On the Threshold

A fiveday came and went, but as Solday arrived, none of the gladiators from House Ignius left the ludus to fight in the arena; instead, they gathered in the common room to be addressed by the weapons master.

“Listen closely! The solstice games begin tomorrow. For the benefit of those new to our ludus, I’ll explain briefly. It’s simple enough even you lot can keep up.”

Some laughed at this, though most seemed subdued. While few showed any signs of being anxious, everyone knew that they would be pushed to their limits, and they might not all live to see the end of the games.

“Everyone has a fight tomorrow. If you win, you got another the day after. Win that one, you get another, and so on. You lose, you’re done in the games – and pray that’s the worst of it.” Mahan’s stern gaze swept over them. “All the best from every ludus will compete to be crowned champion and get the spoils. The competition is fierce, not to mention deadly.”

Nobody laughed or smiled anymore.

“Those that get through the first four days will fight the grand melee on the fifth day, but I’ll discuss that when the time comes – with those still in the games. For now, all of you, think only about the fight you’re facing. Don’t fill your head with thoughts of the fifth day or becoming champion,” Mahan warned them. “Distractions are how you lose.”

Arn had hitherto felt confident about these games, given his own advantage, but he had not known their nature. A big fight posed dangers for him despite his powers; it was impossible to be aware of everything happening in such a chaotic battle, all against all, and he would be a prime target, considering he took out last year’s champion. Taking a deep breath, the Tyrian considered that he best pay attention to the weapons master when the day arrived.

*

After long hours of sparring, Arn wanted nothing more than to sink into sleep. But he had an errand to run, and it seemed wise to have it dealt with before the games tomorrow. Thus, when everyone slept, Arn shrouded himself in shadows and left the ludus.

He made his way to the home of Helgi with the assumption that by now, his final rune token would be done. It would have been more comfortable to visit him in the evening, but since that spellbreaker might still be on his trail, Arn preferred caution. Besides, he would not get much sleep tonight regardless, as it would take most of the nocturnal hours to drain the stone of its magic and reactivate his rune.

Getting inside the house unseen was child’s play at this point for the skáld, and he shook the old man awake. “You! Sneaking in here like a thief!” Helgi grumbled. “A man’s home is sacred!”

Arn shrugged, not willing to expend the effort for a longer reply. He held out his hand and pointed at the empty palm.

“Yes, yes, stow your sails. I’ve got it.” Helgi got up, wearing only a nightshirt, and rummaged around a drawer until he could pick out the rune token and hand it over.

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Arn grasped it with delight. A rune of recovery would speed up his natural healing after every fight or exertion. While it did not help him as such in his fights, it would be of use in between, and especially in the coming fiveday that promised battle after battle. Furthermore, this was the last of the minor runes on his body; with it restored, Arn felt he had taken a significant step in returning to his former self.

But it was not all he needed from the loremaster. He held out his arm, still adorned by the Archean armband that he knew little of, including its origin. He did not believe that the lanista, down on his luck, had the means to acquire such an item. Crucially, if it truly could track him, he needed it gone before he made his escape. For that, he needed Helgi.

“Yes, yes, I’ve not forgotten. I think I can craft a rune of unbinding with sufficient strength to remove it,” the old Tyrian considered. “But it’s not easy. I need the right materials. I’ve sent word, but it’ll be at least two fivedays before any ship from home will arrive, bearing what I need.”

Arn frowned, digesting this. He could wait ten days, if need be; the solstice games would consume the next five regardless. But not much longer. He took out his tablet and wrote, I’ll return in ten.

“Bring all the coin you have,” Helgi added. “Getting this all the way from Tyria isn’t cheap.”

Winning the solstice games should provide more than enough gold. I will.

*

Arn made a swift return to the ludus, keeping his hood up. The streets were full, even though the festivities were only supposed to begin tomorrow. Arn had never spent solstice in Aquila before; he had barely visited the Empire until his involuntary trip to the Imperial capital. Part of his old curiosity as a skáld awoke, wondering what rituals and significance this held to the Aquilans.

In Tyria, they would be preparing the bonfires for the shortest night. Many would journey to the solstice thing of the nine tribes, where grievances could be aired and resolved without bloodshed, and the seiðr-wives might be consulted for their wisdom. A large market would naturally spring up; people from across the northern lands travelled to the moot, which meant that so did peddlers and merchants.

Arn recalled last year’s solstice thing with sudden clarity as he walked on, dodging drunkards and piles of refuse on the street. A delegation from Aquila had explained their wishes to establish colonies in the wastelands between Tyria and Aquila, south of the Frosten river, and their hopes for peaceful relations.

Some had spoken on their behalf, arguing increased trade; Tyria ever hungered for metals, and many luxuries could only come from the south. In turn, the furs, whale ivory, and amber of the North was greatly prized by the Aquilans.

Arn had spoken against. He remembered his words still. “These Aquilans come to us with honey-coated words and gilded promises. But any man here who wishes to dress his children in cotton or offer his wife jewellery, let him take a ship south and make the trade as we have always done! What does it matter if the journey takes ten days rather than five? Are we so desperate for silver, so hungry for silk that we must have it on our doorstep?” He had swept his gaze across the assembly before lingering on the Imperial emissary, a mageknight named Salvius. “I have not heard any ask why the Aquilans desire this. Why this eternal thirst for land? They have a whole empire, and still they must have more! No, I say. Let them stay within their borders, and we shall be within ours. Let the empty lands remain empty, and we shall have no quarrel. A distant neighbour is a peaceful neighbour.”

That had ended the debate, the words of the Bladesinger swaying most of the assembly. The seiðr-wives were silent on the matter, leaving it in the hands of the solstice thing, who voted against accepting Aquilan expansion. Arn had figured that was the end of it; he could not have imagined the course of events this would unleash for him personally.

Back at the ludus, he went to his cell, hand grasping the rune token tightly. Pushing thoughts of the past away, knowing he could not afford to lose focus in the coming days, Arn began to pull the magic from the stone into himself, restoring his final rune.