Chapter 4 The roaring beast

Take him. And fetch the others. We leave before nightfall.

Marcus was unchained from the other hostages and escorted to a separate, smaller portion of the compound.

Here, another ten or so guys were already assembled, their expressions sullen, their bodies exhibiting the traces of their abduction and travel. They were all young, robust, and different in their origins, their tribal tattoos and characteristics hinting at distant regions. These were his new companions, his new brothers in shackles. They said nothing to him, their gazes as guarded as his own.

Lucius, his new boss, strolled among them, his eyes alert. He pointed at Marcus.

You, he added, his voice addressing the entire group. You have a fire. You have strength. But you are unrefined. You are just meat, for now. In my ludus, you shall be forged. You will be tested. Many of you will break. Some of you will die. But for those who live, you will learn to fight. You will learn to kill. You will learn the clamor of the crowd.

He paused, his gaze traveling across them, resting on Marcus.

And you, barbarian, with the daring eyes. You will be known as 'The Dog.' For your intransigence. For your bite. Remember it.

Later that afternoon, they were tied again, not to each other, but each guy with his length of chain, leading to a central, hefty iron bar carried by two guards. The new trip began. This time, it was by sea.

The massive ship, its wooden hull groaning beneath the weight of its load, was a terrible marvel. The scent of pitch and salt permeated the air, mixing with the familiar stench of the confined and the sick.

Marcus, who had never seen such a vessel, felt a weird discomfort as it swung with the gentle roll of the waves. They were hustled below deck, into a dark, stuffy hold that reeked of bilge water and despair. The air felt thick and stagnant, pressing down on him, snatching his breath.

He could hear the creak of the timbers, the sloshing of the water against the hull, and the distant calls of the gulls, sounds that were unfamiliar and confusing. He lay on the hard boards, tied to a ring on the floor, the repetitive moan of the ship a grim lullaby. Above, through a little grating, he could see a slice of the sky, going from a bruised orange to a deep, inky black.

The stars, once familiar guides on the plains, now seemed impossibly far away, remote pinpricks of light in a vast, uncaring vacuum. He was adrift, physically and figuratively, on an ocean of uncertainty.

But behind the fear and nausea, the embers of his fire flickered, fed by the solitary, scorching ambition that now defined himsurvive. Learn. Break. Find Kael.

The ship moored in the dark glare of dawn, its timbers groaning as the gangplank thudded onto the stone wharf. The air here, though still carrying the tang of salt, was thicker, heavier, tainted with the harsh, metallic aroma that Marcus was swiftly growing to connect with this new existenceiron, sweat, and something else, faint, lingering coppery tang that spoke of blood.

They were unchained from the ship's internal rings, the cold steel digging into wrists that were already sore and chafed. The light, after days in the oppressive darkness of the confinement, was blinding. Marcus squinted, his eyes stinging as he walked onto the wharf, his legs shaky from the shaking of the ship.

Around them, the port was already a bustle of activity, even at this early hourdockworkers screaming, carts rumbling, the melancholy screams of gulls hovering overhead. But their guards, the stone-faced men who had looked over them throughout the voyage, rushed with an urgency that ignored the cacophony.

Lucius, their new master, stood waiting at the edge of the quay, a shadow against the rising sun. He wasn't alone.

A massive behemoth of a man, his bald head shining with sweat despite the cool morning air, stood alongside him. This man's forearms were like knotted rope, scarred and thick, and a rough, iron-studded club dangled from his waist. His eyes, tiny and beady, swept over the newly arrived captives, a glimmer of malicious delight in their depths. This was not a merchant. This was a master of agony.

So, the new meat arrives, the beast snarled, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in Marcus's chest. He spoke the Imperial tongue but with a heavy, provincial rhythm. Hope you liked your little cruise, savages. The luxury ceases here.

He stepped forward, his club tapping furiously against his thigh. Lucius noddeda wordless acknowledgment.

These are the new acquisitions, Atticus. The one dubbed 'The Dog' is in that group. Strong, but unbroken. Much fire. Much to temper.

Atticus's gaze rested on Marcus, a hungry glitter in his eyes. He took a steady, deliberate stride, his hefty boots crunching on the gravel. He stopped squarely in front of Marcus, his bulk throwing a shadow over him.

So, you are 'The Dog', he snarled, his lips curving back to reveal a pair of crooked, yellowed teeth. We'll see if your bark matches your bite, savage.

Without warning, Atticus struck the back of his palm, a hefty, calloused strike that connected with Marcus's jaw. The contact drove a shockwave through his skull, jarring his teeth. His eyesight suddenly dimmed, and the taste of blood, harsh and metallic, blossomed in his mouth.

He lurched back a step, but stopped himself, refusing to collapse. The wrath, icy and controlled, began to swirl within him, a familiar buddy in a hostile world.

Stand straight, Dog! Atticus barked, his voice tinged with hate. You are no longer in your tribal mud house. Here, you learn discipline. Or you learn to suffer.

Marcus wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes searing into Atticus. He offered no answer, no defiance, no shrinking. Just a stone-hard glare that dared the bully to try again.

A flicker of astonishment, almost subtle, crossed Atticus's face.

Good, Lucius's voice pierced through the tension. He learns rapidly, Atticus. A favorable indicator.

He came forward, resting a hand on Atticus's shoulder.

Take them to the Ludus. Begin their processing. They will eat and relax, briefly. Then, the lessons begin.

The trek to the Ludus was short, a grueling march through the tight, serpentine streets of the port city. The air was filled with the scents of fish and human waste, the cacophony of voices, and the distant clang of smiths' hammers.

Marcus observed glimpses of Romanesque architecturegrand stone structures, arched doorways, and statues representing stern-faced individuals in togas. This was the Empire, enormous and frightening, a leviathan that devoured all in its path.

The Ludus itself loomed, a huge building of black, weathered stone, its walls towering and uncompromising, capped with jagged spikes. It seemed less like a school and more like a fortress, a place built to contain and to crush. A large, iron-bound gate, flanked by two armed guards, stood as its only entry. The very air around it felt heavy, infused with the echoes of violence.

Inside, the compound was a huge, austere affair. A vast central courtyard, packed earth worn smooth by innumerable feet, was ringed by rows of low, windowless barracks. Beyond them, Marcus spotted what seemed like an open training ground, cluttered with wooden poles, practice dummies, and a variety of heavy-looking weapons.

The prevalent fragrance here was differentraw dirt, sweat, and the harsh taste of metal on metal, a scent that prickled his senses.

They were herded into a huge, communal bathing room. The water, albeit frigid, was a welcome after the long travel.