The Tyrant's Tomb

Lavinia shrugged. “Maybe, but the manubalista makes a statement.
Speaking of which”—she leaned toward me, her expression turning serious
—“I need to talk to you.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it’s not. I—”
In the distance, a horn blew.
“Okay, guys!” Dakota called. “Time to rotate activities! Good team
effort!”
Lavinia punched me in the arm again. “Later, Lester.”
The Fifth Cohort dropped their weapons and ran toward the next activity,
leaving me to retrieve all their arrows. Cretins.
The rest of the afternoon, I stayed at the firing range, working with each
cohort in turn. As the hours wore on, both the shooting and the teaching
became less intimidating for me. By the time I was wrapping up work with
my last group, the First Cohort, I was convinced that my improved archery
skills were here to stay.
I didn’t know why. I still couldn’t shoot at my old godly level, but I was
definitely better now than the average demigod archer or Olympic gold
medalist. I had started to “jive.” I considered pulling out the Arrow of
Dodona to brag See what I can do? But I didn’t want to jinx myself. Besides,
knowing that I was dying of zombie poison on the eve of a major battle took
some of the thrill out of being able to shoot bull’s-eyes again.
The Romans were duly impressed. Some of them even learned a little,
like how to fire an arrow without blinding yourself or killing the guy next to
you. Still, I could tell they were more excited about the other activities
they’d done. I overheard a lot of whispering about unicorns and Hazel’s
supersecret ghoul-fighting techniques. Larry from the Third Cohort had
enjoyed boarding ships so much he declared that he wanted to be a pirate
when he grew up. I suspected most of the legionnaires had even enjoyed
ditch-digging more than my class.
It was late evening when the final horn blew and the cohorts tromped
back to camp. I was hungry and exhausted. I wondered if this was how
mortal teachers felt after a full day of classes. If so, I didn’t see how they
managed. I hoped they were richly compensated with gold, diamonds, and
rare spices.
At least the cohorts seemed to be in an upbeat mood. If the praetors’ goal
had been to take the troops’ minds off their fears and raise morale on the eve