BLOOD OF OLYMPUS

liii
Nico
NICO HAD WITNESSED MANY FORMS OF DEATH. He didn’t think anything could surprise him any more.
He was wrong.
In the middle of the battle, Will Solace ran up to him and said one word in his ear: ‘Octavian.’
That got Nico’s full attention. He had hesitated when he’d had the chance to kill Octavian, but there
was no way Nico would let that scumbag augur escape justice. ‘Where?’
‘Come on,’ Will said. ‘Hurry.’
Nico turned to Jason, who was fighting next to him. ‘Jason, I have to go.’
Then he plunged into the chaos, following Will. They passed Tyson and his Cyclopes, who were
bellowing, ‘Bad dog! Bad dog!’ as they bashed the heads of the cynocephali. Grover Underwood and
a team of satyrs danced around with their panpipes, playing harmonies so dissonant that the earthenshelled
ghosts cracked apart. Travis Stoll ran past, arguing with his brother. ‘What do you mean we
set the landmines on the wrong hill?’
Nico and Will were halfway down the hill when the ground trembled under their feet. Like
everyone else – monster and demigod alike – they froze in horror and watched as the whirling column
of earth erupted from the top of the next hill, and Gaia appeared in all her glory.
Then something large and bronze swooped out of the sky.
FOOOOMP!
Festus the bronze dragon snatched up the Earth Mother and soared away with her.
‘What – how –?’ Nico stammered.
‘I don’t know,’ Will said. ‘But I doubt there’s much we can do about that. We have other
problems.’
Will sprinted towards the nearest onager. As they got closer, Nico spotted Octavian furiously readjusting
the machine’s targeting levers. The throwing arm was already primed with a full payload of
Imperial gold and explosives. The augur rushed about, tripping over gears and anchor spikes,
fumbling with the ropes. Every so often he glanced up at Festus the dragon.
‘Octavian!’ Nico yelled.
The augur spun, then backed up against the huge sphere of ammunition. His fine purple robes
snagged on the trigger rope, but Octavian didn’t notice. Fumes from the payload curled about him as if
drawn to the Imperial gold jewellery around his arms and neck, the golden wreath in his hair.
‘Oh, I see!’ Octavian’s laughter was brittle and quite insane. ‘Trying to steal my glory, eh? No, no,
son of Pluto. I am the saviour of Rome. I was promised!’
Will raised his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Octavian, get away from the onager. That isn’t safe.’