The Rebels' Assault Read Free Page A

rough stone wall of the cell. “That’s okay, though—because it doesn’t matter what I get. I’m absolutely terrified of them all.”
    â€œYou’d rather be hanged like Teo, would you?” Ruma snapped, indicating the slave who sat, uncomplaining, in the corner of the cell. “I suppose you think he’s got it easy?”
    â€œI’ll tell you who has got it easy,” the Gaul growled, turning his attention to the slumbering form of Gladius. “Gladius, that’s who. Dispatched by the sword? It’s not exactly going to be long and drawn out, is it? Hain is probably so quick he won’t even see the end coming. And why? Just because he got lucky and picked the right necklace . . .”
    â€œWe can’t turn on one another now,” Ruma warned, moving through the room to stand between Argon and Gladius. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. “That’s exactly what Doom and Hain want.”
    â€œNonsense,” said Argon dismissively. “All Doom wants is to capture Decimus and Olu. Our deaths are nothing but bait . . . well, that and entertainment for his bloated merchant friends.”
    â€œHe’ll come back,” said Gladius quietly. It was the first time he had spoken since the trial of the torcs. All eyes turned toward him.
    â€œWhat?” Argon prompted. “Did you actually say something worth listening to?”
    â€œDecimus will come back,” Gladius repeated. “I know I’ve been pretty mean about him since he escaped, but that’s just because I was angry that we didn’t get away, too. I know what sort of person Decimus is. He’ll come here and give himself up.”
    â€œYeah,” said Ruma doubtfully, returning to the window and squinting down at the courtyard. “Well I hope he picks up some speed, because it looks to me like the executioners are ready.”

    The Caveat was hosting a war. More than half the ship’s complement of abused and starving slaves had broken against the bewildered crew like a tidal wave washing over a beach. Despite the fact that most of the captain’s men were armed, they were quickly overpowered by the sheer weight of numbers. The remaining slaves had accompanied Decimus to the cabin, where swords, shields, and a variety of brass knuckles and mailed gauntlets had been acquired.
    The slavers themselves were being shown as much mercy as they had previously awarded their prisoners. Several were dispatched by the sword, while others were simply thrown over the side of the ship. The captain had drawn his own blade and was being backed to the starboard side of the deck by a group of heavily scarred slaves intent on providing him with a painful death. A short distance away, the hulking brute who’d so gleefully whipped and beaten the prisoners in his care was now being introduced to a world of tar and flames. His agonized screams echoed all over the ship until he stumbled overboard and the ocean claimed him.

    Far above the developing chaos, Olu was struggling with the oily-haired, one-eyed crewman. The little man had caught up with the slave in the crow’s nest and, after exchanging several heavy blows, both of them had fought for control of the crewman’s dagger. Fortunately, Olu had managed to force the weapon out of his enemy’s grip, sending it spearing toward the deck below. Now they were even or, Olu reflected, as even as they were ever likely to be.
    A punch knocked the slave back against the top of the mast, momentarily winding him. One thing was certain: The little man was deceptively strong. Olu ducked a second punch and the one-eyed slaver’s bloodied knuckles glanced off the wood. He tried to deliver a kick of his own, but the attempt was swiftly blocked, and the slaver snatched hold of his neck instead.
    Throwing his considerable strength into the fight, the crewman drove Olu back to the edge of the crow’s nest, his iron grip