Ijog down one of the maze paths, following the stone pathway. After chopping through a dozen walls, I am no closer to finding my quarry, so I change my approach and follow the guide the compositores made for me. I feel like an idiot, a lamb choosing to go to slaughter. They have already shown me that they cannot be trusted. If I had followed the path they started me on, I would have been delivered right into the krakenus’s reach.

But not all the mazeways are paved. So reluctantly, I follow this one, hoping it will lead me to something useful. A horn sounds in the garden, and I turn my head in its direction, but I can see nothing over the hedges.

They have not ended the match, which means Bruttia has neither escaped nor died. I will deal with whatever fresh horror the horn is announcing in its own time. Right now, I need to catch up. I push myself to a sprint, racing down the path. Once again, the lorica wrapped around me has proven its worth. I have almost completely refilled my Iron reserves thanks to it. Unrelenting Fire twinges in complaint at being neglected, but I ignore the nausea that it brings. Now is not the time for weakness.

My path leads me to another opening, but unlike the last one, the trap that waits for me here is not immediately apparent. Cautiously, I enter a square garden decorated with beautiful flowers. In the center, a fountain bubbles, adding an air of tranquility to the scene. On top of its basin stands the stone statue of a hoplite warrior, an infantry unit that predates the modern Iron Legions. He stands at attention with a large shield and spear. I cast my animus about, looking for another vine krakenus, but there is no iron or ice present.

In front of the water-filled basin is a small pedestal with a bronze inscription too small for me to read from this distance. Tentatively, I make my way forward into the open, watching the trees for any suspicious movement.

Feeling a little reassured that danger is not imminent, I walk up to the placard and bend down to read the writing. Only warriors who are worthy may journey further. That isn’t particularly helpful. I shoot a glare up in the direction of where I think the Prime Box is just so Briannus will know I am not impressed by his clues.

Still scowling, I stand up just in time to see the stone figure standing guard over the fountain come to life. A horrible grinding sound emerges as it turns to face me, lowering its shield and raising its spear in my direction. They have made their own furia, some sort of stone golem that is set to attack anyone who approaches the fountain.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I groan. A rumbling sound behind me pulls my attention. A series of stone bars rise from the ground, closing off the entrance. I might still be able to cut through the hedge walls, but the compositores’ intent is clear. I am locked in here until I defeat the challenge.

The furia does not speak but leaps forward, landing heavily on the grassy ground. Its spear flickers forward at my head, and only my Silver speed saves me from having my skull shattered.

I curse the name of Dead Mars. He had nothing to do with this farce of a game, but it feels good to blame him anyway. The stone hoplite shuffles forward, holding its large shield up to cover itself from eyes to ankles.

I am at a severe disadvantage when it comes to range. I need to get close enough to hammer him with my swords, but first I will have to get past its spear. With a sigh, I move forward as it pulls back its weapon, trying to get close before it can react. I cut to the side, hoping to get around his shield, but it turns with uncanny precision, keeping me at bay.

I knock his thrust to the side with my left blade, stepping into range to hammer my right down on his shield. I reinforce my weapon to protect it, but it makes no difference. My weapon bounces off the shield without even making a crack. I can feel its will resisting me. It feels like a language I do not speak, but its intent is more than clear. It will not let me cut.

I gasp in surprise as it flips its spear around, bringing the butt up in a blindingly quick attack that almost shatters my chin. I retreat a few steps, trying to figure out how I am supposed to defeat this thing. None of my Symbols are particularly effective against stone. Which means the only solution before me is brute force.

I pull on my Iron essence, letting it flow into my muscles and bones, reinforcing the increased hardiness of my body from my Silver Cor. Thanks to my lorica, it is the easiest of my reserves to refill on the run. With a roar, I throw myself forward, trying to hammer my way through the shield.

My swords ring in distress as they bounce off the stolid stone. The vibrations make my palms go numb. But no matter how much essence I channel into my body, no matter how firm I make my weapons, my strength is not enough to even crack the hoplite’s stone.

My world narrows as I strain my veins, demanding their all. In a fit of panic, I throw my left blade down, stabbing it point first into the grass so I can wrap my free hand around the haft of the furia’s spear to try to wrest it from its grasp. But I might as well be trying to uproot an ancient tree.

Panting, I continue to press my aggression. The hoplite’s spear flicks toward my head once more. I twist to let it pass, stepping in to batter its shield. I draw deeply on my reserve, but even my supply of Iron is running low.

Something within me bubbles, flaring in rebellion. Unrelenting Fire rages, protesting the strain that my Silver body puts on it. As if it senses the weakness of Iron, it strikes, trying to take over. My Corda pulse in agony. My Symbols slip out of my grasp like the palm of my mind has been greased.

The strength flows out of my body, and exhaustion hammers me harder than any furia ever could. My legs give out from under me, and I collapse on the ground, curling into a ball as waves of nausea sweep over me.

I watch in horror as the hoplite plods toward me. It has enough power to crush my skull like a watermelon underneath one of its stone feet. I have to move. It will be on me in just a couple of paces. Desperately, I reach for my Symbols, but there is something between us. The paths to my attunements are jumbled and twisted like the maze of Bellona’s Arena.

Obey me! I thunder in my own mind.

With a snap, my Corda pop back in place like scolded children leaping into their beds. Iron and Ancient Frost pour into me, banishing my exhaustion. I roll to the side just in time to avoid the hoplite’s heavy stomp that smashes down where my head was.

I leap to my feet, dancing back a few paces to create space between me and the furia. Pliny was right—Unrelenting Fire being cuprum is a weakness. I cannot push myself beyond my limits while my Cor Hearts are out of balance. I shake my head, grateful to have found the line without dying.

But collapsing did have one benefit. While I was on the ground, staring at the furia’s feet, I was reminded of where it came from. I am not completely without options after all.

The furia lunges forward again, quick as a scorpion’s tail. I flinch away from his attack, forcing myself to give ground, leading my opponent in a circle around the glade. Step by step we travel. We pass by where I stabbed my gladius into the ground, and I grab it, relishing in having both of my weapons back in my hands.

The stone furia seems to be even simpler than its icy cousin. It follows me in dogged, single-minded pursuit. The Norman shamans use ice from Aquilo’s grave to craft theirs. I certainly hope that Terra’s or Vulcan’s were not disturbed in the making of this thing.

I cut through the middle of the grass, leading the furia close to the fountain. As I pass it, I turn and hammer the stone edge of the basin with both of my gladii, reinforcing them with the Iron Symbol to keep them from being damaged.

To my surprise, the stone is soft—as if it were prepared for exactly this thing. The pond shatters, and water pours out, flooding the garden. I stand in the deluge, waiting until it is splashing up over my boots. When there is enough to work with, I call upon Ancient Frost and send out my chilling will, freezing the liquid around the hoplite’s ankles into ice in a flash.

The furia jerks to a halt as the water around its ankles turns solid, rooting it to the ground. It seems confused. Whatever instructions the Heartsmiths imprinted in its stone brain when they made it do not cover this development.

I pause for a moment, pulling some Ancient Frost from my gladii to refill my reserves. I dare not risk over-exerting myself and wasting this opportunity. A crack pulls me out of my cultivation, and I eye the hoplite with irritation. Some of the ice around its left ankle has begun to give. Growling under my breath, I step forward, extending my left-hand blade to touch the edge of its ice prison directly so I can reinforce the bindings with my will.

The fountain still bubbles behind us, flooding the garden more with every moment. Careful to keep out of range of its spear, I sheathe my left blade before thrusting my empty hand in the water and splashing it toward the furia. When it is thoroughly soaked, I reach through the congruency of the water that connects us to freeze it solid like a shell. Laughing, I continue to scoop, adding layer after layer over the hoplite and freezing it until he is covered from head to toe, unable to move even an inch.

Warily, I ease back into its range, watching the tip of its spear, which wiggles but does not move. The furia is trapped and helpless. I place my left hand on the frozen cocoon, closing my eyes as I pull my cold out of some of the ice, letting it thaw into water and soak into the pores of the stone.

After a few moments, I clench my fist and send the cold pouring back in, causing those imperfections to expand as Winter’s knives dig deeper into the rock. The rock begins to groan under the pressure that grows deep inside it.

Satisfied with the tendrils that have burrowed into the furia, I take a step back, giving my gladius a flashy twirl. I glance up at the muted crowd that watches above. Many of them are leaning forward, waiting to see what I will do.

Frigus Ventus has never used his Symbol publicly before. Few have probably ever seen the power of Winter this far south. I doubt it ever snows here, this close to the ocean. I smile at them, hoping that Varus and the rest of the palatines have their glass relics magnifying me.

Summoning my Symbols, I hammer my sword into the furia’s chest, willing the frost to detonate, tearing the hoplite apart from the inside out. Shards of ice and rock fly everywhere, and I raise my left hand to shield my eyes.

When I lower it, the top half of the furia is gone, broken into a thousand pieces. Sticking out of its hips is a large golden key with a black stone set in the handle. I cock my head to study it for a moment. At last, I begin to understand what I must do to escape this place.

Smiling grimly, I reach out to grab it and stick it in my belt. Behind me, the stone gate rumbles open, and I am free to roam the maze once more.