Magical Assassin

 She pushed out again with her mind and felt a large presence moving slowly toward her, tracking west as if to cut off any attempt to flee back down the trail.  “I don't fear you, ya know.” Belle said. 

     “Well, you should.” A calm, oily voice spoke in her open mind.  Belle saw a tiny movement in the bushes directly to her left and turned just in time to witness a huge Moor cat shimmer into view as he exited the brush. He was large and powerful, like Sebastian, but that is where the similarities ended.  Unlike Sebastian's golden glow, this cat's fur was dull, dark brown, like wood smoke. Though powerfully built, he was leaner with dark brown, almost ebony eyes. He had a patchy scar on his left flank where the skin was exposed, the hair would not grow. The monstrous cat circled Belle making a growling sound in his throat also very unlike Sebastian's chirp. Belle could feel Sebastian's growing anxiety and the urgency with which he tore his way up the mountain. 

     “Oh, he will not make it in time, little cub.” The newcomer showed her his long teeth.

     “All right.” Belle said aloud.  “So who are you and what do you want?”

     “I am Lesca and I want nothing from you, except of course, what I came to take.”

     “Well, hello Lesca.  What is it you came for?”  Belle tried to remain calm.

     “Your life, little cub.”  Then Lesca projected to Sebastian “You really should not have let her get so far from you.  The two of you might have had a chance. On second thought, probably not.”  Lesca turned to Belle, his muscles tensed to pounce.

     Sebastian's voice in her head said, “He hates fire.”
     As the big dark cat sprang, Belle dropped and rolled out of his reach, all the while her mind screamed, “Igneoos , igneoos, igneoos!” A burst of flames shot towards the beasts face, singeing his whiskers and eyebrows and causing him to turn away. Belle took the opportunity those few seconds allowed to leap to the lower limb of a big pine and scramble up the tree, clawing her way up as quickly as possible. Lesca let out a deafening roar of anger. Belle did not pause to look back. She just kept climbing, using her acrobatic skills to swing from limb to limb and scurry up higher and higher.
     She felt the tree shudder at Lesca's first leap at her. One of his enormous claws cut a slice in her boot just as she lifted her foot. Belle looked down just in time to see Lesca poised for another leap. “Igneoos, igneoos, igneoos!”  Belle stretched out her hand toward the lunging animal. Her bewilderment at why he wanted her life gave way to anger. She unleashed a blast of green flames fueled by her rage. This time the sound Lesca made was of pain. He yowled loudly as the hair was burned off the left side of his face. The flesh underneath sizzled. His huge claws were dug into the tree but instinct made him jump down and away from the fire.

An Interrogation...excerpt from MARABELLA, DISCOVERING MAGICS

     “Go away, little girl.” He said with no particular vigor.

     Belle changed tactics and her tone.  “I know why you're here.” she accused.

     “Good for you.” He sounded bored.

     “And who sent you.” The pale haired man looked up, alarmed, right into Belle's flashing emerald eyes. She bore into his icy stare with her own green fire. “Malick.”  She finished.

     “Yes.” He tried to look away but could not.

     “Why?” She put force behind the question.

     He winced. “To report back to him about the whore, Mara and you...”

     “And...” Belle never blinked.

     “...and tell Malick who is with her and for how long and where her money comes from.” Information began to pour from him. “Also to find out who handles transport here. I'm supposed to make contact with farmers around here who transport goods to Sellwood and convince them to use Malick's services by whatever means necessary. But I'm bored. All this watching and waiting and paying those thugs. Nothing ever happens in this little village and I don't know why he's so interested in the whore. She doesn't even wear the sash anymore and she consorts with those Demalions all the time...I just want to go home.”

     Belle broke away and rolled her eyes, tired of his whining.

     “What did you do to me?” He snarled clenching his fists and leaning forward as if to spring on the girl.

     Abruptly, a blade flashed and was at his throat. Ragus crouched behind his chair with his long arm around the man's chest and a carved handled Demalion hunting knife poised at the throbbing vein in the man's neck.

     Ragus' gentle features were hardened. His lips were pursed tight into a thin, grim line. His dark green eyes flashed black. Every muscle in his body was ready for attack. “You will leave this village and never return.” He hissed in the pale man's ear. “You will tell your master, Malick, that Lady Mara and all she loves are protected.  Do you understand?” Ragus’ blade broke the skin on the man’s neck. A few drops of blood surfaced. 

This is one of my favorite stories. I first read a version of it in a book called Legends. This expanded version of the story is as told to me by my friend Josef. The Author pulled this right from our book, Marabella; Discovering Magics. It explains the origins of the Dragon's Eye, a simple jewel with powerful magics.

THE SUNSET DRAGON

      Once the Demalions occupied a great city in the north.” He began. “The people all possessed magics. The great shadow that passed over the city every day at sunset was a mighty dragon who lived in a high cave in the mountains. One day a green eyed boy from the city braved the perilous climb and made his way to the dragon’s lair. The mighty beast watched as the boy fearlessly trudged up the dangerous slopes. He was impressed. He admired the boy’s tenacity, so he allowed the boy to reach his hidden cave.  The boy found there a massive collection of treasure.  Mounds of gold coin from many realms, great chests filled with magnificent gems and jewels, and huge pearls from the depths all were heaped into piles. The boy walked around the treasure deeper into the cave. Finally, the dragon revealed himself.  “For your bravery, I will allow you to leave with your life and all that you can carry.” The dragon told the boy. 
     “But I did not come for treasure.” The boy bravely spoke up.  “I came to ask one question.”
     “You value knowledge more than your own life?” The dragon was intrigued.

     “I suppose I do.” Said the boy.

     “Then ask your one question.” Growled the dragon.  

     “Why do you cast your shadow across our city each day at sunset, flying from east to west and back again?”

       The great dragon chuckled.  “That is what you wish to know?”

            “Yes.” The boy replied.

      The great dragon lowered his head. “I do it for love.  My love is the fiery dragon that fuels the sun. Each evening as the sun sets I fly west as far as I can go so that I might glimpse her face before she sinks below the horizon.  No matter how fast or far I fly I can never reach her, for I am earthbound.”

     “Why are you earthbound?”

     “That is another question. But, if you must know, I was mutilated in a fight with the great river and a dragon must be without blemish to shine in the heavens.” The great dragon hung his head in sorrow.  It was then that the boy noticed that the great dragon had only one emerald green eye.  “Now take your treasure and go!” The dragon roared. 

      The boy looked around at all the riches.  He was wise and truly had come only for knowledge. He knew that a bag of gold would be heavy and weigh him down. He would not likely make the dangerous climb back down the mountain. “Take your treasure and go!” The great dragon bellowed again, turning back to the depths of his cave. The boy looked and spotted a small green pebble. He reached down and slipped it into his pocket.”

“You know I’ve read this story many times.” Belle interrupted. “The city is destroyed by the dragon’s green fire when he comes looking for his dried up old eye.” 

“That is the legend.” Josef replied. “That is not the real story. May I continue?”  Belle nodded her approval. “I will consolidate the story some, since you know it.”

      The boy makes his way back to the city, now possessing the Dragon’s Eye.  His magics are without equal.  Over many winters, the boy matures, has a family, and his progeny become more and more powerful. He becomes a leader and governs the people with kindness and wisdom. Many seasons later, when he is an old man, the city is actually destroyed by a quarrel between two of his great grandsons, fighting over who would possess the stone when the old man died. The legendary green fire which laid waste to the city was theirs. Only those with the emerald green eyes possess the green dragon’s fire.  With the city in rubble, the clans dispersed.

     “That is the real story.” Josef concluded. 

PROLOGUE

I am doing the things that I like to do when the weather is fine; hunting and adventuring.  The Author has been burning the candle at both ends doing something she calls line edits.  She wanted to entice you all with a taste of our book. 

This is the Prologue from MARABELLA; DISCOVERING MAGICS.

TRAGEDY 

The clouds hung low and ominous in the East. Dark and angry, a grim line pushed its way closer and closer threatening violence. Two strong men helped the last farmer board the overloaded ferry. They both turned at the first faint rumble of thunder. “This doesn’t look good,” commented Geremiah as he surveyed the choppy waves on the river.

            His companion eyed the sky. “Aye,” said Anton.  “The wind is already picking up.”

The simple craft of thick, sturdy wood planks sealed with pitch resembled a long box sitting atop the water. The ferryman pulled hard on the thick rope which wound around the pulley mechanism midway of the ferry, propelling the boat toward the other shore.

Geremiah helped them push off, then stood facing the cold spray coming off the water. River and sky were both the same flat gray color.  He adjusted the saddlebag on his shoulder.  He was a big man clad in the heavy boots and leather breeches of a woodsman.  His thick coat was fastened against late winter’s chill and stretched tight across his broad shoulders. A close- cropped beard covered his strong jaw and squared chin.  His shaggy chestnut hair reached just below his upturned collar. He had a very expressive mouth (usually prone to smiling) and captivating green eyes. Today there was no smile. He chewed his bottom lip, staring anxiously over the waves. 

            The rope creaked and the ferry shuddered as the force of the river’s current buffeted the craft.  They were hanging low in the water due to all the extra weight of passengers and cargo trying to make the last ferry of the season. Most days it carried ten to fifteen men and their cargo, sometimes as much as twenty-five. Today there were forty souls, counting children and cargo aplenty.  Anton saw the tension in Geremiah’s clenched jaw.   

            The clouds moved in and the sky darkened. Flashes of lightening illuminated the swirling clouds and the rumbling increased.  The ferry shuddered again.

“We’re too heavy.” Anton’s voice was filled with dread.  He clutched his tiny son Wesley, barely five seasons old, and his nephew Benji tightly to his sides, his eyes glued on the north shore, so far away.  The distance, an easy stroll on land, seemed a mighty journey across the menacing waves.

            Geremiah laid a hand on Anton’s shoulder.  “We’ve got to lighten this load.”  Kneeling down, he faced skinny little Wesley and handed him his saddlebag.  “Hold tight to this for me, little man.  I’ve something very special in there to give my lady, Mara.”

            Wesley smiled and reached for the bag.  “The ring?” He whispered, leaning toward his father’s friend. 

            “Yes, the ring, very important.  I’m trusting you with this solemn task. Hold tight,” He touched the bag. “To my most precious things.”  The big man stared into the child’s blue-green eyes, then winked and smiled with his crooked grin. 

“I promise.” The boy smiled back, hugging the bag.

            Anton guided the boys to Broxton, an elderly tailor from the village.  He looked again to the north shore.  The ferry was creeping along at a snail’s pace.  The wind seemed to bear down, pulling and grasping at the boxy craft.  The current pounded the creaking wood and the blackening sky loomed heavy over their heads. Geremiah and another man were already tossing bags of seed into the now raging river. “Better my seed-corn than my family,” grunted the farmer glancing back at his worried wife and two young daughters. He had to shout over the roar of the ever increasing gale. The huddled passengers were mostly silent except for murmurs of concern and a few fitful children. They all tried to ignore the chilly water washing over their feet when the waves broke over the sides. Now near the middle of the river, the current beat the ferry and it shook more violently as it crept along. 

            Anton helped Geremiah as he strained against a large beer barrel. A stonemason by trade, Anton was tall and lean with corded muscular arms. His seemingly thin frame hid great strength. Putting their backs against it, the two shoved the huge barrel overboard. The rain began coming down in fat frigid drops but they continued, throwing barrels of whiskey and flour. The storm gained momentum. The wind howled like an angry beast attacking its prey. The gray waters pummeled the ferry. The terrified passengers clung to one another and clutched their belongings as if to protect them from the river's icy grasp.

            Suddenly, the ropes propelling the ferry along groaned against the pull of the chilly waters and snapped, taking one of the ferrymen with them into the swirling current. His body was sucked under the turbulent waters before he could cry out. The ferry bobbed dangerously and began to spin downriver. Women and children screamed as water poured over the side. The timbers holding the rope mechanism splintered and ripped free, falling into the water and dragging with it, the farmer and his entire family. His yellow-haired daughters were both entangled in the thick ropes still clutching their new straw hats with pink ribbons.  Amid the chaos, Geremiah pried the lid off of a small flour barrel with his hunting knife and quickly dumped its’ contents. A knowing look passed between the two friends.

            “Wesley” was all Anton said. Geremiah grabbed for the child as the ferry rocked and spun out of control. Still clutching the saddlebag, Wesley stared bewildered into the big man’s kind face. Geremiah slipped his knife into the bag Wesley held and lifted the tiny boy into the barrel.  Anton yelled over the din of screams and cries of the passengers scrambling to cling to the out of control ferry, “Don’t fear my son.  Be brave.” Together the men pounded the lid back on the barrel.  “Always take care of your mother.” Anton continued.  “Don’t be afraid!”  Steadying themselves and pausing for just the right moment, Anton and Geremiah heaved the barrel with tremendous force toward the north shore. Geremiah held his hand aloft as if willing the barrel toward the land. “Drifan.” His whisper was lost in the gale.  The tiny barrel and its precious contents sailed northward over the turbulent waves.

The current smacked the ferry again and a torrent of icy water washed over taking several more passengers with it. Anton made a grab for Broxton but the old man’s arm slid through his wet hands and he was dragged over the side.  “The rocks!” someone shouted. Geremiah grasped Benji around the waist just as the ferry was jolted, smashing into the first of the boulders jutting from the frigid swells. Geremiah’s broad back crashed through the railing and both went over into the cold gray surge.  The remnants of the ferry spun again exploding into splinters on the rocks. Shouts of alarm sounded on the shore but already little was left, save debris swirling in the current and drifting toward the land; a plank of wood, a straw hat with pink ribbons, a small flour barrel bouncing off the rocks along the bank and several lifeless bodies.

            Still, the seasons turned and turned and turned again.