Fateful
His magic sufficiently recovered, Arn had no trouble stalking through the convent under the cover of shadows. He leapt up the wall with ease. No sign of guards or soldiers on the streets. It had already been a long night, and Arn felt ready to see his bed, but he could not imagine leaving his sword anywhere but in trusted hands.
He did not dare stash it in the ludus; if discovered, a Tyrian blade would raise a lot of questions aimed at him. Even worse if Ignius recognised it as the sword from Salvius’s trophy room; once the news of the mageknight’s death reached the ludus, Arn’s involvement would be obvious. Fortunately, he had a better option, and if he hurried, he could just make it before daybreak. Thus, no longer limping, he hastened towards the harbour.
*
The streets were empty, making Arn feel eerie when contrasted with the previous fiveday and its solstice celebration. It appeared the people of Aquila had finished their revelries for now. Still, he stuck to the alleys when it would not add time to his journey, and he kept an eye out for guards.
Finally, he saw Helgi’s hut. Besides entrusting the blade and his feather to the loremaster, Arn wanted to ask about the progress for his rune of unbinding, and when it would be ready. Hopefully not more than a day or two. Then he would break that accursed armband that chained him to this city and be free.
With a spark of magic, he convinced the backdoor to unlock and let him in. The hut lay completely dark, and Arn knocked on the table he knew stood in the middle. Nothing.
Fumbling a bit, he found a lamp on the table along with a piece of fire steel to ignite it, tired of darkness. As light spread, he looked towards the bed and saw it empty. He swiftly glanced around, just to make sure. No signs of a struggle.
His gaze fell on a perfectly round stone left on the table, nearly smooth except for one symbol engraved, which Arn recognised as the rune of unbinding. He picked up the token. No sense of magic. Helgi had begun his work, it seemed, but far from finished it.
A sound alerted Arn. He turned his head towards the window, and his powerful sight noticed something. The shutters had been pulled slightly apart, allowing an eye to peer inside. Helgi’s warning of a spellbreaker watching the hut flooded Arn’s mind. He extinguished the lamp and sprinted out the door; he did not stop running until he had turned several corners, disappearing into the alleys of the docks.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Outside Helgi’s house, one of the neighbourhood children laughed and walked away.
*
Once he felt certain none pursued him, Arn caught his breath and considered what to do. Time was nearly out. He needed to get moving back to the ludus to make it before daybreak. While Ignius might overlook that he got noticed any other night, his absence at the same time as Salvius’s death would be too conspicuous.
As he began walking, Arn considered if he simply should risk bringing his sword back. He could only keep it in his room; anywhere else in the ludus had a constant flow of people and nowhere to hide a blade of such length. Yet he could not dismiss the fear that the sword would be discovered, brought to Ignius, and the lanista – or anyone else in the ludus – would realise that Salvius had died by Arn’s hand. The ramifications were impossible to predict.
As his feet brought him near The Broken Mast, Arn considered another option. He would have to return to the docks anyway to collect the rune token from Helgi, assuming the coast was clear; in fact, it might serve him better to send someone else on his behalf when the time came. Someone who owed him if not fealty, at least a favour.
*
The insistent knocking continued. “Look, tell those fools in the common room that I’m done for the night,” Iris shouted, but it did nothing to dissuade her visitor. Finally, she tore the door open, and surprise replaced the annoyance on her face. “Northman!”
Arn quickly stepped inside and began to untie both the sword and the feather from his belt.
“Look, I’m flattered, but really, I’m exhausted. I can ask any of the girls still working –” He held up a finger to quiet her and handed over both items. She stared at the sheathed sword in confusion. “What exactly am I to do with this?” Sighing, he took them again and hid them under her bed. “Oh. Yeah, I suppose you can’t take weapons with you back to the ludus. Not that you seem restrained by its rules otherwise.”
He raised his hands in a dismissive gesture before holding up one finger. Then, he folded his hands next to his cheek as if sleeping.
“You’ll be back tomorrow night? Fine. I’ll keep it. But you better be off. You stay any longer, you’ll be obliged to pay.” She smirked, but he doubted that she jested. Trusting that she remembered his actions on the night that Magnus died, how Arn had protected her and the other girls, he left to make haste back to the school.
*
Weary, Arn felt a twinge of pain using his rune of force, scaling yet another wall on this night. But he cleared it and landed inside the training yard without injuring himself, though his ankle did voice a meek objection. Ignoring it, he staggered towards his cell. He would not get much sleep; the morning bell would soon ring. But even a few moments with his eyes shut was better than nothing.
Arn had assumed he would be elated after carrying out his vengeance, but the events of the night – not just the fight, but also his escape and subsequent journey across the city – had wrung every drop of energy from his body. He felt utterly fatigued. Tomorrow, which would come far too soon, he would celebrate his victory; tonight, though it would not last much longer, he would rest. His head barely touched his bed before he fell asleep.