The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus #2)(37)

Hazel and Hannibal rode straight into the room, and the standard-bearers fell backward out of their chairs. Hannibal stepped on the table, and game pieces scattered.

By the time the rest of the cohort caught up with them, Percy and Frank had disarmed the enemies, grabbed the banners, and climbed onto Hannibal’s back with Hazel. They marched out of the keep triumphantly with the enemy colors.

The Fifth Cohort formed ranks around them. Together they paraded out of the fort, past stunned enemies and lines of equally mystified allies.

Reyna circled low overhead on her pegasus. “The game is won!” She sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. “Assemble for honors!”

Slowly the campers regrouped on the Field of Mars. Frank saw plenty of minor injuries—some burns, broken bones, black eyes, cuts and gashes, plus a lot of very interesting hairdos from fires and exploding water cannons—but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

He slid off the elephant. His comrades swarmed him, pounding him on the back and complimenting him. Frank wondered if he was dreaming. It was the best night of his life—until he saw Gwen.

“Help!” somebody yelled. A couple of campers rushed out of the fortress, carrying a girl on a stretcher. They set her down, and other kids started running over. Even from a distance, Frank could tell it was Gwen. She was in bad shape. She lay on her side on the stretcher with a pilum sticking out of her armor—almost like she was holding it between her chest and her arm, but there was too much blood.

Frank shook his head in disbelief. “No, no, no…” he muttered as he ran to her side.

The medics barked at everyone to stand back and give her air. The whole legion fell silent as the healers worked—trying to get gauze and powdered unicorn horn under Gwen’s armor to stop the bleeding, trying to force some nectar into her mouth. Gwen didn’t move. Her face was ashen gray.

Finally one of the medics looked up at Reyna and shook his head.

For a moment, there was no sound except water from the ruined cannons trickling down the walls of the fort. Hannibal nuzzled Gwen’s hair with his trunk.

Reyna surveyed the campers from her pegasus. Her expression was as hard and dark as iron. “There will be an investigation. Whoever did this, you cost the legion a good officer. Honorable death is one thing, but this ... ”

Frank wasn’t sure what she meant. Then he noticed the marks engraved in the wooden shaft of the pilum: CHT I LEGIO XII F. The weapon belonged to the First Cohort, and the point was sticking out the front of her armor. Gwen had been speared from behind—possibly after the game had ended.

Frank scanned the crowd for Octavian. The centurion was watching with more interest than concern, as if he were examining one of his stupid gutted teddy bears. He didn’t have a pilum.

Blood roared in Frank’s ears. He wanted to strangle Octavian with his bare hands, but at that moment, Gwen gasped.

Everyone stepped back. Gwen opened her eyes. The color came back to her face.

“Wh-what is it?” She blinked. “What’s everyone staring at?” She didn’t seem to notice the seven-foot harpoon sticking out through her chest.

Behind Frank, a medic whispered, “There’s no way. She was dead. She has to be dead.”

Gwen tried to sit up, but couldn’t. “There was a river, and a man asking…for a coin? I turned around and the exit door was open. So I just…I just left. I don’t understand. What’s happened?”

Everyone stared at her in horror. Nobody tried to help.

“Gwen.” Frank knelt next to her. “Don’t try to get up. Just close your eyes for a second, okay?”

“Why? What—”

“Just trust me.”

Gwen did what he asked.

Frank grabbed the shaft of the pilum below its tip, but his hands were shaking. The wood was slick. “Percy, Hazel—help me.”

One of the medics realized what he was planning. “Don’t!” he said. “You might—”

“What?” Hazel snapped. “Make it worse?”

Frank took a deep breath. “Hold her steady. One, two, three!”

He pulled the pilum out from the front. Gwen didn’t even wince. The blood stopped quickly.

Hazel bent down to examine the wound. “It’s closing on its own,” she said. “I don’t know how, but—”

“I feel fine,” Gwen protested. “What’s everyone worried about?”

With Frank and Percy’s help, she got to her feet. Frank glowered at Octavian, but the centurion’s face was a mask of polite concern.

Later, Frank thought. Deal with him later.

“Gwen,” Hazel said gently, “there’s no easy way to say this. You were dead. Somehow you came back.”

“I…what?” She stumbled against Frank. Her hand pressed against the ragged hole in her armor. “How—how?”

“Good question.” Reyna turned to Nico, who was watching grimly from the edge of the crowd. “Is this some power of Pluto?”

Nico shook his head. “Pluto never lets people return from the dead.”

He glanced at Hazel as if warning her to stay quiet. Frank wondered what that was about, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

A thunderous voice rolled across the field: Death loses its hold. This is only the beginning.