Blood Eagle

Arcane Matters

Requesting an audience with Ignius went through Mahan, same as asking for leave, and Arn figured the weapons master would not be inclined to grant that either to him. But by playing the truth a little loosely, Arn imagined he could get around this obstacle.

In the evening, once the weapons master had left the ludus and retreated to the inner house, Arn approached the gate that separated the two parts. A guard sat, bored, looking up with an idle glance. "What do you want?"

Arn held up his tablet. Ignius wants to see me.

"I haven't heard anything about that." The guard gave him a second glance. "If the dominus wanted you, he'd send word to fetch you."

Arn hurried to scribble more. He told me to meet him when he returned.

The guard gave a wary look from the tablet to the gladiator. "And what, he forgot? Can't have been important."

It is. Ask him if he wants to see me.

A sigh followed. "Fine. I'll go."

A while later, the guard returned to unlock the door and accompany Arn through the inner house.

*

Once Arn was alone with him in his study, Ignius raised his eyebrows, the only hair left on his head. "I assume there's a good reason you needed to meet? Master Mahan told me you were injured and refused to explain why."

After smoothing out the previous letters from the wax, Arn quickly wrote, An accident from regaining magic. Not a problem now.

"I hope not." Ignius cleared his throat. He was a hard man to read, but his demeanour seemed tired; perhaps from long travels, or maybe his business ventures did not go well. "If you are discovered, you'll be executed for sacrilege – the games are consecrated to Malac, after all. And I'll lose everything I own and be sent into exile with my family, if I'm lucky."

Arn was well aware of the risk; he had more pressing concerns. Mahan keeps me watched and won’t let me leave.

"How's that an issue? You're winning your fights. I allowed you to leave as you wanted because I assumed you needed – supplies or whatever to get your powers back. They are back."

Being watched risks me being discovered.

Ignius exhaled. "I suppose we don't want scrutiny. I shall tell Mahan to cease his efforts."

And let me leave.

"Why? As said, you're winning your fights. You don't need to grow stronger." Ignius regarded him with what could be a glint of suspicion.

Arn knew what motivated this merchant of blood. The same as any merchant. I can win an easy fight. To be champion, I need more.

Ignius played it coy, keeping silent, but Arn already knew that the greedy lanista would bend to his wish. If he was ready to break the rules of the arena and risk everything, he would not play it safe now. "Fine. I'll tell Mahan to let you leave. But don't abuse this privilege!" Ignius added with sudden force. "You've drawn his suspicions. The more special treatment you receive, the more questions it raises."

Arn bowed his head in acceptance.

"Another thing, since you're here. I'll need you in a fiveday. For what you might call an exhibition fight."

The Tyrian frowned. What's that?

"One of the city's luminaries is hosting a great feast, and he's in charge of handing out fights at the arena. Most lanistae will be present, hoping to impress him. I need to do so as well."

Impress by fighting?

Ignius nodded. "We're all bringing our best gladiator. If it goes well, perhaps I can dig out of this hole that having only three fights every Solday has left me in," he growled, and his words seemed aimed more at himself than Arn.

As for the Tyrian, he was not pleased. He doubted he could get away with killing and leeching life from his opponent under such circumstances, making the fight worthless to him. I'm not a market juggler.

"You're a gladiator in my ludus!" Ignius exclaimed; his calm exterior cracked easily these days, it seemed. "You'll do as I say. Next fiveday. No fights in the arena for you until solstice either. No point taking any risks, and if I force Mahan to put you in the arena, he'll only get more suspicious."

Arn stared at the lanista, hiding his feelings as best he could. Finally, he bowed his head and left.

*

As cautioned, Arn did not force the issue with Mahan the next day. He stayed quiet – easily done for a mute – and waited, working the equipment dutifully. His patience was rewarded at the end of training when the weapons master approached him. "You can leave tonight. If you must." He flung the words carelessly at the Tyrian and quickly turned away, preventing Arn from gesturing a response. Not that he had any in mind; he had achieved his goal, and he saw no reason to push his luck.

Stepping out of the gate, Arn took a deep breath. Last he had come down these streets, he had been injured, scaling the wall of the training yard to get to relative safety. The city outside seemed the same, indifferent to him. People hurried past him, busy with their own errands or burdened by their own troubles.

As Arn began walking west towards the docks, he noticed that his hands occasionally, without conscious thought, touched the edge of his belt. He felt vulnerable without a sword by his side, despite having other magic at his disposal; even against an armed foe, he would probably win a fight. Assuming he saw the danger coming.

This Vera, the one-eared woman he had killed, she had people working for her. In Arn's experience, criminal organisations like that came in two varieties. Either it ran on pure self-interest, in which case, her death immediately caused a struggle for power between her would-be successors, or it relied on bonds of loyalty to each other above anything else, in which case, a successor would be decided, who would feel compelled to avenge her death.

Arn was not going anywhere near the area where this group operated, they could not know his identity or how to find him, and they might not be looking for him at all. Still, Arn wished he had a sword by his side as he pushed through the busy crowds, making his way to the harbour.

*

Arn went straight to Helgi. He assumed the loremaster had his stone, and he saw no reason to deal with the thugs at The Broken Mast. He would ensure first that he got his payment; if so, he would tell Helgi that he was available for a third task, to get his next rune done, and the old man could pass that on.

"Sink my ship and call me an otter if it isn't the silent skáld!" Helgi grinned at him, and his exuberant mood immediately spoiled Arn's.

My rune.

"Alright, I got it right here. Kept it for you. Won't even charge you for days of storage." The loremaster dug out a small, nearly smooth stone, engraved with a symbol and flowing with magic. He handed it over.

As soon as Arn's hand closed around it, he felt a pang of relief. He stowed it in his pouch for now and continued to write, I'm ready again. This rune next. He drew the sign of swiftness next to the words before erasing it all.

"Very good. I'll let those wet rats know about it." Helgi gave him a scrutinising look. "What happened? The half-deaf woman is dead, we heard, but I'd have expected to see you here immediately. You're always in a hurry."

It would take a while to explain, and Arn saw no reason for it. Instead, he figured he should make use of the loremaster's knowledge. What is this? He tapped on the metal ring that adorned his upper arm.

"You're wearing it, and you don't know?" This time, an odd look followed from Helgi. "Well, alright." He placed his hand on the metal, closing his eyes. "Strange. Archean. Those fellows don't usually let their trinkets out of sight. Did you go to the tower?"

Arn looked at him questioningly.

"The Archean tower here in Aquila. Those wizards got themselves an outpost here, like they do in most big cities."

Arn knew that; he had simply not realised what Helgi referred to. He shook his head. Arn had never met an Archean wizard, those being elusive and few in number, at least this far from their city-state that lay hundreds of miles to the east.

"Well, they probably wouldn't let you in, anyway. A secretive bunch, they are. I can't honestly say what this little piece of jewellery does. You'd have to ask them, but I doubt you'd get the opportunity or that they'd answer you."

Arn slapped his fist over his heart as a quick gesture of gratitude and left.

Returning to the streets, his mind went over what Helgi had told him. Arn knew nothing about Archen or its wizards other than they were rumoured to possess unfathomable magic powers. They stayed in their city mostly besides scattered outposts across the continent where those with the gift of magic might go, hoping to be accepted into their brotherhood, though many were rejected; presumably, every mage in Aquila was someone who had failed to impress the Archeans. Considering how dangerous some of them could still be – Arn carried the wounds to prove it from his own encounter – that did not bode well for any Archean involvement in his situation.

As such, it did not necessarily change Arn's situation. If the ring could track him down as claimed by Ignius, he needed it gone regardless of its origin. He would continue regaining his power; once time came for vengeance, he would turn his thoughts towards escape as well. Until then, he would worry about his next steps rather than these Archean wizards.

*

The northeastern district of Aquila contained workshops and craftsmen of all sorts, but architecturally, it was dominated by a great tower that rose taller than any other structure in the city. While built from the same stone as the rest of Aquila, it nonetheless exuded an eerie sensation that made locals instinctively shy away whenever they passed by close. No other building lay nearby, giving it a wide, open approach all around.

In official documents, its name was given as the Tower of the Arcane. Among ordinary people, it carried the similar, though more descriptive moniker of the Archean tower. And for those who disliked magic, it was only referred to by various insults.

The tower stood as one of the oldest structures in the city, in part because it seemed indestructible; while fires might at times rage through Aquila, necessitating rebuilding, it never touched the seat of the Archean wizards. They had built it as part of the treaties between their city-state and the Empire, whereby the powerful mages lent aid on certain matters to the Imperials in exchange for concessions, such as building outposts for their magical research and be allowed recruitment into their ranks.

As far as the Imperial administration went, that was all they knew about the tower in their capital. No Aquilans ever went inside, nor could they. Powerful wards lay on the structure itself and the gate, barring access and any attempt to harm it; no battering ram could bring it down.

For that reason, the locals stared as a hooded traveller walked up to the tower. He took out a stone from his pocket and placed it against the wood of the gate, making it swing open.

*

"Mistress, a traveller has arrived. A spellbreaker. He's on the ground floor, waiting." A hulk of a man stood by the threshold into the wing, having stepped just inside to close the door behind him. Before him lay the top floor of the tower, nearly all of it a single chamber, though a few partial walls divided it into different uses. One area held a bed and wardrobe, another a bookcase and a writing desk; some of the walls held shelves filled with jars and flasks. Other tables served as workstations for alchemy, judging by the tools scattered on them. In one of the few places walled off to make its own room, opposite the door, a large piece of canvas lay to cover the floor.

As for the occupant, Vasilia sat skimming through a bundle of parchment, containing different symbols written on them. She wore an entirely white robe; hearing her attendant speak, she looked up. "Did he give his name yet?"

"Atreus, mistress."

She arrested her movements. "Are you sure?"

"He said so."

Throwing the parchment onto the table, she got up quickly. "Have the other masters seen him yet?"

"Not when I left, but their attendants would have told them, and I do have to walk further than them."

"Stay here." She hurried to leave her chambers.

*

Despite making haste, Vasilia arrived as the last. When she stepped down from the staircase that wound itself around the tower, she found two wizards waiting for her, one dressed in blue, the other in red, along with a scruffy traveller. "There we are," the blue-clad mage declared.

The trio in uniform-coloured clothing all stood facing the newcomer, who bowed his head. "Masters of the tower, I seek hospitality."

"Always happy to provide such to our brethren," spoke the red woman.

"Especially to Atreus, mightiest of spellbreakers, slayer of fiends!" exclaimed the blue wizard.

"Just the one," Atreus mumbled.

"Indeed, we are surprised to find the foremost member of your fellowship in our tower," Vasilia remarked with an unfriendly smile. "What brings Master Atreus to our tower?"

"I was up north. Took a ship to Aquila, and now I make my way to Archen. But besides a good night's rest, I could use supplies."

"Take all you need," said the red mage. From a pocket, she withdrew a stone covered in markings. "Once you feel settled, come visit me on the red floor. I should like to speak more."

"Of course." Atreus accepted the token and bowed his head.

Watching him walk away, Vasilia placed a hand inside her pocket to touch her own wardstone.