Epilogue
Far away near the southern border of Thrace a gathering of gladiators sat around a fire, eating their meal and drinking ale. These were free men who fought in the pits for blood and coin. This particular troupe traveled between arenas fighting in the outer provinces of the empire.
An ugly Thracian named Thrax said, “That is what I heard.”
“It can’t be true,” said his comrade, a bear of a Pannonian named Sethirius with a tankard of ale in his beefy fist. “Alaric, the Visigoth king, said this himself?”
“He was the one who was there. He fought his way out of Rome with the help of other Romans. But it was the woman—”
“She was Roman?” asked Maksim, a Macedonian and the only dragon among them.
“No. She was a slave. Or had been,” said Thrax. “A slave with witch’s magic.”
The female gladiator had been sharpening her blade, ignoring the chatter of the men as she normally did. But the mention of a witch and magic pricked her attention.
“And she used blood to kill a black dragon?” asked Maksim.
“No,” said Thrax in a mysterious, deep voice. “She summoned his blood. Sang to it like some sort of siren, and pulled it right through his scales. It rained down to the sea, and so did the dead beast.”
“A bloodsinger,” said Sethirius. “That’s what they’re called.”
“What?” The warrior woman walked over and stood next to Thrax within their circle. “Where did this happen?” she demanded urgently. “When?”
All of the men around the campfire turned their attention to her.
They were a mixed pack of barbarians from different parts of the world, united only in the blood they spilled together on the arena floor.
But the female warrior was their unspoken leader.
She had saved them more than once from slavers and another time from Roman soldiers using her own kind of magic.
She was a witch herself, and they revered her for it.
“Not a month ago,” Thrax answered. “Alaric, the Visigoth king, spreads the tale that this bloodsinger is joining his army against the Romans.”
“And where is this Alaric now?”
“They say he is gathering in the wildlands of Dalmatia,” he replied.
She tightened her grip around the hilt of her weapon she’d been sharpening. “Pack your things. We’re leaving tonight.”
She strode past Thrax, but he stood and grabbed her arm. She was closest to him among their motley pack, and he was the only one she’d allow to touch her like that.
“Why? We do not bother with the Romans. That was what you always said. We fight for money, not for glory. That is the path to death. You told us that.”
“I must go to Dalmatia and find this Visigoth king.” Her voice trembled with emotion.
Thrax let her go, staring in surprise. She had only ever been a fierce, stone-cold warrior. She had killed more men than any of them—both with her blade and her magic. The only emotion she’d ever shown was rage in battle. But something had made her afraid and anxious and burning with determination.
She snapped her gaze toward the circle of men she’d fought and bled with for the past three years. “None of you have to come with me. But I leave tonight.” Then she stormed toward her tent.
The fire crackled as the men watched her go in silence, all turning to look at one another. Finally, Sethirius gulped down the last of his ale and then wiped away the droplets caught in his beard as he stood.
“Looks like we’re going to Dalmatia, boys.”
Thrax gave a sharp nod. “Let’s get a move on then.”
They all scattered to their tents to pack. They’d be ready to go within the hour. They might be brutes, but they were efficient nomads as well.
The female warrior stood inside her own tent. The most recent ghosts she’d made filled the tight space, watching her with the same hollow, black eyes as always. The fresh ones always clung more closely than the others.
Ignoring them, she closed her eyes and gulped deep breaths of air, trying to calm herself.
It wasn’t coincidence. It couldn’t be. The bloodsinger must be her sister. Bunica had foretold all of their powers to them. She’d heard Bunica tell tales of bloodsingers, what her sister would be one day.
“Lela,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she sent the name up to the stars on a prayer. “I’m coming.”