Blood Eagle

Handling Business

Despite feeling uneasy about one more person having discovered the truth about him, Arn steeled his nerves. He had a plan. At the moment with his spellpower weak and a lack of certain abilities such as galdr or major runes, he could not be confident that he would defeat a mageknight.

He would get his last minor rune restored; while it did not help directly in combat, it increased his natural healing and recovery, keeping him ready for every fight of the solstice games, where he could leech sufficient energy to restore other of his abilities, including regaining enough spellpower to win a magic duel. Meanwhile, Helgi would find a solution to the armband that kept him trapped in Aquila; once freed of that, and with his vengeance taken, Arn would make his escape.

He tried not to think about every step that could go wrong; every turn that might fall the wrong way. Every person who could betray him.

Beginning the day’s training, Arn glanced at Mahan, who kept his distance. When the weapons master did approach, he barked his usual orders and corrections before continuing. He put on a good performance, and Arn felt a little less uneasy. If Arn’s magic was discovered, Mahan stood to lose as much as the Tyrian.

In the evening, while the others piled in to bathe and eat, Domitian hung back and motioned for the Tyrian to join him. They sat down at the bench in the yard, and Arn thought about yesterday’s conversation with Helena in the exact same place.

“Ah, Northman, I can’t tell you how good it feels to breathe freely and walk around!” As if to demonstrate, the Aquilan took a deep breath and laughed. He had only participated sparingly in today’s training, but he seemed fully recovered. “Master Mahan told me my coin was delivered to you. Did I take your silent meaning correctly yesterday that my debt is cleared?”

Arn nodded, lacking his tablet to add any explanations.

“Good, good. Iolana? You saw her?”

He repeated his gesture.

“Ah, excellent. But I was one crown short of the debt – did you pay the remainder?”

The Tyrian gave a modest shrug in confirmation.

“You’re a true friend.” Domitian slapped him on the shoulder. “I shall pay you back after my next victory.”

A shaking of the head. Arn did not need the coin, and he had done more than just spending gold to help Domitian; the repayment of money felt trivial and would cheapen the act.

“If you’re sure… well, I owe you regardless. You ever need something done, you just let me know.” With a wide smile, Domitian got up and left. The Tyrian was unsure what the big Aquilan could do for him, given the sort of trouble Arn found himself in, but it never hurt to have a friend close by.

*

A few more sunsets followed, and the day – or rather night – for Arn’s final task on behalf of Magnus approached. He was not concerned that he could accomplish it; those without magic never imagined or understood what could be done by those who possessed it. Especially not these Aquilans when confronted with Tyrian powers. They might expect him in that merchant house, but they would never truly be able to stand against him.

Instead, Arn was concerned about his taskmaster. Trusting a rogue felt foolish under the best of circumstances; Magnus had held up his end of the bargain so far, but probably only because he still had use of Arn. That would end with the death of this Sindhian woman, Aja, removing his rival. With the spellbreaker on the hunt for him, and Magnus aware that Arn posed as a gladiator – everything made him feel uneasy.

Though better to know than assume. Hoping to work his way towards some measure of certainty, Arn requested leave and went into the city.

*

It took him a while to find his destination; Iris had only given the scarcest of instructions, little more than pointing him in the right direction. But asking his way forward via his tablet, Arn reached the place. A typical merchant’s dwelling, much like the one he was meant to infiltrate the following night. What set this apart were the services and goods offered.

Many workshops, taverns, and the like had a sign outside with an image showing their trade, as not all could read. Bread for bakers, a mug of ale for public houses, boots for cobblers and so on. Not the case here. If someone could not read, they would most likely not be welcomed as customers. Instead, the sign simply stated, Master Quirinius – stones shaped and enchanted. Glad to have found the place, Arn entered the workshop of an earthmage.

The courtyard had large stacks and slabs of stone in various stages of shaping. Many were roughly cut, waiting to be changed. Others looked perfectly hewn, like bricks made in a kiln. A few workers hauled them on and off a cart, casting a quick look at the newcomer before resuming their task.

Arn continued inside into the first room, where a clerk sat behind a desk. She looked up. “Yes? Do you have an appointment with Master Quirinius? Or work already commissioned?”

Arn dug out his tablet. I’ve come to collect for Magnus.

“I see.” She frowned. “You’ve brought your own cart, workmen? I wasn’t aware of any shipment being readied for today other than the one the men are already preparing.”

It’s a small stone, Arn explained.

“Oh, so not for construction. Let me look.” She opened the ledger in front of her, and her eyes glanced down the rows. “I’m sorry, I see no open tasks for any Magnus.”

Helgi?

She looked again. “Sorry, not that either.”

When did Magnus last buy a stone?

She glanced up at the scarred Tyrian standing on the other side of the desk. “I’m sorry, I can’t divulge information about other customers.”

It did not matter. Arn turned and left. He had found out what he wanted to know, namely that it seemed Magnus had not bought another stone for Helgi to enchant. One might think of reasons why, excuses, but Arn suspected why the old rogue felt no need to prepare payment for Arn’s work. Weighing his options, the Tyrian walked back to the ludus. Tomorrow was the appointed night when he was meant to strike at Aja; he needed to reach a decision fast.

*

Arn spent the next day in consideration, in between sparring and getting the occasional hit from Domitian due to being distracted. Ignoring the laughter from the big Aquilan, Arn figured he had a simple choice in front of him; the difficulty lay in examining the reasons to do one or the other. He could do the task as set before him and afterwards deal with Magnus, whether the thug paid him or betrayed him. Or, he could turn on the rogue before he turned on Arn.

As night fell, the skáld waited until the ludus slept. Gathering shadows around him, he made his way out to the training yard. Above him, the moon gave faint light; about ten days had passed since the new moon, which meant more illumination than he felt comfortable with, but time had become a beast snapping at his heels. His rune of subtlety could disguise him to a certain degree, though being caught in full light would still make him visible. A few clouds helped his cause, and when the moment seemed most opportune, he scaled the wall with a single jump.

A sword awaited him in a tavern allied to Magnus and the smugglers; Arn strapped it to his waist and continued. Soon, he could see his destination, glancing at it while staying behind the corner of another building. Nobody out front, but there would probably be a guard inside the courtyard, watching that entrance. Another patrolled around the back of the building. Arn could perhaps get close and kill him without causing alarm, but it was a risk to take, and a clear hostile action that might not be the best choice.

Instead, Arn used his rune of force to climb another building further down the street. No watchmen here; the city guard patrolled the thoroughfare, but not the alleys. Once on the rooftop, drawing on the same strength, Arn jumped to the next. Waiting until the sentinel on the ground had slipped around the corner, he made another leap to reach his destination. During his scouting yesterday, he had noticed this particular roof possessed something many older structures did not. A chimney, large enough for a person to climb up and clean – or climb down.

*

Covered in soot, Arn barely needed to use his rune of subtlety to pull shadows around him. Several men slept scattered around the common room that had the fireplace connected to the chimney. None of them stirred as a shade moved among them, slipping up the stairs. No doubt they had alarms on the windows and doors, trusting in those to warn them of intruders, like when Arn had infiltrated that tavern to kill Vera, the one-eared woman. They had not considered that where smoke would go up, shadows might come down.

A handful of rooms above. Cautiously, using his sense of magic, Arn made his way forward, keeping a supernatural eye out for traps or anything out of the ordinary. Opening one door, scouting ahead with his magic, he felt what struck him as a bonfire on the bed; a large collection of gold, meant to keep someone safe from magic. Now it drew the skáld like a moth. He unsheathed his sword, looking down at his victim.

A Sindhian, the woman had darker skin than most Aquilans. She had short hair and a weather-worn face of furrows and lines, making her age hard to guess. Even in sleep, she looked stern. Readying his sword, he placed the blade across her throat, and her eyes opened in shock.