THE BLADE OF EARTH

The Blade of Earth
Northern Scotland, Hebridies Islands, Eilean Mor.

The heavily cloaked man walked somewhat slowly up the hill to the only shelter on the rock he had ensconced himself on. Eilean Mor was a lighthouse and little else. He had paid handsomely for a small room in the miniature keep which was once the northern watchtower for a barbarous highland clan that had long abandoned it for its too remote location. Now owned and operated by a knight from the Hebrides, it served to usher safely in the ships which brought commerce and goods to his shores. Cold, unforgiving wind blew almost constantly and the grey, treacherous northern sea made it almost inaccessible. It was literally the edge of the world and the Mage felt he could keep his appointed charge securely enough in his remote hiding place.

A war had been waged and lost in Tuscany some months before, and he and seven of his brother Mages had been sent in a pact, to keep safe the sacred ceremonial knives of their order. Their order, he hissed bitterly under his breath. Their order had all but been destroyed…by one individual. One lone female who if she still lived, they all vowed would die when they were strong and united again. The book of power was gone, swept away by the black skinned mercenaries hired by the Nemian steward. Marcus, the leader of their order was dead and truth be told, it was neither unexpected nor entirely grievous for his lust for power had been part of what brought them to their current state. The lesser brothers of their order were scattered now and few. But there were enough of them to rebuild and exact revenge on the one who brought their order low. He and the seven remaining elders held the keys to their survival.

The eight blades would serve to generate their connection with the natural energies and powers…but they would require the eight accompanying books for the readings of the spells. The red headed demon had taken those first, sold the off to the highest bidder for the price of their fine, jewel studded covers. She had given no thought to what the pages contained. But they had had spies watching the places she frequented…though they had learned early on to keep them from engaging her. She had an uncanny sense of knowing when she was being tracked, and when confronted, attacked with animal-like viciousness and gave no mercy. They had to be content with simply watching her from a distance, making note of the rabble she sold her stolen goods to. Eventually they had recovered most of the discarded pages from their stolen tomes. They needed only a few rewrites of the missing pages, and of course new bindings had to be made. It would take time to restore the books to their former condition. The exact type of gems and cover materials had to be procured and at great expense. Until the work was done, the knives were too tempting a target…and the decision was made to separate them to the four corners of the world if need be, to keep them from being taken.

Pushing the lighthouse door closed he turned to find the room empty, though a fire was burning and a meal ready on the table. He sat down at the table examining the bowl of fish chowder waiting for him. It wasn't a feast, but it was warm and filling and it was small trouble to endure until he could join the others once again at their keep. He wondered what the lighthouse keeper could have gone off to the island for this time. It was not unusual for him to leave him supper and go off to find a pub or a game of chance. He always came back to light up the huge lantern however, so he had no doubt he’d be returning soon. He picked up a spoon and took a bite of chowder then shifted a bit, wincing. Pulling his robe aside he took out the leather pouch that was ever upon his person, concealed at all times, except rare moments like this. He opened the bag and pulled out a leather roll. Slowly he unrolled the leather and cast his eyes upon the ornate blade. Its gemstones were rare yellow sapphires, encircled with inlaid amber. The hilt was covered in fine gold; the runes etched upon its hardened silver blade simply read “earth.” It accompanied the tome of earth….and it was his charge to keep it safe. He replaced the blade and the pouch to the safety of his robes and continued with his meal.

From the rocks below, a small petite figure had stayed crouched and watched the Mage as he'd made his way into the lighthouse. A grey hood that concealed a thick fall of fiery red hair matched the grey robe she wore to cover her black leathers, and made her seem a part of the rocky shoreline. Cold as ice but the color of the warm Caribbean Sea, aqua blue eyes regarded him with anger, hatred and avarice. When the door closed she stood and walked slowly, silently up the hill, continually scanning the area ahead of her. She made no noise as she walked up to the door of the lighthouse. The small window in the door afforded her a view of the room and her target. He was faced away from her, hunched over a bowl of soup or stew. Her eyes narrowed as she removed the hood and then the robe, pulled a dagger from its sheathe and then quietly opened the door. The Mage did not turn, even at the icy wind at his back, too busy shoveling down his meal to look behind him. "You're back early" he said, thinking it was the lighthouse keeper come back from the main Island. As he spoke, he didn't hear her move directly behind him.

Suddenly the Mage realized that all was not right as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Even before his thought to grab a knife from the table started from his brain to his hands she whispered in a soft and evil voice, "Too late."
She plunged her dagger deftly between the ribs on his right side, piercing his liver. Keeping it buried to the hilt to keep him from bleeding out, she put a choking arm around his neck; he shrieked with no one to hear him.
The woman twisted the knife just slightly and hissed as the Mage shrieked again, "The blade, take it out, slowly, or I'll gut you like a fish and find it myself."
He did as he was told, there was no use in fighting. He placed the leather pouch on the table.

"Unroll it." She instructed. He did. After examining it from over his shoulder she leaned her cheek against his, twisted the knife just slightly again and whispered almost seductively, "Very good, now roll it back up and hand it over your shoulder."
Again the Mage did as instructed and after the woman tucked the roll into her belt she pulled him to his feet. "You won't like what I do to you if you fight me." Keeping her dagger in place between his ribs, she moved him out the door, pulling him as he limped and stumbled along. Dizzy and already feeling the loss of blood, she ignored his moans and pushed him to her small boat hidden among the rocks. "In we go" she ordered, climbing in with him. After tying his hands and gagging him, she made him lie down on the bottom of the boat, she rowed them back to the main Island.

Pulling the boat onto the strand, she pulled him out again, along with another length of rope. Leading him away from the water and towards the rocky barrier to the seaweed riddled beach, she looked over her shoulder and smirked as the lighthouse keeper grunted and groaned, rowing his way back to the island. As she pushed him ahead of her and he stumbled along, falling a few times, he could feel his strength waning away even more, the blood seeping past the plug of her blade continually ran down the side of his body. Finally as they crested the rocky rise his eyes widened as he saw what looked like a freshly dug grave, a shovel and mound of dirt next to it. He tried to back up, but was thrust forward without ceremony into the hole. The woman jumped down into it with him, retrieving her dagger from his side and pulling the other piece of rope from her pouch she tied his legs tightly together and climbed out. He struggled to speak through his gag but to no avail. The woman looked down at him and pulling out the ornate dagger she held it up for him to see. "Earth. You tried to protect it, you failed. Now earth will take it's revenge, as I do mine." She rolled the dagger back into the leather and pouch and grabbing the shovel, began filling in the dirt. With what little life was left to him the Mage begged an pleaded but his cries fell on deaf ears. When she was done she turned, ignoring the faint moans coming from the grave and headed back to the strand and her boat. The Mage would die of asphyxiation or blood loss within minutes, she didn't care which, and with the roar of the surf, no one would hear him in the mean time. As she reached the water's edge, she looked back and forth and seeing no one, she threw the shovel far out into the surf. Hopping back into the boat she headed for the main Island and a ship to England. From there it would be on to the next blade, and the next chapter of her vengeance.