Imperator by Rhett Gervais

Author:Rhett Gervais
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781777245221
Publisher: Rhett Gervais

FOURTEEN

COLD IRON

“Wake up, dog, or I promise, I’ll put another javelin in your belly!”

Narcissus sputtered awake, choking from ice cold water splashed in his face, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His first impulse was to clutch at the spear in his belly, expecting pain and blood, only to find himself straining against iron shackles, his pale face reddening from the failed effort. “What is the meaning of this,” he growled, blinking away the water in his eyes as he came fully awake. Looking around, he was surprised to find not the arena, but a deep, dank cell with his arms shackled to a rough-hewn stone wall, men and women chained alongside him, while the only light came from a small, barred window high above him. Glancing down to his stomach, he shook his head in confusion when he found his leather armor gone. Stranger still, where he expected to have a hole in his stomach there was nothing. He was whole, with only his pink flesh under his shag of red hair.

He was about to speak to the woman chained to the wall beside him when his head snapped forward by someone grabbing him by the scruff of his beard. He found himself face-to-face with a Praetorian guardsmen, wearing their typical black leather armor and purple cloak, leaning in close enough that he could smell the man’s stale breath of cheap wine and too much garlic. “Eyes forward, beast.”

“Let go of me,” he said in a low voice full of menace, sucking in a deep breath and pulling on the shackles with all his might, “or I will snap your puny neck.”

The man let go, snorting at him before turning to face another Praetorian with a purple sash of office running from shoulder to hip over his armor. “Prefect, he is awake.”

The prefect came into view, flanked by another guardsman. In the dim light, Narcissus could just make him out, taking note of his cleft chin, swarthy skin, and piercing green eyes that never seemed to blink. “I know you,” said Narcissus. “The emperor’s chamber boy...Cleander. Have you fallen so low that he now sends you to deal with escaped slaves and convicts, or have you been cast out by that madman, replaced by another, with more brains and skill.”

“You are brave for a man who is about to die by my blade,” said Cleander, fingering the ornate gladius at his hip.

“Then do it,” said Narcissus, straining once more against the iron shackles. “I have no fear of death, do you?” With a roar, the big Celt snapped forward, testing the metal to its limits. He showed them a feral grin, and in unison, all three men jumped back, the one who had grabbed his beard falling onto his bottom.

Cursing, Cleander dragged the fallen Praetorian guardsmen to his feet, his face a mask of twisting rage. “Watch him,” he snapped, holding the hilt of his gladius in a white-knuckled grip. “I have orders to tell him when the Celt has awoken.

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