From PRAETOR WAR #1: MARK OF THE THIEFSimply as a test, I brought my hands up overhead again and then, with the bulla still burning at my side, I slammed both hands down to my waist. They didn't fall naturally, but rather felt like I was pushing them through a thick mud. Once they came to my sides, I was more tired than I'd ever been in the mines, or raising the lifts, or from anything I'd ever done in my life. And I would've tried to rest, except that my actions were already having an effect. Areas of the arena floor were collapsing. The ground upon which the beastiarii stood rumbled a second time, and when he took a step forward, the wooden floor completely gave way beneath him. His body and legs fell, but he held to the edge of the floor and cried out for help. I ran forward to answer his pleas, but my legs had lost all strength and folded before I could get there. "What have you done?" he cried, and then even while I lunged for him again, he fell to the level below. I saw his body there, broken and still, and workers around him, pointing up at me and yelling that I would bring down the entire amphitheater. I stood and looked around, wondering how to stop what I had somehow started. I wrapped a hand around the bulla, but even through the tunic, it burned too hot and I had to let it go. Above me, a great cracking sound was echoing throughout the amphitheater, like rolls of thunder. The wood supports for the enormous canopy were folding like twigs and the ropes had failed. The entire canopy was floating to the ground, a red sky falling. It was what I had wished for earlier. But so much worse. Excerpted from Mark of the Thief by Jennifer A. Nielsen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
