A Blade in the Dark

As the first thing, Arn collected a sword. He had no trouble, except that the barkeep at The Broken Mast still could not read, so he had to fetch the serving girl who could. Once they understood that the weapon underneath the desk was meant for Arn, they handed it over without question, as if dispensing swords was simply another part of their work routines.

It was a gladius, though not the same as Arn had been given before, lacking the markings of any legion. Strapping it to his belt while quickly leaving, as he had another long walk ahead of him, Arn wondered if he should have demanded a longer blade, more suited to his fighting style; on the other hand, the short blade was easier to conceal beneath his cloak, and considering how many wore this kind of weapon, it drew little attention even if spotted by others.

Once at the other drinking hole, Arn bought a mug of ale and retreated to a corner. He barely drank any of it, spilling the drink instead when he could do so unnoticed; once empty, he returned to the bar and bought another. In this manner, he gave off his best impression of a surly traveller, spending his hard-earned coin to get drunk while surreptitiously keeping watch of the place. No sign of his target yet, which could mean she had already retired upstairs – Arn assumed she kept her bedchamber on the second floor – or she was absent entirely.

His patience was eventually rewarded while on his sixth mug, most of his silver gone. Doors to a backroom burst open. A man hastened through the area, crashing into a chair and causing laughter. As he ran past Arn, the skáld got a look at what drove him out. He had a cut across his cheek, and one hand clutched the other to his chest; the fingers looked swollen and broken.

Emptying his tankard, Arn went to the bar and signalled for it to be refilled while pointing with his thumb over his shoulder at the doors, still swinging from the wounded man's hasty departure.

"Just another fool owing money he can't pay," the barkeep explained helpfully as he filled Arn's mug up. "Best make sure you only drink what you can pay for, friend."

Arn handed over some copper pennies and returned to his chair. Moments later, he saw a one-eared woman stride out of the backroom to walk upstairs.

*

Arn waited as long as he dared, as he could not know whether Vera had other tasks keeping her awake; he assumed that she had to go to bed at some point, and so he gave her as much time as he could afford. When dawn was only a few hours away, he decided to finally take action.

Leaving the tavern, Arn pulled up his hood and walked around the building. It had a walled backyard, allowing for supplies to be delivered and stored. Ensuring he was alone in the alley, Arn called upon his rune and did as he had done at the ludus, scaling the obstacle with a single leap.

Luck in the late hour favoured him; the yard was empty. Now came the next difficulty. He could not risk entering the building and walking the hallway, searching room after room. But Vera had to have her bedchamber on the upper floor, as the ground floor was taken up by the tavern. Looking up, Arn saw four windows, each with shutters.

As before, Arn jumped up until his one hand could catch onto the ledge of the window. With the other, he pulled open one shutter and dragged himself up to look inside.

The lack of moonlight and consequential darkness offered another obstacle, but Arn got the impression that he looked into a study. Letting himself fall down on the ground, Arn guessed that Vera kept her room close by for convenience. This in mind, he repeated the procedure with the nearest window, jumping up to catch onto the ledge, force open the shutter, and glance inside.

This time, he saw the outline of a bed, and faint snoring reached his ears. Carefully, Arn pulled himself up further, but just as he was about to cross into the room, he caught sight of a thin thread stretched across the window. He imagined it was tied to something that would make plenty of noise if broken. Pleased with himself to have noticed this, Arn pushed himself further up and deftly manoeuvred around the thread.

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He was in. Drawing his sword, Arn looked down at the sleeping woman, making sure she did indeed have only one ear. Time to strike.

He hesitated. While Arn had killed plenty of people, they had always faced him with a weapon in hand, and he had no quarrel with this woman either. A part of Arn objected to what was cold-blooded murder.

Yet, another voice whispered to him, given Arn's magic, it did not matter if someone faced him sleeping or wielding a weapon; they stood no chance regardless. The gladiators he killed in the arena had offered no offence to him either, nor did they stand much chance to resist him, and Arn slaughtered them all the same, even relishing it as it allowed him to regain his powers. And while this woman might not have done anything to Arn, she was hardly an innocent; nobody paid mages to assassinate decent folk.

And the last, perhaps most compelling argument that Arn told himself: by doing this now, undisturbed, he could leech her life to further feed himself. Pushing doubt aside, Arn clamped his free hand down on her mouth and used the sword in the other to stab her through the chest.

Her eyes widened, bulging out. She tried to open her lips and release a scream, but to no avail. Arn knew where to strike, between the ribs, and death came for her with a moment's notice. As life abandoned her body, Arn seized it and forced it into himself, making his tree of seiðr grow another branch. With this piece of stolen magic, the element of water would once more bend to his will.

As always, euphoria was immediately replaced by the expected backlash, though past experience helped Arn get through it. His vision blurred, but not for long; his knees buckled under him, and he fell down next to the bed, but moments later, he could stand up again, albeit still feeling nauseated.

Remembering what happened to the corpses of those he leeched from, Arn grabbed his sword and pulled it out of the body. Calling upon his rune, he struck down to decapitate her with a single blow, destroying any chance that she would rise again as draugr.

Still recovering from the backlash of his leeching, Arn froze as he heard a knock on the door. "Vera? Sorry to wake you. I'll come in if that's alright."

Scrambling, Arn threw his sword out of the window and leapt onto the ledge to lower himself down and flee. In his haste, he forgot about the thread, which now broke, making a platter and two cups fall to the ground with plenty of noise.

"Vera?" The door burst open, and the guard looked from the beheaded corpse in the bed to the figure jumping out of the window. "Help! Murder!"

Arn was on the ground. He could not readily see his sword, nor did he care; he was not in any good condition to fight, and his best chance lay in flight. Running across the small yard, Arn prepared himself and summoned his strength once more to jump onto the wall. As he was about to lower himself down, he glanced at the window and saw the guard hurling a knife at him.

If Arn had a sword in his hand, he could have used his bladesong to intercept; or, if he had his rune of swiftness, he could have caught the weapon in the air. He had neither, and it struck into the left side of his waist, embedding itself. Groaning with pain, Arn pulled out the weapon and threw it away before letting himself fall down from the wall. Staggering away, he made his escape into the surrounding darkness of the alleyways.

*

Once Arn had distance between himself and any would-be pursuers, he collapsed onto the ground. Between the punishment for leeching and his stab wound, he was in a state. One hand pressing against the injury, the other fumbled to tear a part of his shirt off and use as rags to stem the bleeding. Knowing they would be searching for him, he got back on his feet and resumed his stumbling run; while his left hand pushed cloth against his injury, his right hand untied the empty scabbard by his side and flung it away.

Arn had intended that he would go to the docks and collect his payment straightaway; that now proved far too ambitious. It would double his journey, and he needed to get somewhere safe as fast as possible.

Fortunately, he had gone this way last night, and even in his current condition, he recalled the route. Though he never would have imagined such a reaction before, the sight of the wall surrounding the training yard of the ludus was a welcome sight. A final effort, drawing on his rune once more, and he scaled the obstacle.

As quickly as he could, he returned to his cell. Using the water in his jar, he washed his wound before turning what remained of his shirt into bandages, wrapped all the way around his body.

Finally lying down in his cot, Arn wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He needed rest; he had no idea how he was going to face tomorrow's training. He had only just closed his eyes when in the distance, the tolling of the first bell could be heard.