Kristoff ran like he'd never run before. Fear compressed his heart and flooded his system, giving him speed the gods themselves would envy. Slaves and fellow gladiators shied away from him as he raced through the halls of the ludus, for they saw death in his eyes.
A low growl built deep in his chest as his imagination flogged him with visions of what he could expect once he reached the training grounds. His Anna facing lorarii again, only this time they wanted her dead. They would toy with her like a pack of mongrel dogs with a rat, batting her about like a child's plaything, carving out chunks of flesh to weaken her, spilling her blood to slow her down. He barely held onto his sanity as he neared the ramp to the training grounds. A short gladiator from Hibernia tossed up a thick-poled trident, and Kristoff snatched it from the air without breaking stride.
He flew through the portcullis and out onto the training ground. Five lorarii had her centered and completely surrounded, their whips cracking all around her and their pugio dripping with her blood. She was still on her feet, though her left arm hung useless at her side. She gripped one of her siccae in a hand coated in blood up to the elbow. She bled from dozens of cuts and whip burns, and she stumbled glassy-eyed over the two corpses at her feet, both with a shard of her practice gladius rammed through their guts.
He didn't even slow down. The growl erupted as a full-throated roar as he charged. The lorarii flinched as they saw him bear down on them with all the implacable fury of an avalanche. But they were five to his one, so two peeled off to attack him while three remained focused on Anna.
Kristoff sidestepped their charge and swung the butt end of the trident in a wide arc, catching the lorarus square in the jaw with so much force it ripped through his face and spattered his partner with teeth and brains. Kristoff never looked back as he kept sprinting towards his grossly outnumbered Anna.
The gore-soaked lorarus turned to chase, but was brought up short when the Aquitanian gladiator ran him through from behind. Blood fountained from his mouth as he clutched the gladius protruding from his chest, and he collapsed to the dirt with a wet, choking grunt. The slender Aquitanian kicked the body off of his gladius and ran on.
Kristoff bellowed barely-coherent obscenities as he charged the last three lorarii. Two rushed him while the head lorarus chased after Anna. Their mistake was thinking the big gladiator was there to fight. Fighting was the farthest thing from his mind. He was there to protect, and to kill. One lorarus cracked his whip at him, scoring his left arm but it did nothing to stop Kristoff from thrusting the trident into his stomach, the barbed tines pulling out gobbets of entrails when he jerked it back out. The lorarus had the presence of mind to slash at his opponent's eyes with his pugio. He missed, but Kristoff didn't. He drove the trident into the lorarus' throat with enough force to throw him back and pin him to the ground.
The Beatican gladiator rushed onto the grounds, followed by the massive Lanista. The old Rudiarius glared at the bodies of his men, and at the two still on their feet. "HOLD!" he bellowed. The last lorarus saw three armed gladiators as well as the Lanista bearing down on him and wisely threw his weapons down and dropped to his knees in surrender. The head lorarus stared at them in a moment of agonized indecision, then bolted towards Anna with his pugio raised to strike.
Kristoff was much faster than the smaller man, and he caught the lorarus by the wrist just as he desperately lunged at Anna. The sound of bones grinding and snapping was drowned out by shrieks as Kristoff crushed the lorarus' wrist with his left hand. Kristoff bared his teeth, his right wrapped around the smaller man's throat and he lifted him into the air. The lorarus' feet kicked feebly at Kristoff's thighs as the big gladiator slowly squeezed the life from him.
"Kristoff, drop him!" The Lanista ordered. Kristoff ignored him, lifting the head Lorarus even higher in the air by his neck. The scrawny man was writhing weakly, going blue in the face. "Kristoff! I want him alive!" the Lanista barked. "He has information we need!" The big gladiator eventually complied, and tossed the man at his master's feet. The Lanista and the Aquitanian gladiator bound the traitor's arms behind his back and dragged him away for questioning.
Kristoff paid them no mind as he turned to Anna, who swayed dangerously on her feet. Her head lolled to the side, and she would have fallen had Kristoff not caught her. She cried out in pain when his hand closed over her left shoulder, her arm clearly dislocated. He snatched his hand away. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. He hushed her, soothing her sweat-soaked hair from her face, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes tried to focus on him, but they were wild and glazed with pain. "Kristoff I'm so sorry…"
Sven hurried up to them, and quickly assessed her injuries. Kristoff held her upright while she mumbled an agony-induced litany, "I'm sorry… I should've listened… I should've known… It's all my fault…"
"I need to set her arm before we can move her to the infirmary," Sven said, looking up at his friend. Kristoff nodded curtly, and swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Sven had to set his shoulder once before, a long time ago. This wasn't going to be pretty. He looked around for a wall or something, anything to use. But they were in the middle of the blood-soaked field, with only the lonely slender palus standing upright in the dirt behind them. Sven stared at it, then looked grimly at Kristoff, who grimaced in return. This really wasn't going to be pretty.
Kristoff quickly braced his back against the palus, and turned the babbling Anna so her back rested against his broad chest. She tilted her head up, never breaking eye contact with him as she whispered, "It's not safe… you have to get away… I'm sorry… Kristoff… you have to get away from me… not safe… I'm so sorry…"
"On three," Sven said, grasping Anna's elbow and shoulder. "One, two…" and he slammed Anna hard against Kristoff's sternum, wrenching and shoving her shoulder back into its socket at the same time. Anna's litany cut off with a hiss and her eyes rolled up in her head as she passed out. Kristoff caught her limp form and held her while Sven tied several strips of linen around her arm, splinting it against her chest. Kristoff then lifted her effortlessly. She succeeded in killing two of her attackers, yet she felt so small, so vulnerable in his arms. And what did she mean, get away from her? he thought as he cradled her gently against his own bruised chest, vowing to keep her safe even if all of the nine hells were after her. He followed Sven down the ramp, their Baetican and Hibernian comrades guarding them as they carefully made their way down to the infirmary.
One hundred fully armed and armored members of the Imperial Heart Guard Legion marched into the Westerguard compound, securing the courtyard over the vociferous objections of the servants and the house guard. One of the many Westerguard brothers, Cassius, stormed out into the courtyard. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded with all the pomp and fury of a senior Senator.
The Legion's Centurion saluted the Senator, but there was nothing subservient in the gesture. "Make way for her Imperial Highness! The Imperiatrix Destinatus favors your humble domicile with her presence."
Elsa stepped down from the curtained palanquin and stood regally in the courtyard. Her handmaiden Gerda and her praefectus castrorum, Kai, flanked a deferential step behind her.
The Senator blinked, but gave no other outward sign of distress. "My house is honored, your Imperial Highness. How may we be of service to the Empire?" he bowed smoothly. Decades in the Senate as well as being eldest surviving male heir of the House honed his diplomatic skills to perfection. But something told him he was out of his league.
"Senator," Elsa said by way of greeting, managing to look down on him despite him being half a head taller than she. "I have come to assess the premises."
"The premises?"
"The premises," Elsa repeated, as if to a slow child. "Your brother proposed marriage to our Emperor. I have come to assess the value of his proposed bride price."
"I don't understand, Highness." Cassius said. Half of the Heart Guard legionaries fanned out into the inner buildings of the compound. All had strict orders on what to look for, given to them by Kai prior to their arrival. "My brother informed me that the bride price was already agreed upon. Why are your legionaries ransacking my house?"
Hans strode pass the invading guards and into the courtyard to stand at his brother's side. Elsa glanced at him once, her eyes glittering, then returned her attention to the elder Westerguard. "Your brother wishes to marry into our imperial House, Senator, as it is the higher-ranked House. My father, our Emperor, is unfortunately ill, so it falls upon me as heir to ensure the interests of our House are adequately promoted. Hence, assessing the value of the House you wish to offer as bride price."
"The house?!" the elder Westerguard blanched. "You mean the entire compound?"
"This little place?" Elsa looked around, and smiled a small, brittle, condescending smile. "No, I mean your House."
"B-b-but my brother is General and Legatus legionis of the Legions of the Northlands!" Cassius protested. "He brings their honor and loyalty to your House, as well as the considerable wealth in tributes pouring into the Imperial coffers!"
"Ah," Elsa raised a slender finger as if to concede the point. "So you are telling me the General brings me the loyalty and might of the Northern Legions. Legions that are, by definition, already in service to and loyal to the Empire and its ruler," Elsa mused. "And he also brings tribute, which is already Imperial property," she smiled softly. "Are you suggesting he is offering things that are already mine?"
"N-no, of course not my Lady," Cassius grinned weakly.
"That is reassuring, Senator. It would pain me if I had to have him executed for insulting our House and the Empire."
Both men shifted uncomfortably. "I thought we had agreed upon a special bride price in private, my lady," Hans said pointedly.
"Yes, I do recall you offering a… personal gift that interests me. But you've yet to produce it, and I am beginning to question if you still have the means to do so."
"It has proven… difficult to procure," Hans grated.
"You promised me my heart's desire, my fiancée," she pinned him with an icy glare. "Something of great value to me. My patience has worn thin," Elsa folded her hands before her. "I do not like to be kept waiting."
"Ugh, I hate waiting," Sven groused, trying to lighten the mood.
Kristoff ignored him. He'd been ignoring him for most of the last two days. He slowly drew the whetstone over his shorter gladius and stared at the door leading to the main infirmary. The door was lockable, but he didn't care. It was also guarded by gladiators he came close to trusting, but he didn't care.
"This isn't your fault, you know," Sven pointed out for probably the tenth time that day. A muscle in Kristoff's jaw twitched, but he kept on sharpening his blade. He'd already honed his main gladius, his long spathea, two pila, and all six of his pugio, all without his eyes leaving the door. All of his weapons were sharp enough to perform surgery with by now, but he kept at it. He had also sharpened her siccae, though his hands trembled with suppressed rage while he handled her beloved blades.
Anna lay silent and still on the large examination table. She had not stirred since Sven set her arm, and Kristoff felt his sanity depended on the soft and steady rhythm of her breathing. Her wounds were stitched and salved, her bruises the sickly yellow-green of healing flesh, and the swelling in her injured shoulder had receded, but she did not wake up. Sven kept her fed, hydrated, and medicated by means of threading a length of sheep's intestine down her throat and trickling in water and salt, honey and olive oil, and Kristoff held her gently upright in his arms during the procedure that likely hurt like all the hells. But still she did not wake up.
"You need to sleep," Sven said, probably for the twentieth time that day alone.
"I'm fine," Kristoff rumbled.
"No, you're not," Sven sighed. "And assuming someone gets through the guards AND the locked door, you're in no shape to stop them."
Kristoff's eyes tightened and he continued pushing the stone on the blade, making a sound that honestly ate Sven's last nerve hours ago. "I'm not asking you to leave. Lie down on the other table, or curl up next to her. Hells, I'll bring that stool over and you can rest your head next to her for a while." Sven put his hand over Kristoff's, stilling the stone. "You're no good to her like this," he murmured gently.
Kristoff sighed, then wearily nodded his head. He placed his weapons carefully within reach while Sven brought over the stool. He crossed his arms on the table, gently took her hand and wrapped it up in his own, then rested his head on top. He was asleep less than a minute later. Sven smiled sadly down at his oldest friend, and his newest one. "Morons," he chuckled softly. He closed and relocked the door, letting them both rest and heal together.
"You said you had everything under control!" Cassius roared.
"The wench is proving more difficult to subdue than I predicted," Hans shrugged.
"The wench, as you call her, is threatening to take our entire House! She could have our heads on javelins decorating our own courtyard with a snap of her fingers!"
Hans glowered at his eldest brother, the gray wisps of hair standing out against the beet red skin of his pate. "Your influence in the Senate protects us."
"I wouldn't rely on that," Cassius worried. "Agdarius is a sly bastard, and his daughter is ten times worse. Even if I block an Imperial decree it would burn all of my political capital, and there's no guarantee she won't find other means to usurp our holdings."
"Don't exaggerate," Hans scoffed.
"For the gods' sakes, Hans, just give her what she wants!" Cassius hissed, then turned on his sandaled heel and stormed out of his brother's chambers with his red and white toga swirling around his ankles.
Hans glared at his brother's retreating back, then turned and walked to the window of his chambers, staring down into the courtyard below, swarming with Imperial legionaries that should have been under his command by now! "You better have good news for me, Weselton," he growled to his praefectus fabrum.
"I'm sorry, my lord," Weselton bowed. "The lorarii have failed us-" his voice cut off as the general's gladius pierced his throat. Blood poured from his neck as he topped to his knees, his mouth working soundlessly and his hands reaching out imploringly to his master. Hans calmly wiped his blade clean on the outstretched sleeves of his tunic before the little man fell over dead.
"If you want something done right," he sheathed his gladius and stepped over the corpse. "You do it yourself."