Killing a Marzalot

Edmund pulled his head out of the attic door just before it would have been removed from his person. With a dab of his white handkerchief, he removed a droplet of sweat from his brow.

“It is most certainly a creature not native to these parts,” Edmund told Mr. Thatcher, the owner of the pristine estate. Four stories tall and covering more than an acre of land, the mansion was the nicest Edmund had ever visited.

Unfortunate that the creatures seemed to flock to these places.

Mr. Thatcher straightened his overcoat. “Well? Can you deduce where it came from?”

Edmund nodded slowly. “Elsewhere.”

Mr. Thatcher rolled his eyes. “I am not paying you for your unbridled wit, Mr. Farley. What I want is a straight answer!”

“Well,” said Edmund, puffing on his pipe, “would you believe me if I told you there is a marzalot from Demendral up there?” The blood in Mr. Thatcher’s face drained away, leaving him a ghostly white. Much like a marzalot itself, Edmund mused.

“Do not speak of that place in my home!” Hissed Mr. Thatcher. “What if he hears you?”

Edmund waved a hand in dismissal. “You needn’t worry. I never start a job without the proper precautions in place. In this case, a muting charm and a—”

“I warned you not to perform your sorcery in my home!”

“Yes, but if I hadn’t, the marzalot would have surely reported back to its master by now.” Mr. Thatcher opened his mouth to speak, but Edmund didn’t give him a chance. “Do you know of any ancient portals in your home, Mr. thatcher?”

“Ancient port…” Mr. Thatcher threw his hands in the air. “This is ridiculous! You know as well as I that those are mere tales, told to naughty children to frighten them into obedience.”

“Tales, yes,” Edmund agreed. “And most certainly true. I’ll tell you what. You leave for the day and when you come back just before dinner, the marzalot will have been dealt with. I insist.”

Edmund’s eyes glowed a fierce brown, intense and deadly. He’d mastered that look during his first year as an apprentice. As it turned out, the look was needed more often than not. Fear of Demendral was one thing; fear of an angry mage? Well, the people in this part of the world needed more experience with magic if they actually thought he would hurt them. Still, a little threatening stares never hurt anyone. Not yet, at least.

Mr. Thatcher was out the door in no time, riding into town on his horse-drawn carriage. The other residents of the manor were out of town on family business, so he would have at least a few hours to weasel the marzalot out of its hiding place and ship it back to where it came from.

“But where did you come from?” He muttered to himself. There had to be a portal nearby. Otherwise, this creature had come from somewhere much farther away, and that worried him.

Unfortunately, time was not on his side, so he used a simple spell to blast the attic door open again and he scurried up the ladder and climbed inside the attic before the hatch clicked shut behind him. Streams of white light poured through the skylight. Why there was a skylight in the attic was anybody’s guess, but at least it provided light. That only increased his chances of survival a tiny percentage. He would have to work quickly.

“Nice day out today, ain’t it?” he called to the shadows as he slowly spun in place. “Care for a walk in the sunlight?”

A soft hiss emerged from one of the darker corners. Edmund smiled and turned to the source of the noise. “The sun won’t hurt you, you know. Not here, at least. Our planet has a strong atmosphere. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

He inched closer, careful to keep his hands to his side. Slowly, a shadow moved in front of Edmund. He stopped his movement and watched as the dark shadow stepped into the light, cautious as a newborn kitten seeing water for the first time.

“That’s it,” Edmond whispered. “You’re doing great.”

The furry face of the marzalot began to take shape. Whiskers on either side of the creature’s face bounced as it stalked forward, sniffing the air as it went. The creature stepped into a beam of light, its front talon sizzled.

“So I was wrong,” muttered Edmund as he dove to the side, narrowly missing a swipe of the creature’s five-pronged talon. Marzalots were generally protected from the sun’s harmful rays on Earth, where the atmosphere was still strong. It was the other planets that they needed to worry about. But, just like people, some marzalots’ allergies manifested more strongly than others.

The creature spun around, its long, barbed tail cracking into Edmund’s chest. He flew backward and landed with a grunt on his back. Stay in the light, he reminded himself.

Edmund sat up, eyes scanning the room for the other-worldly creature. The click-clack of it’s twenty claws—five on each leg—echoed in the dusty attic. Only a few more hours until Mr. Thatcher got back. Time was running short. He needed to act, and act fast. A dying marzalot could produce toxic fumes for at least an hour after it died, sometime some. If Edmund wanted to ensure Mr. Thatcher’s safety—and get paid—the beast would need to die in the next few minutes. 

And die it will.

Before Edmund could do anything, however, the marzalot lunged at him. As it leaped through the rays of light, Edmund saw the creature in its fullness. Black, matted fur slicked back as if it had just run through a waterfall, and four powerful legs, each boasting razor sharp talons. One strike at his unprotected body and Edmund would be a marzalot meal.

Quickly, Edmund flung open the attic door behind where he had fallen and rolled to the side. The marzalot tumbled through the opening and landed with a dusty thud on the landing below. 

So much for keeping it contained, Edmund thought. Now, he’d need to stop thee creature before it could escape. Fortunately, the house was taking in sunlight from the many open windows. It wouldn’t be able to go far.

The marzalot looked up at Edmund and roared its piercing squawk. Then it bounded down the hall.

Cursing, Edmund lowered himself down from the attic and chased the creature. The click-clack of its talons on the hardwood floor helped him stalk his prey. Of course, he only really needed to follow the scratches in the floor and torn rugs to find where the creature was heading.

Taking care as he turned corners, Edmund made his way to the manor’s library. The curtains were closed and no candles flickered. If the door shut behind him, the darkness would be absolute. Edmund removed a picture of a man on a white horse from the wall and propped it up between the door and the doorframe.

That should keep it open.

Cautiously, Edmund creeped inside the library. A blur of movement whipped past his peripherals. He dropped to the floor just as an appendage of razor-sharp talons slashed where he had been standing a moment before.

Edmund rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the marzalot’s spiked tail come crashing down into the floor. Edmund sprung to his feet and launched himself onto the creature’s back, wrapping his arms around its neck and squeezing. The creature bucked and slammed itself into the walls, books spilling out of the shelves.

Ignoring the falling literature, Edmund tightened his grip. A sharp pain formed in his head and all he saw was black for a few moments. But it was enough. The marzalot shook itself free from Edmunds death grip and bounded over the armchair in the corner. All was silent.

The chair wasn’t nearly large enough to hide behind…so where had the marzalot gone? Slowly, Edmund approached the armchair. Peaking behind it, all he saw was the floor and…was something glowing? Edmund reached his hand toward the faint glow of light—almost an aura, a halo, that…

Oh, Edmund realized. Oh no.

From the glowing area floating in the air just behind the armchair came a lightning fast strike of five talons. So the portal was in the manor after all.

“Demendral’s offspring!” Edmund cursed, then slapped his hand over his mouth. His muting charm would keep his words from escaping the walls of the manor…but a portal wasn’t part of the equation.

With a puff of smoke, a dark figure appeared in front of the portal. It stood nearly a handspan taller than Edmund, and it wore a dark cloak, much like that of a dark mage.

Of course it’s a dark mage, Edmund reprimanded himself. Demendral is a dark mage!

“You have treated my pet poorly, human,” said Demendral with a cool tone. “I don’t take kindly to that.”

Demendral pushed back his hood, revealing eyes as black as night. He then wove a spell, intent on eliminating Edmund.

Edmund, however, wove a simple air spell—one that took a short moment—and send it flying toward Demendral. The dark mage staggered backward and became halfway invisible, part of his body now back in the portal.

“Weak,” Demendral taunted. “You think you can beat me with a simple wind charm?”

“No,” Edmund admitted. Then, taking the pipe out of his mouth, he passed it calmly to the other man who caught it with ease. “Care for a puff?”

As soon as Demendral caught it, Edmund kicked the surprised mage more fully into the portal and then snapped his fingers.

A giant explosion erupted, shards of metal and wood flying toward Edmund from the portal, the shrapnel appearing as if from nowhere. Edmund didn’t have time to brace himself before the explosion from within the portal blasted him backward. Books left their resting place and toppled to the ground all around him. 

A moment later, all was silent. Edmund pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his pants and jacket. The armchair was in splinters—some of it on fire—but a quick shove moved the chair to the side. Edmund walked to where the portal had been. Instead of disappearing Fromm his world and moving into the next, he merely reached the wall. Well, what was left of it. A hole twice his size let in the waning daylight. Outside, he saw a figure running toward him.

“What have you done to my home!” roared Mr. Thatcher. 

Edmund let himself grin as Mr. Thatcher ducked inside his home’s newly created entrance. “I am happy to announce that you will no longer have any marzalot infestations. The source has been…dealt with.”

Mr. Thatcher opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, his face grew more and more red with each passing moment.

“The portal was here in your library,” offered Edmund. And, Demendral could certainly hear me through it.”

Mr. Thatcher clenched his fists until they turned white. “I told you never to invoke that name in my home!”

“I can assure you, Mr. Thatcher, that Demendral will no longer be a concern.” Edmund grinned. “I did summon him—quite by accident, I might add—but quickly dispatched him. The portal was destroyed in the process.”

Mr. Thatcher took a long moment to process what he had just heard. After coming to his senses, and seemingly accepting the tale, he asked, “And the marzalot?”

“Dead,” Edmund said with finality. “Or, if not, then trapped in its realm. As I said, Mr. Thatcher, your marzalot problems are gone. Unless you have another portal somewhere in this home.”

“Is that a possibility?” Mr. Thatcher asked, horrified.

“I can’t see why it wouldn’t be,” Edmund answered. “But the odds of having one portal in your home is rare enough. Having another? Well, you’d be better off betting on a crippled horse to win the race with those odds.”

That seemed to console Mr. Thatcher enough, as the color slowly filled his face once more. “I suppose I should thank you, not berate you.” He pulled out a black, leather wallet from his pocked. “I suppose you would also like to be paid.”

“You are most astute, good sir.” Edmund smiled. 

Mr. Thatcher handed Edmund a large pouch of jingling coins. “That should do it. The agreed upon price.”

“I am most grateful for your business,” said Edmund. He looked at the sky. It would be dark soon; he needed to be on his way to his next appointment. “You have been a wonderful host. And…” He glanced around the room. “I apologize for the damages.”

“So long as I never have another marzalot stalking my halls,” Mr. Thatcher said, “I suppose I can handle a bit of collateral damage.”

“Generous indeed,” Edmund said. “And if you ever have any more ethereal issues, you know how to get ahold of me. Good day, Mr. Thatcher.”

Without another word, Edmund walked through the blown out wall and out into the growing dusk. He always felt bad about destroying perfectly decent homes, but a rouge marzalot was not a thing to take lightly. Plus, he had destroyed Demendral. That had to be worth a fortune in itself! Too bad he hadn’t included that in the contract.

“I’ll have to fix it for next time,” he said to himself. “Just in case.”

Besides, he mused, that was just Demendral. With dozens of new portals popping up daily, more dark mages were bound to appear and wreak havoc on the land. Fortunately, he was the only expert in the matter in the region. It was a shame the portals were opening and letting in vicious creatures and wicked mages, but at least he’d be able to work full time again.

But before then, he’d need to invest in a new pipe.