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Posted March 15, 2014
SUMMARY: Ilithyia's husband visits the villa rather unhappy about some unexpected visitors at his home; Spartacus has a strange dream which sends Harry on an expedition that has far-reaching consequences ... and Numerius celebrates his 15th birthday with a party at the villa, with unexpected outcomes.
27: CLOUDED JUDGEMENT
Unknown dates, 73 BCE
Several days later, Harry found his afternoon review and study session interrupted, as a rather imposing man dressed in Roman armour practically barged into the villa, a number of soldiers following. Though he was guided into the business office, the conversation was easily heard out on the balcony, where Harry was set up.
The man turned out to be Ilithyia's husband, Gaius Claudius Glaber. His upset? Someone had apparently managed to break into his villa and take everything of value. Naturally, he had immediately travelled to Batiatus' villa, since his wife was presently visiting. Her shrieks and shouts were easily heard as her husband noisily broke the news to her. Poor thing... not.
Harry pretended to concentrate on his studies, but most certainly put the conversation to memory, since a certain friend might take amusement from it. And Harry... he would make a fortune, once he broke words with Tonilia. The guild would further profit from another fool's transgressions, if and when he returned to Tamriel. He sighed, glancing at a thick black tome that rested on a side table. It shimmered a deep green colour on occasion, a hint of the dark power that resided within its covers.
Later, he had the opportunity to share a pensieve memory with his famous friend. Spartacus was most definitely amused at Glaber and Ilithyia's discomfort, considering the nightmare they had brought on him. Had Glaber actually kept his word, then there wouldn't have been a defection... and perhaps, Spartacus would still have his wife by his side.
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Days later, as the afternoon training came to a close, Harry took to a spot on the far side of the square, close to the cliff. He'd discovered a spell in the Ohgma Infinium, and copied it onto a sheet of plain paper, so as not to have to cart the book outside. Deciding to branch out and explore more advanced forms of magic, he had dared open the dark text.
The image accompanying the spell depicted one of the monsters he and Mazhe had encountered in Apocrypha, something he now knew was a seeker. Knowing what it looked like was one of the most important things when it came to conjuration of any sort.
Unlike a traditional spell tome, spells contained within the Ohgma Infinium weren't instantly taught, but had to be absorbed slowly, with study. So it was, he'd spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon studying the text, visualizing the spell forming in his hands, feeling the magic as it was sent out to do its bidding, visualizing the monster as it took form, and feel its energy tethered to his own. Harry realized this was likely considered a master-level spell, something that by rights, he shouldn't be attempting.
At this point, however, most of his study was spent in review, since he had by now covered everything in his level six curriculum. Even his grade ten textbooks had been covered from end to end. What was there to do, but attempt something new?
Now, the moment of truth was at hand. He cupped his hands out in front of him, allowing the acid-green energy to take form in and around them, then let fly. There came a noisy crackle of energy, as a glowing acid-green sphere formed on the ground, only to fade, revealing a monster, exactly like they had met in Apocrypha: two tails, what might have been a cloak, tentacles on its lower body, two human arms, and a head shaped like it was a starfish; the strange mouth-like opening that formed its midsection, with rows and rows of teeth, forming concentric circles within it.
"What in the gods?!"
Doctore had witnessed the spell being cast from under the overhang, and now came charging over. It hovered nearby, making a soft 'wub-wub-wub' sound. It almost sounded mechanical, although the beast was definitely organic.
"Do not attack it!" Harry warned, as the monster turned to face him. He could feel the magical tether, keeping it obedient to his wishes.
"Why would you summon such a thing? An abomination from the underworld," spoke another gladiator, looking on in fright.
"The attacks this thing can bring about are crippling, if not fatal. He... I mean, she... uh, it—is entirely under my command."
"Can others conjure such things?" Doctore questioned, wearily.
"Like this? Unlikely. Conjuration in itself is a powerful, but very difficult art to master. Again, I'm surprised I was able to actually do it."
"How long will it remain here?" Duro asked, having joined the group of onlookers.
"Until destroyed or dispelled," Harry answered, holding a hand up in the air, charging another spell, this one appearing white in colour. He brought his hand down, and with a noisy sizzle, the seeker vanished.
"Either way, should those dark wizards ever make a second appearance here, they will be in for a very nasty surprise."
Doctore once again cast weary eyes toward the young wizard, and stalked back over to the common area. He knew by now to expect the unexpected when it came to Harry, yet, the kid still found ways to shock everyone, this being the latest example.
Early the following morning, Harry was awakened by Pietros.
"Spartacus urgently seeks to break words with you."
"Tempus," Harry whispered, and '3:28 a' appeared in red at the end of his finger. "Tell him I'll be out in a moment. Where is he?"
"He waits in the common area."
"Thanks."
He watched Pietros leave. 'What sort of chaos was about to unfold now?', he wondered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. The previous day's studies had been most useful, but had been draining. Even now, he still felt weary. A pepper-up potion would have been right useful, but they were long gone, as were a good number of potions he would normally have no trouble making. Sure, it was no trouble to set up a potions lab in the Virtual Projection Room, but the room's rules were rather rigid in that anything created by the room could not leave it, in this example, potions ingredients. So, the ingredients had to already exist and be brought into the room, along with any supplies for bottling it.
Giving himself a minute or two to become as alert as could be, he finally dressed and made his way out to the common area.
"Apologies for raising you from slumber," said Spartacus, standing.
"What happened?" Harry asked, simply.
"My wife visited me in my dreams bearing a message for you."
Harry arched an eyebrow, then simply held out a hand. "Accio pensieve. I think it'll be better if I view it. I won't intrude on more of the memory than necessary—"
He paused to grip the summoned object, and place it on the table in front of the couches.
"—just think of her message for me, that's all."
"I have witnessed you draw a memory previously," said Spartacus, "I am ready."
"Good."
Harry produced his wand, and touched the tip of it to the man's temple, and gave a tug, causing what looked like a silvery hair to pull away from his temple. He then dropped it into the pensieve.
"Coming?"
"Why? It is a memory still fresh within my mind—"
"Not from this perspective, though."
Both Harry and Spartacus touched the silvery liquid in the pensieve with a finger, and fell rigid, while their minds were drawn into the memory. To Spartacus, it was as if he were falling through smoky, swirling darkness—and then his feet hit the ground, and he was standing in the brightening light of sunrise, in a place he remembered well: the fields of Thrace. Others were around, men bidding good bye to their wives—the morning they had set out as Auxiliaries in the Roman Legion.
Harry was still taking in the scene around him, when Spartacus gently pushed him to the heart of the memory: his memory-self talking to his wife. Unexpectedly, the entire scene dissolved, replaced by a scene Harry remembered well: the chamber in Saarthal, with the Eye of Magnus pulsing in all its terrible, beautiful glory. Sura and dream-Spartacus remained, however.
"My love," Sura whispered, "My husband. The gods send me to you with a message to your young friend."
Harry gasped, seeing what looked like hundreds of runes forming all around him.
"He must visit your dream and commit these signs and symbols to memory. The future is dependant on the action he takes now, as much as the life he now knows."
"I—I do not understand."
"I know, love," Sura whispered , gently caressing her husband's face, "None of this is meant for you to understand, I act only as a messenger, with the reward of seeing you again."
"You are well?"
"Know that I am safe, and wait for you on the fields of Thrace."
Harry made a gesture with his hand, freezing the scene.
"Gods. There has to be nearly a thousand runes here."
"How will you remember them all?"
"I've told you about the additional exercises I do while we meditate in the morning?"
"Occlumency."
"It's not only about keeping nosey witches and wizards from reading my thoughts," Harry explained, "It's also about organization. It's an added benefit. Being able to remember things in great detail. Thing is, I'll have to draw every one of them out—what the hell is that?"
It was a single page of parchment that seemed to hover with all the other runes. Harry brought it forward with a gesture from his hand, and felt a stone drop into the pit of his stomach as he read.
"Harry?"
Harry simply answered with a bat of the hand in the general direction of the Eye of Magnus, with the intention of leaving the memory. However, rather than them returning to his trunk, the world dissolved again, transitioning to a grassy bluff. Harry recognized it at once: the Cliffs of Dover, where, six kilometres below the surface, lay the city of Erwin, the Commonwealth's original capitol city.
It was only then the memory dissolved, and they found themselves back in the common room of Harry's chest.
"You look of fright, Harry," said Pietros.
"I might as well have. The world I know, the place I know, my friends... my future... it all depends on something I must now do. Spartacus, when do you next fight in the arena?"
"Not for some time."
"Good. I'll need your help... and likely that of Varro and Crixus. I need people I can trust... I would ask of Doctore, but training would suffer."
"And mine?" Pietros asked.
"And yours." Harry smiled grimly. "Seems I've formed another circle of friends. One I will sorely miss when I return where I belong."
Spartacus was confused. "What has shaken you so?"
"My world... or well, the country I call home... it exists because of the magical sphere you saw in your dream. The duty falls to me, to make sure it exists here, in this world."
Spartacus seemed to think on this for a few moments. "Your actions now pave way for a distant future."
"A future that must exist, yes. Terrible things will happen, should I fail. Your dream has revealed to me the purpose of my landing amongst you."
Harry let out a frustrated sigh. "It could only happen to me. The gods, too, have taken an unhealthy interest in my affairs, so it would seem."
Batiatus was most certainly not all that warm to the idea of Harry borrowing his champion for any reason. However, it was eventually permitted, particularly when Harry offered a pile of coin. Nearly five hundred denari finally satisfied the lanista.
Harry spent most of the next three days closed up in the Virtual Projection Room, carefully drawing out each of the nine hundred and seventy three individual runes. Having seen a projection pensieve at the government inquest, it had been nothing to have the room provide one. That way, Spartacus' memory could be replayed over and over, paused where appropriate.
The parchment Harry had seen, meanwhile, also described the ritual that coupled with the runes, explaining what would happen when it was performed. It provided a diagram of the rune positioning, and required a bit of blood from at least four donors, at least one of them being magical—though all of them being magical would have been better.
The room proved indispensable, as Harry was able to have the room provide numerous textbooks and magical tomes, all of which provided useful information on the type of ritual he would be performing.
Finally, with all the runes having been drawn out, large, well-defined on individual pages of paper, Harry decided to do a partial rehearsal before attempting the real thing. Since he knew exactly where they needed to go, he asked the room to provide a close representation.
It was not difficult to have his friends help draw out the runes, but even with the four of them, it took several hours. The pattern formed a large central circle, with four smaller circles at exactly east, north, west, and south positions. Precision would be relatively important, but not so much as the arrangement of the runes and proper order. As they worked, Harry wondered if he would be able to claim what he was about to do as some sort of extra credit for Ancient Runes. Or forget that, the complexity bordered on master-level.
They made ready to depart for the Cliffs of Dover just before dawn the following day. Unfortunately Batiatus added one more stipulation in that at least a pair of guards would be joining them on the expedition. Harry, however, saw a silver lining in it, in that a pair of extra eyes might be of use. At this point, he had no clue as to what he would find when they arrived. For now, they stood in Spartacus' cell, with the door closed, so no one would see their departure. Harry had collected everything he'd owned, with the small chance that the summoning would inadvertently send him back where he belonged.
"Right. Just before we leave."
Harry reached into his rucksack, and pulled out four silver amethyst amulets.
"These will protect against some of the nasty spell work I've seen, and in a really dire situation, carry you instantly to a safe place—for now, my chest. I'll collect them later, since—"
"We aren't supposed to have them," Pietros finished, as hands reached out for the offered jewelry.
"Yeah, about sums it up. Though, for you, you may keep it, since you'll be coming with me when I leave. Now..."
"And we aren't afforded the same protection?" questioned one of the guards, sourly.
"You've been assigned to us as part of the protection. I see no need," Harry answered, dismissively. He retrieved a silver plate from his rucksack, being careful not to smirk, since it had come from Glaber's villa.
"Portus." he whispered, pressing a finger to it. The plate momentarily shimmered a blue shade, then fell silent. "Get a finger on it."
Up to this point, none of Harry's companions experienced travel by port key, and so it was more than one of them who let out a gasp, as they all vanished in a blur of limbs, into nothingness. It felt like an eternity—and then... their feet slammed into the ground. Not a man remained on his feet, but left sprawling in the knee-high grass.
"By the gods..."
"Jupiter's cock," Varro muttered, being the first to regain his feet.
"What... what did we just do—where are we?"
Crixus appeared disoriented, as he too regained his feet. The tiny cell was gone, and instead, they found themselves in a grassy field, with the smell of the ocean invading their noses.
"Several miles below the place we stand will one day play host to a great city. We stand on the Cliffs of Dover... or well, we're a little ways away from it... but this feels like the right spot. Keep alert, but we can rest a few minutes before we begin."
"Gratitude," said Varro, "Your method of travel was in no way subtle."
"Feels as though I have been knocked about the head," said Pietros, who remained sitting.
"Or one of your painful concoctions," Spartacus muttered, at last finding his feet.
"The feeling will not linger, though," said Harry, as he surveyed the area. "Just take a few minutes regain your bearings... and you two—" Harry gestured to the guards, "—as you were assigned, keep watch. Anything out there looks out of the ordinary, I want to know about it."
After allowing everyone to rest for about fifteen minutes, Harry began preparing the site, mainly by vanishing the grass, leaving the bare ground behind. That alone took nearly an hour, as had been the case back in the Virtual Projection Room.
With the preparation done, the task then became drawing the individual runes. Harry had marked out the centre of each circle, and while he tackled the larger centre circle, Varro, Spartacus, Crixus, and Pietros saw to the four outer circles. The centre circle contained two rings of runic symbols, while the four outer circles contained just one.
Though they had already practised the process, Harry still paused periodically to make sure everything was progressing as planned. The four others were working quickly and methodically. If one good thing had come of their training, they executed instructions to the letter. All of them would make good soldiers, there was no mistake.
The sun was high overhead when the runes were at last finished. They had used dulled shafts of wood to draw in the soil, and up to this point, the runes would actually do nothing—not until the next step was completed—the addition of blood.
"All right. The next step."
Harry produced a silver goblet from his rucksack—another item he'd pilfered from Glaber's villa.
"I don't require a whole lot of blood for this, a quarter-cup at most."
"How shall we provide it?" asked Crixus.
"Hold out your forearm," Harry answered, "I can promise you won't feel a thing."
Crixus did so, and Harry produced his wand. He touched it to the man's forearm, and muttered a spell, causing a spray of blood to arc from an invisible wound, to collect in the cup.
"Next."
The same thing was repeated for Pietros, Varro, and Spartacus, the promise of no pain holding true.
"Now, I add mine. Pietros, if you would hold the cup."
Pietros accepted the cup, and held it out, as Harry repeated the process on his own forearm, this time drawing a little more than the others. He then collected the cup.
"Now. Each of you return to the circle of runes you've drawn."
While Harry went back to the larger centre circle, the others took up position in the four smaller ones. When they were in place, Harry knelt down, and tipped the cup, allowing some of the blood to spill at the centre of the circle.
"Portus maximus. Harmonia Nectere Passus."
The spilled blood shimmered red for a moment, then seeped into the ground, as red energy seemed to spread outward, lighting up each of the runes drawn earlier.
"What is happening?"
"The blood is charging the runes. It's behaving exactly as described in the notes, it's a good thing," Harry answered, reassuring his young friend.
He carefully stepped out of the circle, then approached the east circle, where Crixus stood.
"Your turn."
Crixus did exactly as Harry had, absent the spell casting. However, the blood reacted in the same way, shimmering red and vanishing, this time with green energy spreading out from the centre to charge the runes.
"Portus maximus," Harry again intoned. The centre circle pulsed briefly with green energy, before returning to red. "Circumsempra."
Harry turned to the south circle, which had been Pietros' responsibility. This time, the circle had charged a blue shade. The west circle, completed by Varro, then charged a yellow energy.
Harry finally turned to the north circle, which had been completed by Spartacus.
"Portus Maximus," Harry intoned, while Spartacus emptied the remainder of the blood at the centre of the circle. "Circumsempra."
This time, with the blood shimmering red, a purple wave of energy charged the circle's runes, and the rest of the drawn runes all glowed much brighter.
"Everyone stand clear. The rest, is up to me."
Harry waited for the others to collect at the south end of the drawn runes, then lifted his wand aloft.
"Fianto duri. Protego Maximus. Portus Maximus. Circumsempra. Harmonia Nectere Passus."
Each spell cast caused the entire runic work to momentarily flare, as the air began to sizzle with pent up energy. It felt like the approach of a powerful thunderstorm.
Harry was not done. Now, he reached into his rucksack, and pulled out a large, ornate scroll which none of the others had seen up to now. He'd dealt with the brief bout of blindness that had resulted from opening it before, but now... now he held enough knowledge to open it without the nasty side effects. He had purpose in using it.
"By words with older bones then my own, I make the call. Send forth the magnus, bring forth the power beyond that of this world. Bring it forth from wherever it may be. Lend its power to this world, so the just may rise against the tyrants that lay in wait. By my blood, by the blood of my allies, let my plea be heard!"
PAIN. Pain beyond anything imaginable seared into the five casters and two guards alike, as a blinding flash of light bloomed from the centre circle. Harry felt like he'd been set on fire, as he collapsed to the ground, the Elder Scroll falling to land beside him.
A dread momentarily took hold. Something had gone horribly wrong. Gods... he'd killed them all. PAIN. More pain. Unending, unmitigated, terrible pain surged through his body. It now felt as though he were being ripped limb from limb... his head felt like it were about to burst from immense pressure, and all he could do was lie on the ground, convulsing.
Then... everything came to a standstill, with the scene taking on a blue tint, as someone began to materialize beyond the circle. Harry had seen him before; he wore tan robes with crimson trim. The pain had completely vanished, and Harry found himself involuntarily pulled to his feet.
"We meet again, Harry Potter."
"You have a most unpleasant way of announcing your arrival."
"My arrival did not bring with it the discomfort you were experiencing. Your ritual most certainly did."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No, young mage, you did not. Had you and your companions conducted the summon incorrectly, the results would have been... messy. Your deaths would have been only the beginning. As such, your words and actions were performed to the letter."
"What now?"
"You believe your world is ready for the Eye of Magnus?"
"Whether or not our world is ready for it is irrelevant, Mage of the Psijic Order. Our world's survival depends on it, sir."
"I am Quaranir," said the mage, "And your actions, as well as your words, hold conviction."
"I only act in the interest of what is best, what is the right path. The true Greater Good," said Harry. "There are many who might say that, but very few who truly mean it."
"This is very true," Quaranir agreed, "I still hold the belief you will lead the College of Winterhold one day."
"Perhaps. When I am an old man with years of wisdom. I think Tolfdir is better suited for now."
"Likewise I agree."
"Uh, sir. I have a question. You said your order weren't able to interfere with the College. But what about lending a hand in our world?"
"What leads you to believe we don't?" Quaranir gestured with a hand, and the shade of another familiar face appeared: that of Guardian Elaine.
Harry couldn't help but smile.
"Your words bring me much comfort."
"I must take my leave. You follow a good path, a just path. Continue to follow it, and only great things will befall you."
Quaranir's shade vanished, and the world returned to focus.
"Harry? Harry?! Can you hear me?" Harry found himself still laying on the ground, his mind still spinning from the experience. Spartacus had crawled over, and was roughly shaking him.
"Just... bloody hell... gods, that was painful."
Harry found his entire body was shaking nearly uncontrollably.
"I've heard about the Cruciatus curse—the pain curse. That... that, I think that's what it would feel like. Are... y-you okay?"
"Fuck, my head... Jupiter's cock, everything hurts," Varro complained, getting into a sitting position close by. Crixus still lay prone, barely moving, while Pietros was completely out of it, the pain having sent him into the bliss of unconsciousness. The pair of guards had fared no better, one appeared to have both soiled and pissed himself from the experience.
There was no time to rest, however, as the circles still arced with incredible amounts of energy, and the air still sizzled, as though lightning poised to strike the area. There was one thing Harry still needed to do.
Steeling his nerves, he again thrust his wand at the centre circle.
"Activate!"
There came a god-awful crack as several bolts of lightning hurled down from the heavens, to impact the centre circle, and with it, came an enormous swirling mass of purple energy, identical to that which formed from a summoning spell. Another tremendous crack came, and the swirling ball of energy fell, leaving an unmistakable orb in its place.
"The same as in my dream," Spartacus remembered.
"The same, yes. The Eye of Magnus. Gods..."
"What does it do?" Varro dared ask.
"It has the power to make, and unmake the world. To do great things, and to do terrible things. It's all about intent," Harry explained, as he began casting a series of spells to the north circle. "Right now, I need to get it into position so it will be found many years into the future."
And now, they all knew exactly what was at play.
"You come from a distant future," said Crixus. It was not a question.
"Information that is covered by the secrecy charm I've placed on all of you. Up until a few days ago, I knew not of the purpose behind my unintended journey here. Now, I know exactly why. What I do now secures my future."
"And what of ours?" asked Varro.
"Not my place to say. I know of some of it... that each of you leave your mark on history. Some of it great, some of it not so. Equally, what I take of my time here, will most definitely impact my future."
"Such power. Even I can feel—" one of the guards had finally gotten the nerve to approach it and reach out to touch it.
"NO!" Harry shouted, but it was too late. The instant the man's hand came into contact with the sphere, there came a deafening CRACK. The energy surged into the man unimpeded, the result being instant. In place of the man, lay a pile of ash.
"DO NOT touch it. Gods." He whispered a spell, and gave a grim nod, seeing that the work had not been ruined. "Give me a bit of room."
The next fifteen minutes saw Harry cast even more spells, each one of them causing the Eye to shrink somewhat in size, until it was about half of what it was. Of course there was a shrinking charm, but it would have no effect on a magical artefact such as the Eye. The reduction had to be done in a different manner.
Now, came the final part of the exercise: to sink the immensely powerful artefact into the ground, out of sight. It was actually the easiest part of the exercise, requiring the least amount of power. Harry was already feeling weary from the amount of magic being cast, but he pressed on, determined to see things to conclusion. There would be time for rest once everything was finished. He concentrated on the orb, this time calling on the lessons he'd learned from the College, pressing the great object out of sight. Now being fuelled by the earth's energy, it took a matter of minutes to position it into its final resting place. With it completed, Harry sagged to the ground, spent.
"Guys... come gather around. We return to the villa." He reached a hand into his rucksack, and drew out another plate that had been pre-programmed before they left.
They landed roughly in Spartacus' cell. It was a good thing the cell had been enlarged, for the landing would have been much more painful otherwise. Harry quickly regained his bearings, but realized he wouldn't be doing anything much over the next while; the ritual had been beyond taxing. He gestured to the guard who had finally regained his feet.
"Send for Batiatus. The lot of us will be doing very little, so he'll need to attend us here."
"I'll see to it." The guard quickly left the cell.
"I now know the true meaning of pain," said Crixus, who rested against the wall. He was still shaking somewhat, and a glance at the others revealed all were in roughly the same shape.
"I am truly sorry you all had to experience that," said Harry, sadly, "If I had known, I would not have asked of your help. Causing any of you further pain is the last thing I would ever want to do."
"Harry. Do not fault yourself. You honour us by asking our help," said Spartacus.
"And we were happy to lend hands to purpose," said Crixus.
"How... are you able... how can you stand so quickly... after so much pain?" Pietros managed. Of the four companions, Pietros was in the worst shape. He had remained on the floor, and still barely moved. It seemed that just lifting his head to speak had taken all the strength he had.
"I've experienced much pain before. All of the spells and curses I use during training, I have been on the receiving end of every one of them. That we are all still conscious and sane speaks volumes, does it not? Many lesser men have been rendered a quivering babbling wreck, destined to spend months in the care of a healer—and some... never recover."
"Where did such a curse come from?" Varro questioned.
"To be honest, I'm not sure. The notes only told me that the ritual would summon the Eye of Magnus from where it was being held. No further information on the how's or the why's. And in some cases, this sort of thing holds true. Something that's not really been done before on that sort of scale, be ready for anything."
"How long will this condition last?" questioned Crixus.
"A few hours, or it could last a few days. To each of you it will be different. I could kick myself for not keeping extra pain relief potions in my inventory. They would have eased the discomfort. Best thing for now is lots of rest."
"The medicus will have herbs that will assist with rest," said Spartacus.
It was then that Batiatus entered the cell, along with Doctore. They surveyed the scene a moment, and both men frowned.
"You look of death," said Doctore.
"Thanks. Feel of it, too," said Harry, grimacing. "I'm afraid the lot of us won't be doing much or going all that far. There was an unfortunate and unexpected side effect from the ritual."
"As my guard has relayed."
"We'll need the services of the medicus. I will cover the cost of any supplies required to help recovery."
"Summon the medicus," Batiatus directed a guard standing at the door. He turned back to Harry. "Your purpose was successful then?"
"It was. Though, injury to your men was most certainly not expected, nor was the death of another. I will compensate you for your loss."
That got another frown from the lanista.
"How much time before they return to training?" Doctore asked.
"As I have explained to these guys already, it could take hours or days, everyone is different. The lot of us have just experienced pain on an unimaginable scale. Imagine, if you would, having tiny needles that had been heated so they were white-hot, stabbing you over every inch of your body. Pain so great, you would beg for death—you would promise your very soul, if only the pain would end. Yet it continues, merciless, unending.
"That's what we just felt. In my world, there is a name for that particular curse; the Cruciatus curse... the torture curse. It's illegal in every Wizarding community I'm aware of, including here. A witch or wizard caught using it gets a life sentence in prison."
"The effects are temporary?"
"In this case, yes."
Harry held out a hand in front of him, and no surprise, it was still trembling slightly.
"Though it felt like an eternity, I figure it was only about fifteen to twenty seconds. We've all been somewhat attuned to pain, so the effects will lessen much more quickly."
Batiatus made an angry face.
"This will be the last time you will borrow any of my slaves." He stalked out of the cell.
"He does know it's not my fault," Harry fumed, "Gods, had I known, I would not have asked for their help."
"He speaks without thought." Doctore glanced at the others. "Rest, and find yourselves back on the sand."
More time passed. As had been hoped, it had only taken a few days for everyone to be back on their feet, and back to training. Harry was spending more and more of his time in the Virtual Projection Room, now reading from eleventh grade textbooks and level seven magical textbooks. If he ever returned to his own world, he would likely be well on his way to taking his N.E.W.T. exams, well ahead of the game in many ways. That would also go for his regular schooling—though it was likely Justin would find a few holes in the lessons and catch everything up.
His sessions in the V.P.R. also involved reading from the two black books, the property of Hermaeus Mora. He knew to be careful... each time he opened one of them, he could hear the whispering of dozens of voices, a very harsh warning of the dangers of extended exposure to them. Knowledge taken from then had a cost in the end; no knowledge was free. Particularly not when it involved artefacts of Hermaeus Mora.
Outside of his private study sessions, he found it once again difficult to manoeuvre about the residence, since Ilithyia was then a long-term guest, much as he was. Harry now disliked the woman, and on more than one occasion found himself daydreaming about the many different ways he would like to humiliate the blonde snake. Unfortunately, doing so would likely draw the ire of his hosts, if not draw suspicion on the slaves. Last thing he would want was for the kind people who served Batiatus to end up getting some sort of severe beating on the count of a prank.
No, he would mete out a different sort of justice, when proper the time and opportunity presented itself. For now, he fell back on his invisibility cloak and silencing charms to get around the vexing woman.
Travelling about in such a manner had an unfortunate side effect of putting him into position to witness the darker side of the residence. Case in point, on a particular early evening, as he travelled the passage leading up from the ludus, he came upon a disturbing sight.
One of the guards was struggling with one of the house slaves—Mira, if Harry remembered correctly. Her outfit had been shredded, her skin exposed, her face now marred with blood. Harry watched for a few moments, debating on what to do. How would Batiatus react, if he were to intervene?
Things were about to get worse, as Spartacus appeared from the opposite direction, a guard tailing him—likely he was returning to the ludus. This was an inevitable train wreck.
"Spartacus—" Mira whimpered.
"Still your tongue," the guard hissed.
"What grievance has the woman given?" Spartacus demanded, becoming angry at what he was seeing.
"None which concerns you."
"She is known to me."
"This one is known to every cock in the villa. Move off."
"Tell me her grievance," Spartacus again demanded, moving closer.
"I gave you command, slave," the guard hissed, drawing his club.
"Wait—" the trailing guard shouted, but it was too far along at this point. The club swung, and Spartacus reacted instinctively, grabbing it, and wrenching the man around so he crashed into the wall, his face mashing up against a scorching hot sconce. It was hot enough to sear a wire-mesh burn on the man's face. The other guard was now forced to draw his sword, just as Batiatus arrived on the scene.
Now, Harry had to act. He pulled the cloak off, to make himself known.
"I have to wonder, what Quintus thinks about one of his guards having his way with the house slaves."
"H-h-how long... have you been there?" the guard asked, guiltily.
"Long enough to know exactly what you were doing. Release her from your clutches. Immediately."
The guard numbly did as ordered, and Mira scampered over to where Harry stood. He pressed a finger to her busted lip, healing it instantly. Another gesture of the hand cleaned up her tattered outfit.
"You." Harry gestured to the second guard. "See Spartacus to the ludus. I'm sure he can be granted extra reward for protecting the property of the Dominus."
The guard sheathed his blade, then glanced at Batiatus, who grudgingly gave a nod. He then escorted Spartacus down the corridor out of sight.
"Forgive my overstepping, but this... this was unforgivable. I would suggest this moron be sent to a part of the house where he won't be an offence to the female members nor their servants. I'd like to see him pull a stunt like that with Ilithyia, see how far he gets."
"Though Harry oversteps, so do you," Batiatus growled, rounding on the guard, "A months' wages, forfeited. And you will be moved to patrol the ludus, to prevent future calamity."
The guard moved to protest, but Batiatus continued, "Should you press further, coin will be replaced with blood. See to the medicus."
The guard cast Harry the most hateful look of loathing he could muster, and stormed off.
"Sorry for overstepping. But Spartacus only did as he felt was right. Had he not intervened, I would certainly would have."
"Gratitude." Batiatus glanced at Mira. "Return to the villa."
Mira only managed a nod, before scampering back up through the corridor. Harry, meanwhile, wanted to bang his head on the wall. "Fucking hell... the idea of using my cloak, was to escape becoming entwined in sordid affairs."
"Yet you again find yourself with cheeks spread while the gods ram cock in ass."
Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing.
Sometime later, he found the guard had been moved to the square. He stood at the far corner, and most unfortunately, directly beside the door to Spartacus' cell. That would only end badly. 'Perhaps, a permanent solution is needed,' Harry thought, reaching into his rucksack, and pulling out a familiar black book.
He'd read a short passage in the book, and now knew how it worked—it had likely been a personal message from the book's owner. Now, he pressed a finger to the spine, speaking, "May the owner of this book claim the next soul who opens it." The book shimmered an acid green for a moment, and fell still.
Harry threw his invisibility cloak over his head, and approached the edge of the cliff, then placed the book on the ground. It looked a little suspicious, so now the question: how to get the guard to read it. Harry crept back over to the common area, where Spartacus and Varro were sitting, and cast a small compulsion charm on the guard. It was like taking candy from a baby, as the man moved away from the wall he was leaning against, and made for the book. Satisfied, Harry removed the cloak, momentarily startling his friends.
"Harry."
"What did Batiatus say?" Spartacus asked.
"Nothing much after. Though I see he—" Harry had to hide a smirk, as the guard picked up the book, and opened it.
To those watching, it was as if a demon had been summoned from the underworld. A mass of tentacles had shot out from the middle of the book, lifting the guard off the ground. His mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out of it. Instead, a blob consisting of a mass of eyes and tentacles formed close by, and all of them gazed at the victim. The voice that came from them, however, was directed at Harry.
"Ah, friend of my champion... you please me yet again. Though his soul and mind are... somewhat weak... I still welcome the addition in the endless stacks of my library."
Another tentacle blasted from the book, to pierce the man's skull. It brought instant death.
"Until we meet again... friend of my champion."
The mass of tentacles vanished, as did the eyes, leaving the guard's lifeless body spasming in a pool of his own blood.
"What... what... what abomination was that?!" Varro looked horrified, as did a good number of others in the room.
"The fool stomped on my dick nerve, so I paid him in kind. Sometimes, the price of blood is not enough. He'll suffer for an eternity, at the whim of a very different master."
"Harry, friend, you truly terrify us at times," said Crixus, shaking his head. He sat two tables over.
Harry gave an evil grin. "The truly scary thing is, I could have sent him to an eternity in a place far worse. Unfortunately, it would have meant me actually killing the man myself, and I would rather not. Why should I stain my hands with blood, when I can have someone else carry out the deed?"
The gladiators all looked just a little frightened at Harry's tone, and far worse, came the implications from what had just happened. By appearance, he served a demon master from the underworld. Though he had acted against an unruly guard (word had travelled rather quickly about what had transpired not long previous), what prevented the man from turning on the slaves? Needless to say, sleep was in short supply within the ludus that night.
The the morning that followed, however, everything seemed to be back to normal. The usual group of gladiators gathered for the morning's mental exercises, which then led to the regular training session.
"You are aware of the Toga Virilis party?" Varro asked, as he and Harry worked together.
"For a while, yeah. Quintus and Lucretia have been on about it for the last few days. I know it's a big deal and all—you guys had all best be on your best behaviour."
"Or suffer your wrath added to any wrought by the guards. There is wager as to who may be more terrifying when angry: you, or Doctore."
Harry let out a laugh, and parried Varro's sword thrust.
"That so? I'm sure my regular trainers will get a chuckle out of that when they see the heap of memories I will share."
With lunch over and the afternoon training session beginning, Harry again joined them, since the villa was abuzz with preparations for the birthday party that evening. However, before he could really get started, Spartacus entered the common area, with a slightly older-looking Numerius. Gods, Harry realized, he'd been there that long?
"Numerius, good to see you again," Harry said, simply, "I should wish you a happy birthday."
"Gratitude!" the boy answered, excitedly.
Harry reached into his rucksack, and summoned a steel dagger he'd crafted a couple of years prior—one of the first pieces he'd made well.
"It's not much, but this blade was one of the first pieces I ever crafted. May it protect you as it did me until it was replaced."
"Gratitude! I will treasure it always." The boy was all smiles, as Harry passed over the blade, handle first.
The three of them began walking at the edge of the square, while training began in earnest. A pair of guards trailed them at a respectable distance. Numerius was watching the men, almost in a trance.
"What is it like," he finally asked, "Having the life of another resting in your hands?"
"My sword may deliver the final blow, but a gladiator's fate is for the crowd and the editor to decide."
Numerius seemed to think it over for a moment, then was drawn to the far end of the square that did not have a wall.
"You have no wall by the cliff!" he exclaimed, making to bolt for the edge. Harry put a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.
"The very reason I find it best not to train there," said Spartacus.
"Has anyone fallen below?"
"I have witnessed none."(1)
"But I'm sure there are those of us who have a list of those deserving of such a fall," said Harry, nastily.
"Harry..." Spartacus gave his young friend a glare. "Apologies for his tongue. Come. It has been too long since we last trained. Let us see what you remember."
A trio of practice swords were quickly brought, but Spartacus waved one of them off.
"Our young warrior already carries steel."
"But..."
"Numerius. It's perfectly safe," Harry answered, "I'm sure the champion of Capua can more than easily defend against your blade. Come on, let's see what you know."
Numerius only grinned madly and drew his new blade from its sheath, and took up a rough ready stance.
"Good. Spread your feet a bit... excellent."
Harry was somewhat impressed. This boy had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, most likely, and yet, a little work could turn him into a true warrior. Harry reached into his satchel, and drew out one of his blades, which had an invisible safety sheath over it. A simple press of the finger could remove it, but for the purposes of training and demonstration, it was best to keep it on. Numerius was entranced by the deadly beauty.
"This was a gift from a dear friend back where I'm from," Harry explained, holding it out so the boy could get a close look at it, "Since my skill easily matches the men here, it is protected so I don't cause unnecessary injury."
He momentarily glanced up at the balcony, and inwardly sighed. That would explain why his ears were burning. The blonde snake was again boring holes in the back of his head as she stood at the rail, along with Lucretia and Numerius' mother. He forced himself to pay attention, remembering all too well what happened the last time the woman pushed him to distraction.
"I fear Spartacus holds us at a disadvantage," said Numerius, comparing his weapon with Harry's.
"That will be your first lesson. Perhaps, in some cases, you would be correct. For our weapons to be effective, we must get close. Spartacus... extend your blade."
Spartacus held his blade out in an attack position.
"Take note of his reach. Now, Numerius, I will mirror his formation so you may compare the difference." Harry copied the stance of his friend. The Daedric blade was certainly long as far as daggers were concerned, but the wooden gladius Spartacus held was easily twice its length, and more than twice its weight.
"Now, young friend. How would you overcome his advantage?"
A noisy crash immediately had their attention, preventing Numerius from answering, as Crixus had brutally attacked his sparring partner, sending him sprawling to the ground. He stood there, heaving, and called out, "The Magistrate's son graces our sands... and this is what greets him?"
He gestured angrily to his opponent, still sprawled out on the sand.
"Would that I had an opponent worthy of his interest."
No one moved for a few moments, before Duro finally stepped forward with a practice sword.
"I would spar with you."
Crixus snorted. "I meant a real gladiator."
Duro simply attacked. Crixus, however, was ready, and batted away the assault as if it were an annoying bug. He then slammed the guy in the face with his shield, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Crixus shows impeccable form."
"I shall prove otherwise at your ceremony tonight," Spartacus promised.
Numerius simply grinned, while Crixus glared at the rest of the gladiators.
"Does anyone else challenge Crixus?"
"Our fight is not yet finished." Duro had climbed back to his feet, his face bloody.
"Stand down, pup. Before your shrivelling cock wets the sand."
Harry felt the urge to bang his head against the wall, seeing the German have yet another go at the former champion. This was not going to end well, and a glance at Numerius confirmed the boy was being rabidly entertained by the spectacle.
In the end, Doctore cracked his whip and put a stop to it. Crixus stormed out of the square and into the common area, leaving Duro a bloody mess. He managed to get to his feet, only barely, but the rest of the men swarm around him, cheering in congratulations.
Numerius was confused. "The man is soundly defeated, yet treated as victor?"
"A sign of respect," answered Spartacus, "For his courage."
"Is every day like this?"
"Mostly," Harry answered, shooting Spartacus a glance.
"Perhaps if your father is agreeable..."
"We could continue with more lessons sometime soon," Harry finished.
"Really?!"
"Well... it's up to your father, but I think Quintus wouldn't mind in the least. A boy should know how to properly handle a blade."
The afternoon neared its end, and all too quickly, Numerius was escorted back up into the villa, his robes rather dusty from the exercise. Harry and Spartacus had given him a training session he would not soon forget, although the boy had relished the activity.
Now, Harry found himself dressed in his best robes, as he plied the busy villa, swarmed with dozens of the upper-class society in Capua, and beyond. He didn't know all that detailed being the magistrate, but it didn't take a lot to figure out the man carried much weight in Roman society. Both Quintus and Lucretia seemed to be absolutely aglow with the potential prestige and potential such an event would bring—and Harry easily understood that. It was all about the coin and recognition in the end, neither of which really mattered to him.
The friendship he had formed with Spartacus, Varro, Pietros, and to a lesser extent, Crixus, was worth more than all the coin he had ever possessed—earned or not. A part of him still ached, knowing it would eventually come to an end, when Harry returned to where he belonged. It could happen tomorrow, a week later, a year later, but eventually, he would be rescued.
"At last, I meet the mysterious other guest of the House of Batiatus."
The man who spoke appeared older than Batiatus, with long, tidy blond hair that was done up in ringlets.
"I'm sorry... and you are?"
"Marcus Decius Solonius, at your service," the man introduced himself, with a bow.
"Oh. Well then, the pleasure is mine. I'm Harry." He returned the bow. No sense in offending someone without knowing the entire story.
"You have stayed under their roof for some time," said Solonius.
"Yes. Their hospitality has been greatly appreciated."
"Know that there are many secrets within these walls, that not all is as it may seem."
Harry only grinned.
"I know of the snake pit, and make a habit of steering well clear. And I would not have that repeated."
"My tongue will remain forever silent," said Solonius, offering a smile of his own.
"I know this may be a personal question, and you don't have to answer, but... you used to be very close to Quintus. What happened?"
Solonius frowned, then let out a sigh.
"We sought a similar purpose, but through different means. I came to see the man for what he truly is. He is simply a man that holds no one in esteem beyond himself. You would do well to remember that, young Harry."
"Your words of warning are not necessary, my friend. There are those back in my world who would treat me in such a manner."
He clapped Solonius on the back.
"I do lament for the loss of friendship between you. To be close for so long, only for one to abuse the privilege in such a way."
"Your words comfort the heart."
"Come! Gather, esteemed guests!" Batiatus called out, standing beside the Magistrate and his son. He glanced over at Solonius, and added, "And those of questionable repute."
Harry frowned at the dig, while the rest of the guests all gathered around the temporary wooden platform erected in the atrium.
"Nice to meet you, Marcus," said Harry, as they parted ways. Harry stopped in front of Spartacus, while Batiatus continued the commencement.
"Good luck."
"We will give Numerius a show he won't forget," said Spartacus, with a smile. It abruptly vanished, as he locked eyes with Ilithyia, standing across the room.
"...yet before he dons the Toga Virilis, let us honour him with sport and blood! A contest between present and past! Spartacus, Champion of Capua! Step forward!"
Spartacus stepped out from the rest of the ranks, and Harry clapped him on the back before moving on.
"And Crixus!" Batiatus continued, "Former champion, step—"
"Wait," Numerius spoke. Crixus stopped mid-step, looking confused, as did both Batiatus and Harry. Wasn't the contest supposed to be between Spartacus and Crixus? Harry's eyes immediately flicked to Ilithyia, his suspicions rising.
"I fear Crixus has seen his best day past. I would have Varro fight in his place."
"You are the editor, young master!" Batiatus recovered, "Your will, our hands! Varro! Step forward!"
Crixus looked absolutely crushed, while Varro stepped forward to stand beside Spartacus. Harry, meanwhile, circled the room, to stand a little closer to the blonde snake. What was she up to? Ah. Twisting the mind of a boy. How low would this woman go? Question then, what to do? He weaved his way out of sight, as Doctore gave instructions to the chosen combatants, while weapons and shield were brought forward.
After a quick, hushed conversation with his wife, Batiatus stepped forward again.
"Numerius! These men, these titans of the arena, are yours to command!"
Numerius stepped forward, raised his fist, and brought it down sharply. "Begin!"
Harry now knew the extent of Ilithyia's plan, as the pair of friends faced off on the small platform. Again, though, what to do? Time was of the essence, so he slipped into the office, sealing the door from entry. He then produced his chest, and climbed inside, collecting a few items that would be of use.
He returned to the crowd just in time, although now, no one knew of his presence, thanks to his boots and his invisibility cloak. Spartacus had a nasty gash in his right side, but Varro now sported a nasty slice across his chest. Spartacus was missing one of his swords, but Varro now worked without his shield—a dangerous scenario for a Murmillo.
Spartacus, seizing an opening, sliced at Varro's flank with his remaining sword, and swept out with a left foot, sending his friend crashing to the plank floor, resulting in him losing his sword. Varro scrambled back to his knees, but found Spartacus pressing a sword to his neck. The blond gladiator only smiled, raising the two-finger surrender of the missio.
The gathering instantly clapped and cheered at the splendid performance, while Varro muttered, "My fucking flank!"
"Protect it, and next time it may be you who stands victorious."
Harry had moved to be directly in front of the two combatants, as Batiatus again addressed the crowd.
"Spartacus, the Champion of Capua still! And Varro, a formidable challenger, to be closely watched in the arena!"
There was more applause from the gathering, as Batiatus looked to Numerius.
"Numerius! Pass judgement on our fallen warrior!"
Harry hoped he would not need to act, but his thoughts were for nought, as Numerius delivered the dreaded thumb-down, a damning decision for Varro. The room fell quiet, eyes now fixed on the young man, standing there, thumb still pointed down as if it were a declaration of manhood. 'How dare he!' Harry fumed in his head, remembering how innocently the boy had been earlier in the day. Yet his real fury was for the blonde snake, smiling as if everything was right with the world. 'Yeah, her world,' he snorted in his head.
"Apologies, Magistrate," said Batiatus, forcing a smile, "but we agreed this was merely an exhibition. Not a fight to the death."
Numerius, though, again glanced to Ilithyia, before turning to his father.
"Father..."
The Magistrate could only grin, proud of his son.
"Numerius has made his decision. I shall reimburse you the cost of the man."
Batiatus stood silent, as he weighed his options. Then.
"Proceed."
Spartacus did not move, and Harry could see he was at a loss. Both were trapped, essentially.
"Do not move, neither of you," Harry whispered. Spartacus flicked his eyes to where he guessed the voice had come from. "I have a plan."
"Do we have a problem, Batiatus?" the Magistrate questioned, his tone all business.
"I said proceed," Batiatus ordered.
"Three... two... one," Harry whispered.
Then, a small black orb-like object dropped to the floor directly in front of the pair of combatants, making a strange 'clink' sound as it met the floor. It let out one 'chirp'... two 'chirps'... three 'chirps'... now having everyone's attention, before going off like a firework. Instantly, the room fell to complete darkness.
"Jupiter's cock!" Varro muttered, feeling Spartacus' blade penetrate his shoulder ever so slightly.
"Apologies." The sword noisily clattered to the platform. Both of them felt hands grip them, and there came the terrible sensation of being squeezed through a very tight space. Varro could feel his eyes being pressed through the back of his head... and then it was over. He collapsed to the floor, heaving, Spartacus in no better condition.
"What the fuck was that?!" Spartacus demanded.
"Apparition. Apologies. Do not leave the chest for any reason. Pietros!"
"Harry?"
"Help them with their wounds. I'll be back soon as I can. Again, do NOT leave the ch—never mind, I'm collecting it."
Making sure the chest was secure, Harry noisily Disapparated back to the atrium, and slammed another object into the platform. Almost instantly, the most putrid odour one could possibly imagine seeped into the air. There came shrieks and shouts, as the patrons made a mad dash for clean air and light—the room was still pitch black.
Harry made another noisy Apparation, this time to the triclinium, where a number of guests had ventured, though the darkness was seeping into the room. Most had now swarmed out onto the balcony, or left the villa through the upper doors.
Satisfied at the chaos he had caused, Harry once again Disapparated, this time back to Spartacus' cell, where he reopened the chest.
"What have you done?" Varro demanded, "Batiatus will have you crucified, never mind us!"
"I strongly doubt it," said Harry, shaking his head, "Particularly when I explain my reasoning—that's if he actually figures out I had a hand in it. It seems our little blonde snake was rather busy this afternoon. Pietros. I need you to wait in the common area for Doctore. Inform him that both Spartacus and Varro are under my watch. I have no doubt there will be an accounting, last thing I would want is for them to be suspected of escaping."
"I will see it done," said Pietros.
Harry glanced at his two friends. "Hold still a moment." Harry gestured to the shallow gash on Varro's chest, and it swiftly vanished.
"Gratitude."
"Anywhere else—never mind." Harry gestured again, and the shallow stab wound on his shoulder also vanished.
"Apologies," said Spartacus, "The device Harry used gave me surprise."
"As I was equally surprised. What exactly was it?"
"Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It, as you saw, causes instant darkness that no light can penetrate. It'll be a while before Batiatus gets everything back in order." Harry gave an evil smirk. "Y'know, it's a shame I wasn't able to see the look on Ilithyia's face, to see her so cleverly executed little plot go up in flames."
"I would surrender all my winnings in the arena, should you lend her that tome you carry," said Spartacus.
"If I knew I could get away with it and not damage the future, I would gladly do so. Alas, since I am unsure, I cannot."
Harry gestured at the nasty wound in Spartacus' side. It closed some, but not completely.
"Hmmm... Gods, you got him good. Let's try again..." another gesture, and this time the wound closed completely, although it was still red and sore-looking.
"Gratitude."
It was an hour later before Pietros returned to the chest, Batiatus in tow, and the man was practically breathing fire. Both Spartacus and Varro remained on the comfortable chairs, but remained silent. Batiatus cast both men a gaze that could kill, before turning to Harry.
"Explain!" he demanded.
"The snake once again meddles in your affairs. I only sought to prevent a terrible injustice."
"What proof do you have?!"
"What I saw with my own eyes, through means I am forbidden to discuss. All you need to know, is Ilithyia climbed into the bath and seduced a fifteen year old boy, then coerced him to murder one of your best fighters. That's coin that would no longer flow into your purse. I need not remind you, she has caused the death of one of your men already."
"Fuck his coin! And fuck Segovax, he was but a recruit!" Batiatus raged, "Your hand now causes grave insult! I now balance the value of your presence with the calamity you bring with it!"
Harry blew out a breath, and reached out a hand, summoning one of the few bottles of firewhiskey he still had. He popped the cork, and took a swig from the the bottle.
"I'm sorry if my actions hurt your interests, Quintus. But I wasn't going to just stand back and let that little holier-than-thou, 'proper Roman woman' carry on with another disgusting little plot to cause your house further injury. You know what sort of nightmares unfold when she and Spartacus are in the same room. That's exactly what this was all about. Why does she stay?"
"For reasons which do not concern you," answered Batiatus, in a frosty tone, "I still hear no good reason to balance what transpired here tonight."
"Fine. I see that you are perhaps beyond reason. Tomorrow, then, I will bid my farewells, since it appears I have wore out my welcome. Perhaps good Solonius—"
It was as if a light switch had been flicked on. A momentary expression of dread actually crossed Batiatus' face, as the thought crossed his mind of the young wizard lending support to his rival.
He relented.
"If anything is to be salvaged from this calamity, young Numerius is fixed on return for further training. You will see to it."
"Easily done. I'll be having a small conversation with the young man about proper behaviour, and more specifically, about the consequences of ones actions."
"I—"
"What if she asked him to attack you? Your wife? Remember what she asked of Segovax. He was a slave, yes, but it goes to my point. She'll use anyone to advance her own plots and ambitions. And when she's done with you and yours, she'll throw you by the wayside."
Batiatus thought a moment.
"I had not considered it."
"You likely don't consider a lot of things. The woman is nothing but evil. Her continued presence will bring about your total ruin."
Batiatus let out another sigh, and held out a hand for the bottle. Harry inwardly smirked; the man had not had firewhiskey before.
"It's strong."
"After tonight, strong will be welcome," said Batiatus, accepting the bottle. He took a swig, and Harry had to snatch the bottle before it fell, as the man nearly collapsed from the shock.
A half hour later, Harry had to levitate the man up and out of the chest, for he was unable to stand on his own. A pair of guards took over, and escorted the man to his bed. Harry, meanwhile, retreated back into the chest.
"Jupiter's cock, and I thought Spartacus was favoured," said Varro, shaking his head.
"Batiatus knows my words carry the truth, and it tears him up to admit it," said Harry, as he summoned a quartet of glasses from the small kitchen area. "Let's have one drink, and get some sleep."
It was two days later before Numerius returned to the villa, eager to get started with the lesson. However, Harry pulled him over to a corner under the overhang, while Spartacus and Varro waited in the common area.
"Young friend, you've disappointed me greatly. If not for honouring a promise made earlier, neither Spartacus or I would not be working with you."
"I did nothing wrong," Numerius defended.
"Not that you might see, no. But in fact, your mistake was allowing someone to cloud your judgement. Why did you wish Varro dead, when it was only supposed to be an exhibition, a friendly contest?"
"It... it was my right."
"Perhaps, but what satisfaction do you get from seeing a man die?"
"He was but a gladiator..."
"And a friend, a good man, like I hope you will grow up to become, Numerius. Do you know that Varro has both a wife and a child beyond these walls? That all the coin he wins in the arena go to support them?"
Numerius looked down at the ground, guiltily.
"You may only see them as slaves, as property. Do not forget that each and every man here was born into this world. They had a mother and a father, who in most cases adored and loved their child. How many of them might have siblings, wives, children? How would you feel, if your mother were treated in such a manner as the slaves who attend to your needs?"
"I..."
"You didn't think of it that way, did you?"
"I did not."
"I know that slavery is a way of life in your world. But it doesn't mean you have to discard them and be unkind. Treat them as people. Or see terrible things visit you in the future."
"They would rise up against us?"
"When oppressed, it's downright terrifying what people are capable of. Do not give reason for them to do so."
"Your words require thought."
"That is the purpose of my words. Be a good man, Numerius. Do not fall to the whims of a pretty woman with a poisoned agenda."
"A poisoned agenda?"
"Ilithyia hates Spartacus to near insanity. You fell into her trap, and it resulted in a terrible finish to your birthday celebration last night."
"The darkness fell so suddenly, and no light would penetrate it! It was sorcery!"
"Perhaps. Perhaps the gods intervened, to prevent you from following through on a poor lapse in judgement."
Harry glanced to his left, finding both Spartacus and Varro approaching.
"Now. I think we're just about done with that nasty bit of business. Just one last thing... something I think you owe both of these gentlemen."
It clearly bothered Numerius, being practically forced to do it.
"Apologies, to both of you. I... my judgement was clouded."
"It is accepted, young Numerius," answered Varro, clapping the young man on the shoulder. All was forgiven.
"Now, then. Let's begin. You have your blade with you?"
"I carry it always." Numerius produced his blade, ready to start the lesson.
UP NEXT: Harry lays down the law for Ilithyia; the Commonwealth at last establishes a portal to Harry's location, and he's reunited with his old friends—resulting in a dramatic show of emotion; and Spartacus suffers a serious injury requiring the assistance of a healer...
(1) In canon, Spartacus hurled Gnaeus off the cliff in retribution for his treatment toward Pietros.