31. Marcus #2
Marcus slows to allow Dru to catch up, relief renewing his focus on the course.
The next bend takes them inland, the path looping around one of the smaller peaks of the Scabroso mountains.
An array of trees burst out along either side, including the Manna tree, whose thick white sap drips down the bark like stalactites.
The canopy doesn’t do much for them with the sun gone, and the breeze from the ocean all but disappears.
Sweat drenches his back and bugs fly into his face, the rotten smell of warm, stagnant water forcing his nose to twitch.
The sounds of dozens of hooves echo around them as they skirt another bend, and a high-arching tunnel looms before them.
If Marcus remembers correctly, the ancient Durevolians carved it out of the rock specifically for this race.
The top of the opening comes to a point, formed by the constant water dripping down from the trees above.
Marcus has no idea how long the tunnel will be, and the pervasive darkness inside concerns him. But they can’t stray from the course.
Before the mouth of the cave, Dru, who fell back slightly, cries out. He glances back to find a red slash across her leg, blood staining her light pants. The rider, who appeared out of nowhere, lunges for her again. She manages to block their advance as they’re plunged into semi-darkness.
The sound of their hooves reverberates loudly against the tunnel walls. The only light comes from either end of the wide tunnel—Marcus still looks back for Dru, seeing only shadows. Neither her nor the other competitor hold a clear advantage in the dark, but the quicker they get out, the better.
Another clang of swords resounds, followed by a cacophony of high-pitched screeches filling the tunnel. Marcus glances up, finding the source of it in hundreds of reflective eyes. Bats . The creatures detach from the ceiling and swoop down, heading straight for them.
Merda.
Marcus clears the tunnel before the small beasts can touch him.
Peeking back over his shoulder, they spew out of the passageway like a swarm of shadows behind Dru—right as the attacker tries to skewer her with his sword.
She gets her own sword up in time to stop it from sinking between her ribs, ducking to avoid its upward trajectory.
Fear spoils whatever food is left in his stomach from this morning.
Thinking quickly, Marcus angles for the edge of the path, aiming for the thin, rounded posts marking the course. Sheathing his sword, he grabs the nearest one and wrenches it from the uneven ground.
Post in hand, he yanks on his horse’s rein and immediately slows. Dru and the other competitor pass him easily before he digs his heels in and whips the rein to catch back up. In no time at all, he’s closing in on the competitor, who’s poised his sword for another attack.
Marcus brings back the arm gripping the post and throws it as hard as he can without unseating himself. It slices through the air and meets its mark, the pointed tip sinking into the flesh of the man’s back.
Marcus maneuvers around him as he slides off his horse onto the dirt, lifeless.
“Thanks,” Dru says breathlessly once he’s caught up to her, sheathing her sword and gripping her rein with trembling hands. He nods, wishing they could slow down and take a moment to breathe. Already, the hooves of the other competitors gain on them.
A little further down the course, the path narrows again.
The canopy gradually disappears, and a high valley expands before them: a breadth of steep ridges layered across one another and blooming with flora border a system of lakes and waterfalls.
Marcus breathes in deep, the clean scent of fresh water revitalizing him.
He’s seen this path through Anziano from other vantage points and marveled at its beauty; he never thought he’d be caught in the middle of it.
The course takes them over one of the gentler waterfalls, and Marcus tightens his hold on the reins through the shallow water.
We’re lucky it hasn’t rained in a while , he thinks as he slows the horses to a brisk trot over river rocks and mud.
Although, glancing up at the darkening clouds, that might?—
A squelching sound echoes behind him, cutting off his thoughts.
Before he can turn around, a rider with a blue arm band passes close by him, her stomach nearly cut in half.
Her wide gold eyes catch on his as her sword tumbles from her grasp and clinks off the sharp rocks.
Marcus watches her horse navigate along the path until veering toward the edge of the waterfall.
In a final act of defiance, the beast throws the lifeless body from the saddle and down into the pool far below before trotting off.
He glances back at Dru to find her wiping off her blood-soaked sword and sheathing it again.
As soon as they leave the valley, the trees encroach on them once more until the Multum Sea appears again. We’re nearing the end .
The sky chooses that moment to open up. Light rain soaks him to the bone instantly, water falling down his hair and into his eyes. Although it’s a relief from the oppressive weather, it’ll make gripping a sword more difficult.
A few competitors pass them without incident, which worries Marcus. The Imperium’s new rule distracts him more than he wants to admit in this last section of the race, and he nearly misses a tight turn in the terrain.
“Everything all right up there?” Dru asks, worry sullying her question.
“Fine,” he grumbles, shaking his head to clear it and spraying water everywhere.
“Well, good,” she says, though she couldn’t have heard him, “because we’re about to be in some serious shit.”
On a short straightaway along the cliffs, he looks back over his shoulder to find a large rider clad all in black gaining on them.
The brightness of his red arm band blazes like fiery embers.
Head shaved, a ridged pink scar cuts across his neck and exposed chest. He carries no weapon except the black, barbed chain in his hand.
Marcus doesn’t remember seeing this man at the first trial, but he was a bit distracted then.
Before he can think of how to handle him, Dru comes up beside Marcus and hands him her rein without looking him in the eye. Rain slickens her dark hair and her tunic clings to her frame.
“If I don’t make it, keep going.” She wipes the water from her forehead. “You can’t finish in last place or they’ll kill you.”
“What do you mean if you don’t make it?” Marcus demands. “You’re not doing anything stupid.”
She grins. “It’s what I do best.”
With both hands grasping the reins, Marcus can’t reach for her. “Drusilla, don’t.”
She turns from him as the black rider comes close enough to throw his chain over her, likely looking to pull her from her horse.
But instead of allowing herself to be caught in its snare, she throws her arm up and closes her hand around it.
She hisses from the points puncturing her skin, and he nearly decides to forget about the horses to help her.
But you are helping her , he reminds himself, by keeping both your horses to the course .
Glancing back again, he watches her yank on the chain with both hands, likely hoping to catch the black rider off-guard and pull him from his horse instead. He barely flinches, flexing the muscles in his arms to maintain control.
She glances back at Marcus, and their gazes meet. She’s decided something, and by the look in her eye, he won’t like it.
“Don’t—”
Tightening her grip on the barbed chain, she loops her leg over and falls from her horse before he can finish.
His stomach drops, bile rising in his throat.
Pulling on the reins instinctively, the horses stop abruptly at his command.
The black rider passes him, dragging Dru through the silt as she gradually pulls herself up the chain.
Her pants begin to tear from the friction, and soon there will be no barrier between her skin and the ground.
Muscles strained, the Phaedran competitor does all he can to hold onto his only weapon while also maintaining control of his horse.
Until another curve in the path appears.
“Dru!” he yells, whipping the reins of both horses and heading in her direction. But they continue to pull away. Fuck, I’m not going to make it in time.
The black rider finally glances in front of him—right before he and his horse fall over the cliff’s edge, dragging Dru down with them.
Marcus opens his mouth to yell but nothing comes out. Not a single breath leaves his chest, as if it’s been knocked from him.
Dismounting without a care for whether or not the horses run off, he stumbles to the spot where he watched her go over and falls to his knees.
Rain lashes at the sea, making it difficult to see anything.
Squinting, he recognizes two bodies floating in the shallow water far below, one the unfortunate horse, and the other…
The Phaedran competitor floats atop the gentle waves like a lifeless splatter of ink. Hope springs in his chest. Maybe Dru’s not dead, maybe ?—
“A little help,” a familiar voice below him croaks.
Peering closer to the cliff, he finds the barbed chain barely hanging on to an angled tree stump nearby. One look over the edge and relief guts him: there’s Dru, dangling over the ocean with the chain gripped tight in her hands.
“Hold on,” he tells her.
Grasping the chain with both hands, he pulls with all his might. The barbs dig into his palms, but he barely feels it.
Once she’s within reach, he grabs onto her forearm and yanks her up until they’re both on their feet again. The chain loosens from the stump and falls down the cliff.
She stumbles into him and he wraps his arms around her, heart pounding. He buries his face in her wet hair as she presses her forehead into the top of his chest, gripping her too tight. She doesn’t pull away.
They stay like that for a moment, allowing her to catch her breath. Stellae, he could kiss her for being alive, if he wasn’t so furious with her.
Once the movement of her chest slows, he releases her, maintaining his grip on her shoulders. “That was the stupidest thing you could’ve done.”
She shrugs him off, wiping her bloody, quivering hands on her ruined pants. “I told you, it’s what I do.”
Marcus bites the inside of his lip to quell his irritation, wanting to shake her and hold her tight again all at once.
Instead, he runs a hand through his soaked hair. “I swear you didn’t used to be like this. ”
She sobers. “I wasn’t when you trained me. The world changes people.”
He nods “It does.” I know that all too well .
Glancing around for the horses, he finds they’ve stopped not far down the path to nibble on some of the high grass. The two of them head in their direction as the rain starts to let up.
“Well, we’re definitely going to be last now,” Marcus notes, helping Dru onto her horse before mounting his own.
“Blaise specifically said the final competi tor , not competi tors ,” she reasons, gently taking the rein in her injured hand. “They didn’t expect anyone to work together. If we finish the race at exactly the same time, they can’t kill us.”
Starting on their way again, Marcus argues, “We can’t be sure they’ll honor the rules.”
“They’ll have to if they want the competitors to do the same.”
Marcus wishes he could believe it. “Let’s catch up then, at least make an attempt at finishing close to the others.”
Dru nods, a hardened look in her eyes.
They ride side by side in a hard gallop along the rest of the course. She keeps up with him fairly well, but they’re both struggling to hold onto their horses’ reins from the open wounds on their hands. Blood runs down their arms and onto their tunics.
Once they find their way out of the harsher terrain, the last straightaway of the race presents itself, leading them toward the opposite side of the starting line.
It looks as if only one other competitor has yet to cross the line, his horse limping along.
Blood dribbles onto the dirt from a wound in his side, which he’s clutching with his free hand.
His blue band has ripped at the seams, nearly torn from his arm. Durevolian.
Hope unburdens the weight on Marcus’s chest.
“Looks like we don’t have to rely on a technicality,” Dru mutters, hastening. Marcus follows her lead.
They fly at a breakneck pass, and the crowd—which has grown in size—recognizes their gambit. Rain slaps at his face, piercing his eyes as the sound of their cheering grows.
“Andiamo, andiamo!” Marcus tells his horse. Leale leans forward, quickening his pace.
“Andiamo!” Dru repeats to her own beast, whipping the single rein on either side.
With the spectators spurring them on in shouts of surprise and encouragement, the two of them catch up to the last rider.
They pass him right before the downed ropes.
The crowd erupts, almost as loud as they were in the arena and drowning out every other sound. Marcus doesn’t care about their praise; as soon as he dismounts and helps Dru off her horse, he searches for Cato.
“Marcus,” Cato calls out behind him. Turning to find the king with only a shallow slash along his arm and a spatter of blood across the side of his tunic, they embrace each other.
“I was certain something terrible had happened to the two of you,” Cato says, glancing over at Dru, who looks lost as she surveys the crowd.
“Something terrible nearly did,” Marcus admits. “I was glad to see you pull away. How many competitors are left?”
Cato studies the remaining competitors. “Forty-seven, by my count, including the last one to cross the line.”
As he says this, one of the Imperium guards who’s been at Legatus Ambitus’s side since he arrived pulls the last competitor from his horse, unsheathes his sword, and stabs him through the heart.
His mouth opens in a silent scream before he collapses to the ground; the crowd both cheers and boos in response.
Cato hangs his head. “Make that forty-six.”
Marcus finds Dru, fury burning in her gaze at the sight. Not wanting her to start a scene, he heads in her direction and stands in her line of sight.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he tells her, “so that Sabina can redress your wounds. ”
She meets his eyes, hopelessness pulling down the corners of her mouth and pinching her brow. Her lips part to say something, but nothing comes out.
He brushes a hand along the dampened hair stuck to her cheek. The rain has let up now, and blue sky peeks out over the horizon behind her.
“We’ll live to fight another day. That’s all we can ask for.”
Her gaze searches his. “I suppose it is.”
Without another word, she turns and heads back in the direction of the palace.