Issue # 57- A Shattered Clasp

A Shattered Clasp

*~~~~~*

“Finally you do something of honor,” Morthas comments walking towards his son.

“As long as you swear on the dark one that they leave here unharmed, my heart shall be yours to carry with you back to the peerage,” Mikel states, his lashes on his high cheeks.

“I have no use for refuse such as their kind. The pact you offer is acceptable.”

The Guardian nods once, blocking out the muffled cries of his witchling and the deep growls of the bestial. If only he could trust in his father`s promise. Sadly he finds he cannot and he lifts his head to peer upwards at the man who had given him only his name and his scorn for centuries. Over the sorcerer`s ratty velveteen shoulder comes a blur of onyx on silent wings.

Dante entangles his claws in the wild, filthy hair of Morthas. His sharp beak dives soundly into the man`s skull. Mikel rolls to the left as his sire cries out in shock and pain. Ephra and Gallo fall to the shifting scarlet sands as Mikel palms the Glock and comes out of the roll on his back.

Sand and wind scour the courtyard as the handgun is hefted with hands that sadly do not shake. Shouts are wound in the dervish of a stilled moment as the trigger is pulled. Dante takes to the air, a clump of bloody hair in his shining beak.

The sorcerer`s head explodes. Mikel listens to the steady click of an empty chamber. He rolls his head to find the witchling`s wee hands illuminated with pulsing violet light. Sapphire eyes with sodden lashes meet his.

“I couldn`t let you carry that with you Mikel,” Ephra coughs as the magic sputters out upon her ringed fingers. What she had just done for him, it would cause her to be excommunicated from her coven. Her kind did not kill.

He comes to his boots in a stupor of sorts as his familiar settles atop the keep`s wall, the tuft of silver and black hair released into the churning gusts. Mikel pads over to the wildly shaking woman and gathers her tiny frame into his chest.

“And to think we`re looked down upon. At least WE do not turn on our own offspring,” Gallo mutters stalking over to nudge the body with the tip of his boot. He would pass on feasting on this one. His blood was tainted with insanity.

“Ephra, what you just did….Witchling it will cost you gravely,” Mikel growls softly into her hair, his lips resting on her head.

“I`d do it again,” she replies unsteadily, her face buried in his vest and her fingers gripping at his leather overcoat.

“You are a woman without equal my witch,” he huffs. He wants to say more to her, the words hover at the tip of his tongue. Dante then caws loudly. Mikel nods. Later he would speak with her.”Come, let us leave this place. Something is amiss with Erick.”