The Tyrant's Tomb

by Rick Riordan

  The valley turned quiet, as if I’d stepped back into Harpocrates’s sphere of silence. Perhaps it was just a lull in the fighting, but I felt as if all of Camp Jupiter were holding its breath, waiting for me to complete the ritual. With trembling hands, I pulled the Sibyl’s glass jar from my backpack.

  “What now?” I asked Ella.

  “Tyson,” Ella said, waving him over, “that was good dancing. Now show Apollo your armpit.”

  Tyson lumbered over, grinning and sweaty. He lifted his left arm much closer to my face than I would have liked. “See?”

  “Oh, gods.” I recoiled. “Ella, why would you write the summoning ritual in his armpit?”

  “That’s where it goes,” she said.

  “It really tickled!” Tyson laughed.

  “I—I will begin.” I tried to focus on the words and not the hairy armpit that they encircled. I tried not to breathe any more than necessary. I will say this, however: Tyson had excellent personal hygiene. Whenever I was forced to inhale, I did not pass out from his body odor, despite his exuberant sweaty dancing. The only smell I detected was a hint of peanut butter. Why? I did not want to know.

  “O protector of Rome!” I read aloud. “O insert name here!”

  “Uh,” Ella said, “that’s where you—”

  “I will start again. O protector of Rome! O Diana, goddess of the hunt! Hear our plea and accept our offering!”

  I do not remember all the lines. If I did, I would not record them here for just anyone to use. Summoning Diana with burnt offerings is the very definition of Do Not Try This at Home, Kids. Several times, I choked up. I was tempted to add personal bits, to let Diana know it wasn’t just anyone making a request. This was me! I was special! But I stuck to the armpit script. At the appropriate moment (insert sacrifice here), I dropped the Sibyl’s jelly jar into the fire. I was afraid it might just sit there heating up, but the glass shattered immediately, releasing a sigh of silver fumes. I hoped I hadn’t squandered the soundless god’s final breath.

  I finished the incantation. Tyson mercifully lowered his arm. Ella stared at the fire, then at the sky, her nose twitching anxiously. “Apollo hesitated,” she said. “He didn’t read the third line right. He probably messed up. I hope he didn’t mess it up.”

  “Your confidence is heartwarming,” I said.

  But I shared her concern. I saw no signs of divine help in the night sky. The red full moon continued to leer at me, bathing the landscape in bloody light. No hunting horns trumpeted in the distance—just a fresh round of explosions from the Oakland Hills, and cries of battle from New Rome.

  “You messed up,” Ella decided.

  “Give it time!” I said. “Gods don’t always show up immediately. Once it took me ten years to answer some prayers from the city of Pompeii, and by the time I got there…Maybe that’s not a good example.”

  Ella wrung her hands. “Tyson and Ella will wait here in case the goddess shows up. Apollo should go fight stuff.”

  “Aww.” Tyson pouted. “But I wanna fight stuff!”

  “Tyson will wait here with Ella,” Ella insisted. “Apollo, go fight.”

  I scanned the valley. Several rooftops in New Rome were now on fire. Meg would be fighting in the streets, doing gods-knew-what with her weaponized unicorns. Hazel would be desperately shoring up the defenses as zombies and ghouls boiled up from the sewers, attacking civilians. They needed help, and it would take me less time to reach New Rome than to get to the Caldecott Tunnel.

  But just thinking about joining the battle made my stomach flare with pain. I remembered how I’d collapsed in the tyrant’s tomb. I would be of little use against Tarquin. Being near him would just accelerate my promotion to Zombie of the Month.

  I gazed at the Oakland Hills, their silhouettes lit by flickering explosions. The emperors must be battling Frank’s defenders at the Caldecott Tunnel by now. Without Arion or a Go-Glo bike, I wasn’t sure I could make it there in time to do any good, but it seemed like my least horrible option.

  “Charge,” I said miserably.

  I jogged off across the valley.

  Such a deal for you

  Two-for-one single combat

  Kill us both for free!

  THE MOST EMBARRASSING THING? As I wheezed and huffed up the hill, I found myself humming “Ride of the Valkyries.” Curse you, Richard Wagner. Curse you, Apocalypse Now.

  By the time I reached the summit, I was dizzy and drenched in sweat. I took in the scene below and decided my presence would mean nothing. I was too late.

  The hills were a scarred wasteland of trenches, shattered armor, and broken war machines. A hundred yards down Highway 24, the emperors’ troops had formed up in columns. Instead of thousands, there were now a few hundred: a combination of Germanus bodyguards, Khromandae, pandai, and other humanoid tribes. One small mercy: no myrmekes remained. Frank’s strategy of targeting the giant ants had apparently worked.

  At the entrance to the Caldecott Tunnel, directly beneath me, waited the remnants of the Twelfth Legion. A dozen ragged demigods formed a shield wall across the inbound lanes. A young woman I didn’t recognize held the legion standard, which could only mean that Jacob had either been killed or gravely wounded. The overheated gold eagle smoked so badly I couldn’t make out its form. It wouldn’t be zapping any more enemies today.

  Hannibal the elephant stood with the troops in his Kevlar armor, his trunk and legs bleeding from dozens of cuts. In front of the line towered an eight-foot-tall Kodiak bear—Frank Zhang, I assumed. Three arrows bristled in his shoulder, but his claws were out and ready for more battle.

  My heart twisted. Perhaps, as a large bear, Frank could survive with a few arrows stuck in him. But what would happen when he tried to turn human again?

  As for the other survivors…I simply couldn’t believe they were all that remained of three cohorts. Maybe the missing ones were wounded rather than dead. Perhaps I should’ve taken comfort in the possibility that, for every legionnaire who had fallen, hundreds of enemies had been destroyed. But they looked so tragic, so hopelessly outnumbered guarding the entrance to Camp Jupiter….

  I lifted my gaze beyond the highway, out to the bay, and lost all hope. The emperors’ fleet was still in position—a string of floating white palaces ready to rain destruction upon us, then host a massive victory celebration.

  Even if we somehow managed to destroy all the enemies remaining on Highway 24, those yachts were beyond our reach. Whatever Lavinia had been planning, she had apparently failed. With a single order, the emperors could lay waste to the entire camp.

  The clop of hooves and rattle of wheels drew my attention back to the enemy lines. Their columns parted. The emperors themselves came out to parley, standing side-by-side in a golden chariot.

  Commodus and Caligula looked like they’d had a competition to pick the gaudiest armor, and both of them had lost. They were clad head to toe in Imperial gold: greaves, kilts, breastplates, gloves, helmets, all with elaborate gorgon and Fury designs, encrusted with precious gems. Their faceplates were fashioned like grimacing demons. I could only tell the two emperors apart because Commodus was taller and broader in the shoulders.

  Pulling the chariot were two white horses…No. Not horses. Their backs carried long, ugly scars on either side of their spines. Their withers were scored with lash marks. Their handlers/torturers walked beside them, gripping their reins and keeping cattle prods ready in case the beasts got any ideas.

  Oh, gods…

  I fell to my knees and retched. Of all the horrors I had seen, this struck me as the worst of all. Those once-beautiful steeds were pegasi. What kind of monster would cut off the wings of a pegasus?

  The emperors obviously wanted to send a message: they intended to dominate the world at any cost. They would stop at nothing. They would mutilate and maim. They would waste and destroy. Nothing was sacred except their own power.

  I rose unsteadily. My hopelessness turned into boiling anger.

  I howled, �
��NO!”

  My cry echoed through the ravine. The emperors’ retinue clattered to a stop. Hundreds of faces turned upward, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. I clambered down the hill, lost my footing, somersaulted, banged into a tree, staggered to my feet, and kept going.

  No one tried to shoot me. No one yelled, Hooray, we’re saved! Frank’s defenders and the emperors’ troops simply watched, dumbstruck, as I made my way downhill—a single beat-up teenager in tattered clothes and mud-caked shoes, with a ukulele and a bow on my back. It was, I suspected, the least impressive arrival of reinforcements in history.

  At last I reached the legionnaires on the highway.

  Caligula studied me from across fifty feet of asphalt. He burst out laughing.

  Hesitantly, his troops followed his example—except for the Germani, who rarely laughed.

  Commodus shifted in his golden armor. “Excuse me, could someone caption this scene for me? What’s going on?”

  Only then did I realize Commodus’s eyesight had not recovered as well as he’d hoped. Probably, I thought with bitter satisfaction, my blinding flash of divine radiance at the Waystation had left him able to see a little bit in full daylight, but not at all at night. A small blessing, if I could figure out how to use it.

  “I wish I could describe it,” Caligula said dryly. “The mighty god Apollo has come to the rescue, and he’s never looked better.”

  “That was sarcasm?” Commodus asked. “Does he look horrible?”

  “Yes,” Caligula said.

  “HA!” Commodus forced a laugh. “Ha! Apollo, you look horrible!”

  My hands trembling, I nocked an arrow and fired it at Caligula’s face. My aim was true, but Caligula swatted aside the projectile like it was a sleepy horsefly.

  “Don’t embarrass yourself, Lester,” he said. “Let the leaders talk.”

  He turned his grimacing face mask toward the Kodiak bear. “Well, Frank Zhang? You have a chance to surrender with honor. Bow to your emperor!”

  “Emperors,” Commodus corrected.

  “Yes, of course,” Caligula said smoothly. “Praetor Zhang, you are duty-bound to recognize Roman authority, and we are it! Together, we can rebuild this camp and raise your legion to glory! No more hiding. No more cowering behind Terminus’s weak boundaries. It is time to be true Romans and conquer the world. Join us. Learn from Jason Grace’s mistake.”

  I howled again. This time, I launched an arrow at Commodus. Yes, it was petty. I thought I could hit a blind emperor more easily, but he, too, swatted the arrow away.

  “Cheap shot, Apollo!” he yelled. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing or my reflexes.”

  The Kodiak bear bellowed. With one claw, he broke the arrow shafts in his shoulder. He shrank, changing into Frank Zhang. The arrow stubs pierced his breastplate at the shoulder. He’d lost his helmet. The side of his body was soaked in blood, but his expression was pure determination.

  Next to him, Hannibal trumpeted and pawed the pavement, ready to charge.

  “No, buddy.” Frank glanced at his last dozen comrades, weary and wounded but still ready to follow him to the death. “Enough blood has been shed.”

  Caligula inclined his head in agreement. “So, you yield, then?”

  “Oh, no.” Frank straightened, though the effort made him wince. “I have an alternative solution. Spolia opima.”

  Nervous murmurs rippled through the emperors’ columns. Some of the Germani raised their bushy eyebrows. A few of Frank’s legionnaires looked like they wanted to say something—Are you crazy?, for instance—but they held their tongues.

  Commodus laughed. He pulled off his helmet, revealing his shaggy curls and beard, his cruel, handsome face. His gaze was milky and unfocused, the skin around his eyes still pitted as if he’d been splashed with acid.

  “Single combat?” He grinned. “I love this idea!”

  “I’ll take you both,” Frank offered. “You and Caligula against me. You win and make it through the tunnel, the camp is yours.”

  Commodus rubbed his hands. “Glorious!”

  “Wait,” Caligula snapped. He removed his own helmet. He did not look delighted. His eyes glittered, his mind no doubt racing as he thought over all the angles. “This is too good to be true. What are you playing at, Zhang?”

  “Either I kill you, or I die,” Frank said. “That’s all. Get through me, and you can march right into camp. I’ll order my remaining troops to stand down. You can have your triumphal parade through New Rome like you’ve always wanted.” Frank turned to one of his comrades. “You hear that, Colum? Those are my orders. If I die, you will make sure they are honored.”

  Colum opened his mouth but apparently didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded dourly.

  Caligula frowned. “Spolia opima. It’s so primitive. It hasn’t been done since…”

  He stopped himself, perhaps remembering the kind of troops he had at his back: “primitive” Germani, who viewed single combat as the most honorable way for a leader to win a battle. In earlier times, Romans had felt the same way. The first king, Romulus, had personally defeated an enemy king, Acron, stripping him of his armor and weapons. For centuries after, Roman generals tried to emulate Romulus, going out of their way to find enemy leaders on the battlefield for single combat, so they could claim spolia opima. It was the ultimate display of courage for any true Roman.

  Frank’s ploy was clever. The emperors couldn’t refuse his challenge without losing face in front of their troops. On the other hand, Frank was badly wounded. He couldn’t possibly win without help.

  “Two against two!” I yelped, surprising even myself. “I’ll fight!”

  That got another round of laughter from the emperors’ troops. Commodus said, “Even better!”

  Frank looked horror-stricken, which wasn’t the sort of thank-you I’d been hoping for.

  “Apollo, no,” he said. “I can handle this. Clear off!”

  A few months ago, I would have been happy to let Frank take this hopeless fight on his own while I sat back, ate chilled grapes, and checked my messages. Not now, not after Jason Grace. I glanced at the poor maimed pegasi chained to the emperors’ chariot, and I decided I couldn’t live in a world where cruelty like that went unchallenged.

  “Sorry, Frank,” I said. “You won’t face this alone.” I looked at Caligula. “Well, Baby Booties? Your colleague emperor has already agreed. Are you in, or do we terrify you too much?”

  Caligula’s nostrils flared. “We have lived for thousands of years,” he said, as if explaining a simple fact to a slow student. “We are gods.”

  “And I’m the son of Mars,” Frank countered, “praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. I’m not afraid to die. Are you?”

  The emperors stayed silent for a count of five.

  Finally, Caligula called over his shoulder, “Gregorix!”

  One of the Germani jogged forward. With his massive height and weight, his shaggy hair and beard, and his thick hide armor, he looked like Frank in Kodiak bear form, only with an uglier face.

  “Lord?” he grunted.

  “The troops are to stay where they are,” Caligula ordered. “No interference while Commodus and I kill Praetor Zhang and his pet god. Understood?”

  Gregorix studied me. I could imagine him silently wrestling with his ideas of honor. Single combat was good. Single combat against a wounded warrior and a zombie-infected weakling, however, was not much of a victory. The smart thing would be to slaughter all of us and march on into the camp. But a challenge had been issued. Challenges had to be accepted. But his job was to protect the emperors, and if this was some sort of trap…

  I bet Gregorix was wishing he’d pursued that business degree his mom always wanted him to get. Being a barbarian bodyguard was mentally exhausting.

  “Very well, my lord,” he said.

  Frank faced his remaining troops. “Get out of here. Find Hazel. Defend the city from Tarquin.”

  Hannibal trumpeted in protest
.

  “You too, buddy,” Frank said. “No elephants are going to die today.”

  Hannibal huffed. The demigods obviously didn’t like it either, but they were Roman legionnaires, too well trained to disobey a direct order. They retreated into the tunnel with the elephant and the legion’s standard, leaving only Frank Zhang and me on Team Camp Jupiter.

  While the emperors climbed down from their chariot, Frank turned to me and wrapped me in a sweaty, bloody embrace. I’d always figured him for a hugger, so this didn’t surprise me, until he whispered in my ear, “You’re interfering with my plan. When I say ‘Time’s up,’ I don’t care where you are or how the fight is going, I want you to run away from me as fast as you can. That’s an order.”

  He clapped me on my back and let me go.

  I wanted to protest, You’re not the boss of me! I hadn’t come here to run away on command. I could do that quite well on my own. I certainly wasn’t going to allow another friend to sacrifice himself for my sake.

  On the other hand, I didn’t know Frank’s plan. I’d have to wait and see what he had in mind. Then I could decide what to do. Besides, if we stood any chance of winning a death match against Commodus and Caligula, it wouldn’t be on account of our superior strength and charming personalities. We needed some serious, industrial-strength cheating.

  The emperors strode toward us across the scorched and buckled asphalt.

  Up close, their armor was even more hideous. Caligula’s breastplate looked like it had been coated with glue, then rolled through the display cases at Tiffany & Co.

  “Well.” He gave us a smile as bright and cold as his jewel collection. “Shall we?”

  Commodus took off his gauntlets. His hands were huge and rough, callused as if he’d been punching brick walls in his spare time. It was hard to believe I had ever held those hands with affection.

  “Caligula, you take Zhang,” he said. “I’ll take Apollo. I don’t need my eyesight to find him. I’ll just follow my ears. He’ll be the one whimpering.”

  I hated that he knew me so well.

  Frank drew his sword. Blood still oozed from his shoulder wounds. I wasn’t sure how he planned to remain standing, much less do battle. His other hand brushed the cloth pouch that held his piece of firewood.