Blood Eagle

Suspicions

Two days came and went. Mindful that Mahan seemed suspicious of him, Arn kept to the routines of the ludus, figuring once a fiveday had passed, it would be reasonable to ask for leave again.

He visited Domitian during meals, occasionally feeding the big man. Seeing him weakened was a strange sight, even if Arn had watched others succumb to the same fate. No matter the strength or size of a man, the wrong injury could prove stronger. The medicus did his work, but it availed little. At one point, an elixir bought at great expense from an alchemist was provided, and it made the fever abate; for an evening, Domitian seemed his own self. The next day, the fever had returned.

*

Late at night, retired to his cell, Arn heard a knock. He opened the door and looked at Mahan. "I got something for you." He held out his hand; as Arn did the same, four golden crowns fell into it. "Domitian's wish. When he was lucid the other evening."

Strange. Arn had spoken with him, and the big Aquilan had made no mention of this. Closing his fist around the coins, Arn waited for Mahan to explain, but the weapons master simply left.

The events at the insula in the docks had receded from Arn's memory, busy with the routines and concerned about his friend, so it took him a moment to make the connection. Domitian had given Arn all his saved up money to repay that odious thug, Marius.

Placing the coins inside his belt, next to his needle, Arn knew what to do. He had his own errand by the harbour anyway. He would go tomorrow.

*

Mahan kept any suspicions to himself, perhaps sensing that Arn had a task to carry out for Domitian, and he granted the Tyrian leave without questions. This time, Arn set a course for the insula first, wanting to quickly deal with Marius before going to The Broken Mast; he imagined the latter to be the more complicated conversation.

Seeking out people who looked Tyrian, Arn got directions to the chambers used by the smuggler, moneylender, enforcer, or whatever he was. Stepping into the first room, he saw it occupied by four familiar faces, sitting around a table playing cards; one of them had a broken nose.

Curiously, Arn's appearance did not cause the intimidation he had imagined, or the hostility; they stared at him, wary, but not particularly frightened at the sight of a single, unarmed man. Perhaps they had more courage than most who sought that line of work, scaring money out of the weak.

He held up his tablet. Here to see Marius.

One of them got up and opened the door to the inner chamber. "Tyrian fellow out here for you, master."

"Fine, send him in."

Marius sat behind his desk, and like his men, he looked up at Arn without fear or even a glint of recognition. "What'll it be? I'm a busy man, so get to your point."

Arn imagined how the man's nose would sound, breaking, as he wrote, I'm here to pay Domitian's debt. He stacked three crowns onto the table.

Marius looked at him with a sour expression. "That big lout owes five."

Arn clenched a fist, wondering if he really had to beat it into their heads. You got two already.

After a moment, the thug grinned and grabbed the coin. "Worth a try. Tell that oaf his debts are settled. Though I wonder why he keeps sending Tyrians to do his business."

Only too happy to leave, Arn simply did so without a reply.

*

The skáld continued just a short while until he reached another insula, this one familiar to him. He gave a few knocks.

"Who is it?" came Iolana's voice from inside.

Frustrated, Arn tried to knock in different patterns, trying to signal his presence.

"It's that straw head again!" an old woman yelled, walking past.

Not sure whether to thank her or slap her, Arn's deliberations were interrupted as the door opened. On the other side, Iolana stared at him. "It's you! Please, come inside!"

Arn did not intend to stay long. He held up his tablet, his message already written on it. Your debt is paid.

"Truly?" She squealed in delight and threw her arms around him, almost making him lose the tablet. Awkwardly, he pulled back, and she looked over her shoulder. "Kaleo, say thanks to Master Domitian's friend!"

If any sound left the quiet boy, Arn did not hear. He quickly scribbled, I must go.

"Of course. Thank you again, Master Northman!"

*

His duties to Domitian done, Arn set a course for The Broken Mast. By now, it all felt familiar, whether the locale, clientele, or staff. Going to the backrooms, he found the same people as always; one bald Lucius with ears like a troll, surrounded by henchmen gambling and drinking. Though for once, no smirks or grins met him. Instead, Lucius simply got up. "Come on. Let's see the chief."

They walked up the stairs to the top chamber of the building. Magnus stood by the window as they entered. "The Tyrian's back," Lucius declared.

Still with his back turned to them, Magnus nodded to himself. "Do you know what a spellbreaker is?"

As the man was not looking at him, Arn had little opportunity to reply.

"A mage hunting other mages. Supposed to be very dangerous and effective." It seemed like Magnus was talking to himself until finally, he turned to look at his visitor. "And you got one on your tail."

Arn knew as much; it was why he could not visit Helgi anymore. But he doubted Magnus had said this as a friendly warning.

"Now, I've never cared how you handled your tasks, as long as you did. But this spellbreaker, he speaks of maleficus – evil magic. The sort that gets you executed."

Arn let his magical sense extend; flashes of heat told him that Magnus wore golden jewellery everywhere. Either he feared his rivals would do to him what he had Arn do to them, or he was afraid of Arn. Possibly both.

I kill with steel, Arn wrote. Which was true enough. Nobody will catch me. He hoped.

"It better be that way. Whatever's with this spellbreaker, that's between you and him. Don't you dare drag us down with you!"

Being threatened by men powerless to fight against him had never amused Arn; by now, he was tired of it. But he kept his mouth closed, or rather, his tablet blank, and he refrained from using his magical strength to throw the desk into Magnus's face.

"Alright. With that settled," the chief continued, as if he had proven something, "on to business."

Arn smoothed out the wax on his tablet with slow, deliberate strokes, watching Magnus with an overbearing look.

"I want you to take care of this Sindhian woman, Aja. She's wilier, more slippery than most."

Especially with two of her lieutenants killed, Arn added in his thoughts, noticing that his supposed taskmaster saw fit to keep this from him.

"She moves around. Rarely sleeps two nights in the same place. But we know she's got a meeting coming up, a fiveday from now. We know where it'll be."

Arn frowned; more people meant greater risk and uncertainty.

"Don't give me that face. Not asking you to clear the whole building," Magnus scoffed. "But the meeting is expected to run long. Good chance she'll stay afterwards and sleep there. That's when you strike."

Where?

"Best part," Lucius interjected. "It's a merchant house. Probably to avoid suspicion. Easy for you to get in and out." He smirked. "Dumb bird thinks secrecy will keep her safe. It's not far from the tavern where you handled the one-eared bitch." He added a description of the building in question, giving Arn some markers to find it by.

Fine. Tell Helgi a rune of recovery. That was the last Arn needed, and his dealings with this uncouth rabble would be at an end. One way or another.

Magnus glanced at the tablet with an irritated look. "Yes, yes. Be on your way – don't want you lingering." He got up and demonstratively turned his back on his visitor, staring out the window instead.

*

Moving through the tavern, his hood up as usual, Arn had intended to quickly make his departure, swing by the merchant house to investigate the building, and get back, same as usual. Yet the manner of this meeting left him uneasy; Magnus' behaviour felt markedly different.

Deciding to trade risk for information, Arn glanced around the common room until he saw a young woman sitting on a sailor's lap. Decisively, he strode across the place to reach her and pull her up to stand.

Spurred on by inebriation and indignation, the sailor got up. "Find your own lass, you –"

Any insult was cut short by the powerful hand that clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him back in his seat. Sufficiently clear-headed to understand the situation, the sailor slumped down and remained quiet.

"Why, Master Northman, I didn't realise my visits left such a fire in your loins." Iris smiled at him.

He pointed at the corridor where he knew the tavern had private rooms, allowing the girls to do their work.

"Sure thing, good master." The harlot smirked and followed him until they were alone in a room even less furnished than Arn's cell back at the ludus. He glanced at the bed and decided to remain standing. "It's five silvers. Your house only pays for our time there," she explained matter-of-factly.

Now came the difficult part. Using his tablet, Arn drew an image of a robed man extending one arm.

"Oh, I love this game!"

He added a stone hovering in the air and some lines that he figured could resemble magic.

Iris frowned. "That's, what, a wizard? Don't see any of them here."

Arn drew Magnus, whom she recognised immediately. He drew a line between them.

"A wizard working for Magnus?"

He pointed at the stone hovering in the air.

"Oh, an earthmage!" Iris clapped her hands together.

Exhaling, Arn nodded and tapped on the hooded figure.

"There is a stonemage who works for Magnus, yes. Came last year to repair the walls after a fire." She shivered. "Ghastly experience. What about him?"

Arn stared at her.

"Oh, you want his name?" She smiled and held out her hand. "Five silvers, please."

Grumbling, Arn went through his pocket.

*

The merchant house looked entirely ordinary, similar to others up and down the street. Intentional, presumably, to disguise who or what it housed. A walled courtyard allowing a trader to store goods and carts, attached to a building with two floors, providing living quarters and offices all in one.

Arn took a stroll around the back, noticing various entry points before returning to the street in front. The only thing that distinguished it from other structures was a fellow sitting near the door, dressed like any man might be, but the blade in his belt was not like the short knives that anyone might wear for practical purposes, but a dagger meant for fighting. A scar across his cheek suggested he knew how such fighting was done. Not wanting to draw suspicion, Arn turned away.

Once back at the ludus, he considered everything he had learned. Not just about the target; they would undoubtedly be on the lookout after losing two lieutenants, and he feared that the deceptively vulnerable merchant house would in fact be a trap of some sort. In addition, he could no longer trust Magnus; the thug knew too many of Arn's secrets, and he withheld information that the Tyrian needed, perhaps hoping that Arn would die along with this woman, Aja, tying up a loose end.

It was time for sleep, but Arn made a quick trip to the physician's workshop first, as he did every morning and evening. Stepping inside, he reached for his tablet, but the old man raised a hand to arrest him.

"Save your writing, I know the question. You ask the same every time. No, he's not improved." His face, already deeply furrowed by age, became further twisted. "In fact, he's taken a turn for the worse."

Arn looked from the medicus to Domitian, the latter sweating while in the throes of uneasy dreams.