A Witch and her Dragon 001

 Chapter One

    Outside a tavern in a small village called Midland sat a poor beggar man of quite an old age. Accepting coins from whoever gave him pity, but other than that, he kept to himself. The town folk didn’t know what else to do with the silent man and mostly ignored his stench.

    It was a rainy day when the town’s witch came to the tavern. Dressed in her usually muted garb, she looked nothing like the old crone she should have been. There had to be a primordial power keeping her look youthful, for the old man had not seen her age since he was young. He didn’t know why she ventured this far from her cottage; she was not known to converse with many people in the village besides those who sought her out for healings or potions.

    It was not a few minutes later that she stepped back outside, her feet covered in blood, holding the same black dagger the Master’s son had been sporting just a few days prior. The old man looked at the witch when she paused at his spot. The smell of magic was strong, and where the whites of her eyes should have been were black. She seemed too powerful at that moment, and then she blinked. Instantly, the color returned to her skin, and the magic faded. The witch shook herself as if she still felt the magic holding her. The beggar stood still, unsure if he would become her next target. But the witch only reached into her pocket and pulled a single gold coin. Dropping it into his hand, she left without another word.

    When Roric the Drunk inherited the ancient dagger, Sabel warned him, the same warning she had issued to his father and forefathers. The black dagger, created from the infinite powers of the gods, was not to be abused. 

    And then Roric went and used it on a tavern wench.

    Poor girl - Sabel had arrived too late to administer aid to the young woman. Her wounds were too grave, and the dark power of the dagger had ensured that any healing potion Sabel would have given would have done nothing to help. 

    Sabel felt her anger take over when she felt the betrayal of the vow. She didn’t remember much beyond the red haze. She had blinked and was covered in mortal blood, standing before the beggar man, Alden. He had been a sweet, precocious boy who had been dealt a hard life. Sparing him a gold coin, she returned to her cottage, holding the Black Dagger in her hands again. She hated the evil magic that pulsed from it, having been corrupted by greed over the years. 

    Sabel had tasked herself years ago to watch over the dagger, having been uncovered by a simple farmer a century ago. No one but she knew the true origins of the dagger; her coven had libraries filled with books documenting each relic left behind by the old gods. The dagger was powerful and evil - and anyone who held it was granted strength and willpower unlike anything else. It corrupted the wielder’s mind and soul - something the Dark God Gannuk had wanted when battling against the Gods.

    Mynara was her patron goddess to whom she had tied her soul. Granting her immortal life, she dedicated her days to protecting the realm that Mynara had created. And now there was a new threat to eliminate: those who sought to own the evil power of the Ebony Dagger. 

    Sabel sighed deeply as she toed off her blood-covered boots. The fire in the hearth was still intense, warming her back up. Channeling dark magic always left her drained and cold after, but she pushed on - putting together her supplies to create a memory spell to ensure the village wouldn’t remember the bloody rampage in the tavern. The last thing she needed was a riot outside her door. 

    So engrossed in her search for the last of her thistle, she didn’t see the dark figure leaning against the only chair in the room. Upon finally catching sight of the shadowed figure, Sabel let out a scream. Instantly, the figure came into view. Grabbing Sabel and covering her mouth with a clawed hand. Gold eyes peered at her, and Sabel instantly knew who she was looking at.

    Azrael, the Last of the Onyx Dragon Clan.

    “Hello, little flame.”

    Twenty-five years, to be exact. Sabel tried to break free of his hold, but he held firm. There was no hiding the power behind the carefree air that the dragon shifter put on; it was a mask to cover up the real man that lurked beneath the golden facade. She felt his arm move down and knew the moment when he felt the dagger at her hip.

    “Now, what is my little flame doing with this?” He said, unsheathing the Ebony Blade, holding it up in the light from the fire. “How curious; I come down from my mountain to pay my little witch a call, only to find blood on her precious boots and a very dangerous relic on her hip.” The hand covering her mouth moved down her throat, the edge of his claws pressing into the thin skin.

    “Not your witch, dragon. Now let go.”

    Azrael allows her to step away and puts on a fake pout at her words.

    “Don’t be so glum, my darling - I have been very patient these past decades. You are lucky I haven’t razed this little backwater village to the ground when you refused to come back home.”

    “Ah yes—thank you so kindly for letting me live my life. What do you want, Azrael? You said so yourself; you didn’t meddle in the affairs of the Gods and their covens.”

    With the Ebony Blade still in his hands, he returned to the only chair near the hearth. His body looked too large, too out of place in her little cottage. He leaned back, looking casual as he crossed his legs at his ankles. Sabel stayed locked in place, not trusting the dragon’s words. Years ago, he had lulled her into a false sense of comfort when she was younger and more naive. She thought the connection they shared would open his heart so she would finally be eased of the unending loneliness of immortality. Instead, she was locked away in his castle and his endless treasures. 

    Mynara help her; she did not know why she was forced to share a life bond with the arrogant beast.

    “I’ve come all this way to see you, and you can’t even pretend to be happy to see your mate.” Azrael had the nerve to look almost downtrodden.

    “If I remember correctly, you fool, you threatened my life and then locked me in your castle.” She spat back at him, feeling that familiar anger that always came up when she thought about him. He looked amused at her little insult and uncrossed his legs, sitting more upright. “Besides, it is obvious that you came for the Blade. I have a more pressing matter to take care of right now. Take the Blade and leave.”

    “Our memories of your time in my mountain differ immensely. I remember that I offered you a choice of who to be loyal to, and you chose your Goddess. But I can spot you this one favor, darling. I can hear the cries of the townsfolk from here. Let me take care of them for you.”

    “Enough. I know deals with you always end up with the other party at your mercy; it’s not a position I want to be in. I can handle the townsfolk; I am casting the spell now.”

    “Always so defiant, darling. Very well, have it your way.”

    Sabel closed her eyes in prayer and set all her ingredients on her conjuring tablet. A small rectangle, powered by her magic, levels out the scaling of magic. It was more challenging as a witch; the magic didn’t come freely like other magical beings. Azrael could kill the town with a flick of a wrist and keep the balance, but if Sabel tried to dry her clothes with a spell, she could find all sorts of mishaps if she didn’t take a precaution.

    She heard a snort from the dragon in his corner. She knew how he felt about the wisdom of scaling. He had once told her to lose control and let her magic be, but she knew that her magic was different. She needed the structure for it to work.

    She felt the pulse of her magic spread out, hoping the scales would be tipped in her favor. The spell was simple and mind-numbing, causing the townsfolk to forget the past few hours and be confused about why they were congregating on the road.

    She held her breath as she waited. If it didn’t work, the yelling would get louder and closer. After a few moments, it seemed like it worked, and Sabel let out the tension in her body. It was always a relief when her spell worked as intended.

    “I recall you using the same spell on my steward, only to end up with all his hair falling out. You know you left the poor man bald for a decade, quite regrettable.” He seemed amused at her magical folly.

    “The man had to be in his fifties, well past his prime, and hair loss is common amongst men of his age,” Sabel replied, trying to stop the blush of embarrassment. She had only tried to get his nosy steward to forget her escape plans. It had almost immediately backfired in her face. 

    She put her supplies back on her little shelf, feeling more tired now that the evening was over. There was still the pressing issue of the blade, and Roric’s body was left at the tavern to deal with. The spell she cast was only temporary, and she knew her time here in Midland was over.

    “Balding men aside, we have much to catch up on, my darling. For one, I would like to know why you have this forsaken bloody dagger; I thought I got rid of this ages ago- and what did you do to have half of this village after your pretty little throat.” Azrael held the Blade up to the light, inspecting the ancient sigils carved in the hilt. In his human form, you could barely tell he was a shifter. But if the light hit him just right, you could see the scales along his forearms. He was dressed rather informally in a wool tunic and braises, and Sabel just noticed he didn’t wear any shoes.  His almost rumpled appearance said that he had been asleep not too long ago.

    “None of your concern, dragon. Just give me the dagger, and you can fly back up to your mountain, counting your horde of gold. I have to deal with the drunk’s body back in the tavern, and then I will figure the rest out tomorrow.” She held her hand to him, anticipating that he would cause another argument, but she assumed wrong.

    At her clear send-off, Az’s carefree and bored facade faded. His hand gripped the blade tighter, and he stood up. She ignored the way the room seemed to shrink in his presence. She stood straighter, preparing for a fight. She remembered what it was like to argue with this dragon once he had decided - there was no backing down. Dragons were a stubborn lot.

    But he said nothing. His gold eyebrows were pressed down in what looked like concern, but he only held out the dagger to her. Sabel cast him a curious look. He usually put up more of a fight regarding her wants. She took it, trying not to react to the zing of magic against her skin.

    The Ebony Blade needed to be cleansed and then destroyed. It was a plight against the world, and she didn’t want to dream about the chaos it would cause if it fell into another mortal’s hands. She didn’t want to think about it now as the events of the evening bore down on her. Her eyelids were heavy, and her body was stiff with fatigue. She just wanted to lay in bed and deal with the rest of the world come morning.

    The dragon was silent, regarding her with a placid look. A flick of his wrist cleansed her body of the remnants of Roric’s blood, and her wool dress was replaced with her sleeping shift. She was so tired she didn’t even care about the immodesty of it all - dragons weren’t one to adhere to society’s rules of proper attire.

    He walked to her door, frowning at the rusty bolt she used as a lock, but made no comments. Sabel had no more energy for a debate anyway. 

    “I will leave you to sleep then, flame.” 

    “Goodbye, dragon.”