Blood Eagle - 42. An Honourable Challenge
An Honourable Challenge
Once the ludus had fallen asleep, Arn made his preparations. Dressed in the leather he used during training, he unlocked the gate between the ludus and the inner house with a touch of earth magic. He made his way to Gaius’ study, the clerk, where he knew he could find ink and parchment. Swiftly, in the moonlight streaming through the expensive glass window, Arn wrote a message and folded it together to place it inside his tunic. Gathering shadows around him, he made his way across the wall.
The journey back to Salvius’s house went slowly compared to the swiftness of the carriage; impatient, he set a brisk pace, his heart already beating faster than usual in anticipation. Every moment since waking up at the ludus months ago, he had prepared for tonight, awaiting this opportunity. His physical recovery, rebuilding the strength of his shattered body, restoring the runes on his body, and most of all, rejuvenating his magic, all had been for this purpose.
Stepping over a drunkard passed out on the road, Arn considered the fight ahead. In a battle purely with weapons and physical magic, he would lose to a mageknight, whose sole skill lay in such combat. Deprived of galdr and casting major runes, the minor runes on his body and his spellblade abilities were inferior. Thankfully, he had elemental magic as well. The only concern would be that his spellpower remained weak; he could only cast a handful of elemental spells before he ran out. But if he did it right, it would only take one.
*
The home of Salvius had walls, guards, and locks to keep intruders out. The first two caused no issues for someone with strength and shadow on his side. Usually, locks would not either, but even the doors to the servants’ entrance would not respond to Arn’s touch. When he sent a spark of magic inside to make it unlock, he felt only a fiery sensation that rejected him; cleverly, the locks contained traces of gold, making magic inert.
Looking around, Arn glanced at the expansive gardens that hours earlier had played host to a celebration. Messy tables still remained, promising work for the servants in the morning cleaning it all up, but nothing that would serve Arn’s purpose right now. He looked up until he saw an open window. Drawing on his rune of strength, he began climbing.
His hands reaching the windowsill, Arn cautiously pulled himself up while ignoring the strain on his arms; magically empowered or not, it still required effort. Looking into the room, his eagle eyes followed the sound of faint snoring to find the outline of a couple sleeping on the bed. Guests that had chosen to stay the night, probably.
Arn carefully crawled into the room, sparing them a kind thought for keeping a window open, and used his rune of subtlety as he moved forward. The room was dark, but he sent a pulse of magic through the floor to ensure he could feel everything, including the door opening. With careful steps, Arn evaded various pieces of furniture until he reached the door, unbolted it slowly, and walked through.
Before seeking out the man he had come to kill, Arn needed to be properly equipped. Thankfully, he knew exactly where to go. He found the stairs and moved down until he could recognise the route to the trophy room. No servants or guards traversed the hallways; the former slept, and the latter were posted outside the building. None barred his way.
As the familiar sword greeted him, hanging on the wall, Arn smiled. When his hand once again grasped the hilt laid with silver, he could have wept. His fingers ran along the blade, feeling the faint markings of the runes that granted strength to steel. With this weapon he had slain a lindworm; tonight, it would strike a foe more loathsome.
Time was wasting. Focusing on the task at hand, Arn grabbed the sheath as well and tied it to his belt, placing the sword back in its rest. The weight and sensation of the scabbard by his side made him exhale; the world at last felt right again.
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While not necessary for his purpose, Arn also grabbed his enchanted feather. It had no properties other than simple magic to keep it from decaying, but it belonged to him; it showed him to be a true Tyrian and tribesman. His hair was too short that it could be tied to its usual place, so he simply fastened it to his belt.
Duly armed, the next challenge was finding his quarry. A house of this size posed a challenge, but Arn could narrow his search. While not familiar with Aquilan mansions, he had noticed that personal chambers seemed to be on the upper floors. Given that he had earlier stepped out of a bedroom for guests, he imagined Salvius would be nearby, perhaps in the adjacent wing. Swiftly, Arn returned to the upper floor and began his search from room to room.
*
At last, in the largest and most ostentatious chamber, Arn saw him sleeping in a bed, illuminated by moonlight. He could have killed Salvius in this moment, but it would be undignified to take his revenge in such a manner, like an assassin in the night. The mageknight had torn Arn down; the skáld wanted him to see how he had resurrected himself.
Finding a lamp and tinder, Arn ignited a flame that cast flickering shadows through the room. Pulling out the message he wrote back at the ludus, Arn approached the sleeping mageknight and shook his shoulder.
Possessive of a soldier’s constitution, Salvius had been deep in slumber, yet he woke and seemed alert at once. Squinting at the lamp, he rubbed his eyes. “Sextus? Is that you?” From the darkness, a hand thrust a scrap of parchment at him past the flame and into his field of vision. Grumbling, the mageknight seized it. “A missive at this hour?” He unfolded it to read the words, Salvius, mageknight of Aquila, the Bladesinger challenges you to a duel. He lowered it to stare at the dark shape behind the lamp. “What nonsense is this?”
Arn placed the lamp on the nearby drawer so the flame no longer rose between their faces, and he waited as Salvius’s eyes became accustomed to sparse light until he saw the spark of recognition in them.
“The northern savage! How did you – why are – no.” The mageknight’s entire face became twisted. “You are truly him. Not just a gladiator, but that northern rooster, crowing about.” Flinging his covers aside, Salvius got on his feet. Despite wearing just a nightshirt while faced with an armed intruder, he showed no fear or hesitation. “Thank you for solving what has troubled my mind all night. You looked so strangely familiar, I thought it certain we had met in Tyria, yet I could not recall who you might be. Never would I have imagined the same man I had thrown to the lions would stand before me now.” He chuckled.
The mageknight did not understand; he assumed the skáld was still wing-clipped. He had no idea of the danger in front of him. Arn saw no reason to remedy that. He pointed to the parchment still in Salvius’s hand. If the Aquilan screamed for help, Arn would unleash all his magic and kill him quickly, but only as a last resort. Single combat was the proper way to resolve this. Arn would have his revenge as a warrior, not a murderer, and the mageknight could have a warrior’s death; however much Arn despised the man, he was willing to offer that.
Salvius raised the parchment in his hand and waved it about. “You are serious? Very well, I accept your challenge. I see you are armed and ready.” He glanced at Arn’s sword and leather armour. “You do not mind if I get dressed as well?”
Arn stepped away and made a sweeping motion, inviting the mageknight to do as needed.
Bowing his head, Salvius walked past him to reach his armoire. He opened it and quickly changed into proper clothes, including a leather tunic. “Just the one weapon? You fight with a buckler in the arena, I recall.”
The gladiator shrugged. For this, he needed just his sword.
“One weapon it is.” Salvius strapped a belt around his waist with a gladius by the side. Standing ready, he glanced around. “This room is not the most fitting location, and I have guests sleeping nearby. My home has a gymnasium in the cellar. We shall not disturb any, and it has the proper space for our purpose. Would you agree to such a location?”
Arn nodded and gestured at the door for the mageknight to lead the way.
Salvius smiled, inclining his head. “Excellent. Follow me, Master Blood Eagle, or whatever name you go by these days.” He set into motion and grabbed the lamp from the drawer. “I do not recall your true name, I am embarrassed to admit.” They left the chamber and began walking down the hallway. “I know what they called you, but naming a mute as Bladesinger seems almost a mockery, does it not? I suppose the name of the gladiator will have to suffice.”
Walking a few steps behind, ready just in case, the Tyrian paid little attention to the flow of words. The Bladesinger was gone, it was true, but soon, Arn would take revenge on his behalf.
