Divine Debate

Arn slept well that night, pleased that he had avoided a trap, turning the snare against his would-be hunter. This had also reduced the number of people who knew his secret as a spellcasting gladiator, removing the greatest danger to that vulnerability. Ignius, Mahan, and Helena all had good reasons for keeping quiet, or they would suffer their own consequences. Helgi was another matter, but the old loremaster was not entirely devoid of loyalty to a fellow Tyrian and skáld.

Magnus had been the most likely to sell him out, especially if feeling pressured by this spellbreaker who seemed to hound Arn’s steps; another reason for caution, though so far, the Archaean mage had not come close to finding his quarry.

The next day proved to be Manday again, which prompted the return of a regular visitor to the ludus. As usual, Arn waited until the fighters for tomorrow’s games had been blessed, watching the ritual. Strangely, he felt uneasy, looking at the priestess of Luna. Helena had agreed to help him again, despite her intense dislike for using magic; it had been necessary to save Domitian’s life, yet Arn was bothered at the thought of her being upset with him for asking her.

They had tentatively mended relations after Arn had forced her to use magic the first time, and he had potentially destroyed any such progress. He was troubled by this, and furthermore uncomfortable realising that this troubled him in the first place; he did not care to examine his own reasons. He simply noticed the small pang of relief as she signed a greeting to him, once her ritual with the fighters was at an end, and he pushed these thoughts aside.

‘Good evening,’ he responded to her as he approached, and they sat down on the bench.

‘How is Domitian?’

‘His strength is back, and he is none the wiser. Nor is anybody else.’ At least where Helena’s involvement was concerned; Arn saw no reason to admit that he had revealed his own circumstances to Mahan.

‘Good. I’m glad he is fine.’

Pushing his luck, Arn let curiosity ask his next question. ‘Why do you dislike magic so? You have seen twice now the power it holds.’

‘I have also seen how that power can be abused.’

‘You worship the Moon, do you not?’ he asked next.

‘It’s a little more complicated. Luna is the Lady of the Moon. It is her sign, her symbol to us, her light given to us in darkness.’

‘And that same sign, that light, strengthens magic,’ Arn told her, wondering if she knew about this.

She frowned. Evidently not. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Magic is like water, difficult to grasp, and it follows its own rules for the most part, different from land to land. But among the few constants is that spells are better in moonlight. Herbs harvested at full moon have stronger properties, and magic rituals are best done at such an hour,’ the skáld explained, pleased that he could elaborate in such a fashion using only signs.

‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

Arn watched the black veil that covered her face, hiding her expression. Did she look displeased, or was she trying to suppress curiosity? Did the discussion bother her, or was she animated by arguing with him?

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‘You are competing in the solstice games, I take it.’

Helena had taken advantage of his silence to change the topic. He gave a brief nod. ‘I am.’

‘And last year’s champion is not competing. Thanks to you.’

Arn’s thoughts returned to that fight; brief and intense, but dangerous all the same, duelling another mage. ‘Don’t feel sorry for him. He used magic too.’

He could almost tell the scandalised look behind her veil. ‘No!’

‘Yes. No wonder he made champion.’

A sigh issued from her. ‘Is nothing sacred? Is nobody honest?’

‘Not where money, power, or women are concerned, in my experience.’

‘Bleak, but believable, I suppose.’

‘Will you watch the games?’

She shook her head. ‘Solstice, whether summer or winter, is our busiest time. Lots of rituals that can only be done during those days, and in between, the city is full of visitors. Plenty of people who need our help for one reason or another.’

‘So you’ll be busy taking care of those doing poorly, while I’ll be busy making them feel poorly.’

Half-hearted laughter came in response. ‘I guess.’

‘It seems we are opposites in every way.’

‘Like the sun and the moon.’

“Sister Helena!” Mahan’s powerful voice reached them. “It’s getting late.”

“Of course.” She bowed her head to Arn and rose, picking up her staff as well.

While she left for the inner gate that separated the gladiator quarters from the residence, Mahan followed Arn to his cell. “What does the pair of you talk so much about?” he asked with a squint at the northerner.

Arn shrugged. ‘Gods.’

“A theological debate between a nun and a mute Tyrian,” Mahan muttered. “Keep to yourself, Northman. You’ve brought nothing but trouble to my ludus ever since you arrived.”

The skáld smiled and closed the door. He wondered if the weapons master would change his tune once Arn won the solstice games. Probably not, if he knew how much stronger all the victories would make Arn’s magic. Pleased with himself, the skáld went to sleep.

*

High in the Tower of the Arcane, Atreus the spellbreaker leaned back in his chair. He sat in the red wing opposite Cora, one of the three masters of the Tower. “I’m sorry, but I have found nothing.”

“How certain are you?”

He shrugged. “As certain as one can be? I have looked thoroughly into both of your fellow masters. You’re right that Vasilia has bought corpses – she got them from the arena, which is quite clever – but while that may be against Aquilan law, it is not against ours to conduct anatomical studies on the dead. As long as you’re not making them dead in the first place.”

“Every would-be necromancer claims they’re just getting corpses for anatomical studies!”

“I know that better than anyone,” the spellbreaker replied, and his voice was less jovial. “But I’ve not come across as much as a reanimated fingernail around her, or elsewhere in the city, for that matter.”

“But you haven’t been to the white floor. You don’t know what she could hide there.”

“No, and I am not permitted to break into a master’s chambers based on pure speculation,” Atreus chided her.

“What of the undead abomination seen in the streets?”

“Unrelated. Certainly not of Archean make. A Tyrian is involved. Whether a berserker or skáld is hard to tell.” He cleared his throat. “Somehow, he eludes me still.”

“I wouldn’t have thought some northern brute could evade Archen’s most accomplished spellbreaker.”

“Every lead I investigate turns up nothing.”

“Perhaps he has left the city already, and you are wasting your time,” Cora considered. “There are more suitable targets for your inquisitive eyes.”

“I have people watching the docks and the gates,” Atreus retorted. “Though he may have slipped past,” he admitted a moment later. “Regardless, I will spend my remaining time as I see fit, pursuing actual signs of maleficus rather than the speculative kind.”

“Yes, you were rather eager to leave when we first spoke, and now you delay on account of some barbarian.” The mage in red watched him carefully.

“I am a spellbreaker. I hunt maleficars wherever they are, whomever they may be. But you’re right – the celestial conjunction draws near, and I should be in Archen before that. You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

She sighed. “Perish such insinuations. My concerns leave me frustrated, but I appreciate that you took the time to look into matters. Even if I’ll never be convinced that the good Vasilia is as pure as those white robes she wears.”

Atreus gave a wry smile as his only response.