Ignotius walked down the hall to his quarters, leaving Lady Cyan and the young master for his duties. He opened the door to his room, the stone walls bouncing the sound of his footsteps back to him as he strode across the floor to the foot of his bed. He touched a button on the foot-board of the four-poster bed, and the floor jerked beneath his feet, opening wide and descending to his personal training room.
Blue mats covered the floor, and he removed his shoes before walking across them to the weapon rack on the wall, choosing a weapon from the wooden shelf. A spear created by Hephaestus and enchanted by Zeus himself, the handle was made of the finest ivory, the elongated blade of the strongest bronze. Almost six feet long, the butt of the spear did not end in the traditional point. Instead was a weighted globe, for balancing the spear if thrown.
With dextrous fingers he fastened the custom made belt, cinching it around his waist tightly. Grasping the haft tightly with both hands, he spun the weapon around his body like a staff, taking care the blade stayed well away from his body. With a satisfied sigh he unscrewed the two halves, fastening each piece to one side of his belt. Back to the slab of stone he walked, pressing the button on the wall, rising back into his room.
Back down the hall, he passed a servant on her hands and knees, scrubbing Master Damon's blood from the fringe of the carpet outside Amaedus' office. “Be sure to use nothing with bleach, as it will destroy the color,” he quipped, lengthening his strides. Isaac and Amaedus were waiting for him when he entered the room, sitting on the red couch, Isaac sipping what looked like bourbon from a frosted glass. “Master Isaac,” he sighed, “do you really think it wise to be inebriated when we go to battle?”
“Battle?” Isaac scoffed. “This will be no battle. They're harpies, simple messengers of Thane's.”
“And have you battled harpies before?”
Isaac chuckled. “Who still alive has?”
Ignotius stepped closer, bowing to his king and fixing an eye of contempt on the young sorcerer. “I have. Do you know how a harpy kills you?”
“No, but I have a feeling I'm about to find out.”
“First, they harry you with the blades incorporated into their wings, testing your defenses. Once they know your weak areas, they will send one to your strong side to take your attention. While you battle with that one, the others will come behind you and slice your Achilles tendon, immobilizing you. Once you have fallen, they will remove your weapon from your hand, then slice into your belly with beak or wing-blade, then begin to gnaw on your guts while you scream. Finally, just before you die, one will come and pluck your eyes from your skull, just so your last screams can be the loudest you have ever uttered.”
The blood drained from Isaac's already pale face, and he bolted to Amaedus' private bathroom adjoined to his office, retching lightly before he slammed the door behind himself. Amaedus wore a small smile, and crossed one ankle over the other, eying Ignotius with sparkling eyes. “And when do you plan on telling him that a harpy has neither, what did you call them, wing-blades, nor beak?”
Ignotius dipped his head in reverence. “I do not plan to, my lord.”
Amaedus smiled as Isaac's retching echoed from the bathroom. “I did not think so.”
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_
Isaac finished his episode, and clamped onto Ignotius' arm, while Amaedus took the other. A thought pulled them into the ether, and they reappeared on the roof of a villa in the Italian countryside. The sun was high in the sky, and Ignotius steeled himself for a fight. He scanned the rolling green hills, keeping his eye to the sky, but he found nothing. “I see nothing, my lord,” he said to Amaedus, who answered with the same. A ragged breathe brought their attention to Isaac, crumpled into a ball on the tile roof. “Master Isaac, I would rise from the tile if I were you,” Ignotius said, offering the young man a hand.
