!"

"No, it's not."

Tacitus grimaced, unsure of what to say to the small girl to make her feel better, "Have you told your father that you want him to teach you?"

"No," she sniffed as her crying eased slightly, "but I told Mother and she told