The Tyrant's Tomb

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.”