The Spider’s Web

Arn was barely conscious for his journey to the dungeons of Aquila. His mind drifted away, only becoming aware of his surroundings briefly, much like when he had been injured and close to death from the resulting fever.

The guards remained unaffected; under the spellbreaker’s careful watch, they hauled the skáld into a small cell, ran his chains through a ring on the wall, and left him again.

Time passed, though Arn could not tell how long; his senses only returned to him slowly, and his dark, unfamiliar accommodations did not help. He was cold, seated on stone. This was not the ludus, lacking even the sparse furniture that his cell possessed. Straw lay on the floor, and a blanket. A bucket in a corner he could just reach if he stretched his arms. Restraints – he was shackled. By the strange, hot sensation, he recognised it to be gold. At last, the realisation came to him. He was discovered, captured, and damned.

They would do it to him again. Destroy his magic and throw him into the arena to die for sport. Or maybe just execution on a public square as part of their rituals. Regardless, this time there would be no miraculous survival; he had squandered the opportunity the gods had given him.

All that remained for Arn was to seek his death in a more dignified manner than as entertainment or sacrifice. He had the thin needle hidden in his belt. Stabbing himself in the right place might work. But they would have to take him out of this cell at some point; if he recovered his strength, he could reach for a guard’s weapon. Chained up and without magic, he stood no chance of getting away, but he would die fighting and maybe take one or two of the bastards with him.

The door opened. It had to be night, for no light came from the small window up high on the wall. As a flame appeared out of nowhere, illuminating the cell, Arn recognised the spellbreaker.

“I brought this.” Atreus extended a tablet and a stylus to the prisoner. “I have some questions for you. If you answer truthfully, I can have a few comforts provided to you.”

Arn took the proffered items and wrote, Where’s my people?

“The Tyrians?” The Archean frowned. “Oh, you mean the gladiators. Well, if you answer my questions, I’ll answer yours afterwards. Agreed?”

With tired movements, the skáld nodded.

Atreus disappeared out of the cell for a moment; his flame remained. Arn extended his chained wrist, knowing the gold would extinguish the magic if it came close enough. The distance exceeded his reach, however; his shackles jingled as he let his arm fall down, and he sank back to sit against the wall.

The spellbreaker returned with a stool and sat down in front of Arn. “Did you work with others?”

No need to write this answer down. The prisoner shook his head.

“Given I’ve seen no evidence of a second maleficar in Aquila, I would be inclined to believe you – except for that.” He pointed at the armband that still adorned Arn. “I’d recognise Archean magic anywhere. How did you get it?”

He wrote, Ignius.

“Do not lie to me. No simple lanista could get his hands on an Archean artefact.”

Arn had surmised the same, but it did not mean he knew how Ignius got it. I was injured. Woke up in the ludus with it. Don’t know more.

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The spellbreaker frowned, scratching his unkempt hair. “Do you know what it does?”

Tracks me. So I can’t escape.

“Hm. If you will allow it…” Atreus reached out a hand and touched the arm ring. He closed his eyes briefly. “Hard to tell with all the gold you’re wearing.”

He was more than welcome to remove Arn’s chains, but the Tyrian did not bother writing that down.

“Did Ignius know you possessed magic, then?”

Arn nodded.

“Lastly, what was the purpose of your attacks? You left a shambling undead in the slums, you desecrated the corpse of a mageknight, and I’ve no doubt you’ve struck other times I didn’t uncover.”

With a sigh, Arn wrote his reply. To get back what they took. For revenge. To make them fear.

“Very well. Now, you may ask your questions.”

While it made no difference, Arn wanted to know nonetheless; what mistake had he made? Was it betrayal? How did you find me?

“With great difficulty. Almost by chance, I came by the tavern where you hid your possessions. Your little friend didn’t want to give you up, but others were more talkative.”

At least this suggested that neither the spellbreaker nor anyone else knew about Helena. My brothers?

“Your fellow gladiators are here in the dungeons.”

Arn quickly smoothed the wax to make room. What will be their fate?

The spellbreaker hesitated. “I can’t say. If it were up to me, I’d interrogate each, and if satisfied they were unaware of your activities, I’d let them go. In the eyes of Archen, they’ve done no wrong. But I worry that the Aquilans consider it differently.”

Arn feared as much. Nothing further to discuss. He tossed the tablet aside.

*

Atreus returned to the guard room of the dungeons; seeing the Archean mage, they hurried on their feet. “Where is Ignius kept? The lanista. I must speak with him.”

The sentinels exchanged looks. “Forgive us, master, they didn’t tell you?”

“Clearly not. What’s going on?” came the impatient reply.

“He tried to flee. He was killed.”

The spellbreaker looked at them in disbelief. “Killed? What threat could he have posed? How did this happen?”

“Begging your pardon, we weren’t present.”

Muttering to himself, Atreus looked around the room as if answers could be found on the walls next to oil lamps and two guards with nervous expressions. Finally, he turned and strode out.

*

In the red wing of the Arcane Tower, Cora watched her fellow Archean pace back and forth. “Something is not right,” Atreus muttered. “The prisoner has an Archean ring on his arm, supposedly given to him by some bumbling lanista, who is killed trying to escape?”

The red master leaned back in her chair, still observing the spellbreaker. “That’s proof of an Archean connection. An artefact like what you describe – several metals fused together – is not the work of a novice. Excluding me, that leaves the blue and the white master. I told you Vasilia was up to something.”

“I am inclined to believe you, but what? I don’t see what purpose this Tyrian has served her, nor how his actions could have benefitted her. Unless she has some personal grievance with the dead mageknight and used the bard as a weapon.”

“I don’t know of any connection between her and Salvius,” Cora admitted. “I could attempt to break the wards to the white wing. Undoubtedly there’s evidence in her chambers.”

Atreus shook his head. “I doubt we can. And just the attempt would see her retaliate, as would be her right.”

“What then? The Tyrian is in chains. Has her plans failed or already finished?”

The spellbreaker did not hear; he looked out the window. This far up, it gave a magnificent view of the city; those with keen eyes could see as far as the sea to the west. “This is not about Aquila or Vasilia.”

“How do you mean?”

He turned to look at her. “Before I came here, I was at the Archean outpost in the northern wastelands. The masters gave me no welcome and were only glad to see my heels. And the other year, the fiend that ravaged Morcaster… We never learned where it came from. It could have been the outpost north of the city.”

Cora frowned. “You think all of this is connected?”

“Like a spider’s web with Archen in the centre. Whatever secretive affairs the masters of the different outposts may be up to, it will be coordinated from Archen.” He began moving towards the door. “I have to return!”

“Wait!” She jumped up from her chair. “What if you’re wrong, and the only danger is here in Aquila?”

He halted and looked at her over his shoulder. “The responsibility falls to you, in that case. Forgive me, but if there is any risk that Archen is in danger, my place is there. Not anywhere else.”

She hesitated a moment before she bowed her head. “I’ll help you on your way.”