The Conquest of Mytheyr
Chapter 8

“Touching story. My poor girl. Iwould have stayed…”

“Get out of my dreams.” she hissed at Semele.

“No, I don’t think I will. Try all you may, but I always getwhat I deserve… my queen.”

Morgan satup and shook her head. It was not comfortable sleeping on a horse, especiallybareback, and she almost tumbled off. She knew what Semele was doing, as shehad done the same thing to one of her enemies. The dreams keep the mind fromrest, weaken the victim’s concentration, and, in turn, their ability to performmagic goes out the window.

“Karma’s a bitch.” she groaned, looking around to see wherethey were.

The way shefigured it, the caravan would reach the pass they were to take through themountains by noon, and they’d be at the town by tomorrow. Then she’d have tosearch the desert. She didn’t have much to go on, just white hair and darkpurple eyes. So, in other words, thirty percent of all Dark Elves.

“You’dthink that the trees would tell me more.” she muttered, partly to herself andpartly to Caspian, “But they’re… quiet. Too quiet. Not quite like what happenedbefore, when their voices were dying, but… more like they’re too afraid tosing.” Caspian snorted, shaking his mane. “I don’t expect you to be helpful,”Morgan told him, “I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Yehalright, lass?” a voice interrupted her. A male Dark Elf on a brown horse rodeup next to her. It was the same man who had invited her to join his caravan twodays ago.

“I’m alright,” Morgan answered, “just tired.”

“I’ll say you are. Could ‘ear yer troubled mind all lastnight. Not that I tried to, mind you. Not that I’d have to try very hard, if Iwere.”

“I understand. Some elves just hear other’s minds moreeasily, and some minds are just loud. I’m sorry; I completely forgot yourname.” Morgan told him.

“That’s cause I never gave it.” the he said wryly, “Yergonna be up to something, soon as we step into town, I reckon. Do ya want myadvice, miss?”

Morgansighed, peering ahead. It was going to be a long road ahead.

“Sure. It couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ve been ferrying people acrossMytheyr for a hundred years. Not long in the grand scope, but I’ve learned afew things. Word of mouth is the easiest way to get the news, but not the mostreliable. And word of mouth is, the pretender on the throne killed the King’sfamily. Do I believe it? Aye. There’s few other ways he could be callinghisself king. And word of mouth is, a conspiracy is forming, one who wants tomarch on the castle and kill the pretender. Do I believe that? Aye. You hurtsomething someone loves; they’re liable to hurt back. I may consider joiningit, meself. And… word of mouth is that the smaller villages are being swallowedup, disappearing in the night, like theys were never there. Do I believe that?Maybe. What I know is this ein’t no dark time for Mytheyr. We thrive in thedark. Neh, Mytheyr is in for a black age, and soon, it won’t be jus talk, an’people will be dying. That’s why yer here, lass, ain’t it? Keep yer friendsclose at hand to ya. And you’ll replace the people here to be ready allies.They’re angry, ya see. It mightn’t seem so yet, but yeh wait. Soon people willstart taking action, and when they do, it’ll get bloody.”

“I am afraid you’re right. There’s a saying among usDragonkin; human’s machines of war pale when they see the face of infuriatedelves.” Morgan sighed.

“Aye,” the caravan leader laughed, spurring his horse andriding to the front of the line.

By the end of the day, they were agood way into the desert. When they had stopped for the night, Morgan sat inthe sand, a good way away from the others. The pulled up her left sleeve, andunwound the threads of magic that created her glamour. Her skin returned fromgray to its usual paleness, and a long, straight scar appeared on her leftforearm. Morgan rubbed the scar gently. It had been a while since she did thisoutside of Irideth.

Pushing away her thoughts of home, Morganclosed her eyes and allowed her spirit to slip from her body. With a gossamerthread keeping her anchored to herself, she sank through the earth.

It was quiet here. It shouldn’t be.She could see the living threads of magic moving, dancing. She could hearwhispers. But it wasn’t supposed to whisper. It was supposed to sing. Morgantried singing to them, calling the elements’ names. Only one answered.

They were scared. Semele had beencreating strands of black magic, pure, unaltered evil, and the strands had beenkilling and warping their voices. The magic wouldn’t sing, for fear of callingattention to it. Semele meant to kill the magic, and to replace it with hisown.

Morgan heard the Wind tell herthis. She blessed the faithful Wind, who had and would always stay close, justin case it was needed.

“But the Hero… who is he? How will I replace him?”

The Windtold Morgan that he was different. She would feel it, and she would know. Shejust had to keep her senses open.

Morganopened her eyes, returning to her body. Her senses were all on high alert, likethey always were when she went to sing with the magic. It’s really quite hardto explain… she felt the ambient magic, pressing down on her skin. She felt thefear. Morgan knew that the magic of Mytheyr wouldn’t be afraid unless itspeople were. She remembered what the caravan leader had told her.

“So muchfear.” Morgan muttered to herself, getting up and dusting the sand of herclothes. “It’ll boil over.” She rewove the glamour, and went to go replace asemi-comfortable place to sleep.