The Conquest of Mytheyr
Chapter 12

Vath stood at the back of thehouse, throwing knives at a wooden target. He didn’t remember hearing anystories about the Great Lady Morgan. She didn’t look like much of a Great Lady.His father always said they were powerful, graceful, and… they all had enduredsome great tragedy. Come to think of it, Vath had actually heard very little ofthe Dragonkin Elves in general. They weren’t all that important in Mytheyr’shistory, and their stories were not very popular in his town. Still, he feltthere was something important he was forgetting…

“Hey,” Morgan’s voice came softlyfrom behind him. Vath turned and stared a bit. Before, she had been wearing thesame tan, loose linen everyone in the desert wore, but now she had changed intogarb she was obviously more familiar with. Her black, high-collared sleevelesstunic and leggings framed every muscle that made up her powerful, lithe body.When Vath had first met her, she had been covered in sand and sweat but now shewas scrubbed almost pink, and her thick hair had been done into a ropelikebraid. Her wings were uncovered, and the light shone through the aquamarinemembrane like stained glass, dancing off the metallic purple flecks withinthem. Vath could almost make out the legendary scar on her left forearm, whichhung loosely by her side, her right arm hidden from view by a dark gray cloakdraped over it. Morgan noticed him trying to get a glimpse, so she showed it tohim, turning her arm to reveal her inside forearm. A long, straight scar ranthe length of it, starting a little below her elbow and nearly reaching herwrist.

“Do all Dragonkin have that samescar?” Vath asked curiously.

“Yep,” Morgan affirmed, “it’s a badge of honor, andsometimes one of identification.” Their conversation died before it was born asthe male Dark Elf from before came to speak to them.

“Come to my house,” he told them, “I will answer yourquestions, and you will answer mine.”

It was ahumble house. Like the others, it was built of wood and adobe. They enteredinto the central room, which had three doorways leading out of it, not countingthe one Morgan and Vath knew led outside. The packed dirt floor was coveredwith an assortment of colorful woven rugs, with cushions scattered about. TheDark Elf sat on a cushion by an empty fire pit in the middle of the room,motioning for Morgan and Vath to do the same. They each retrieved a pillow andtook a place around the pit.

“Forgive mefor not introducing myself before. My name is Teren.” the Dark Elf began, “I amthe head of this village. And you are the Great Lady Morgan Silversword.”

“Great Lady means nothing,” Morgan said, her voicecongenial, “It’s just a title given to certain women by storytellers. The onlyone who lives up to the descriptions is Lady Drie-El, and that’s because all SylvianElves are like that.”

“Forgive me,” Teren said, not looking sorry at all, “But itseems a fitting title, if I may be so bold.”

“You don’t have to be so formal.” Morgan said, blushing atiny bit, “Just Morgan will do.”

Terensmiled good-naturedly and turned to Vath.

“Burntbush, you said? I thought they had all died.”

“My mother and father, yes.” Vath said quietly, “It’s justme and a few uncles left.”

Terenstood, and went to fetch something from another room. When he returned, hecarried a rectangle piece of wood in his hands, ten by five inches and a halfinch thick. He sat once again by the empty fire pit, and showed them thecarving in the wood’s surface.

The carvingwas beautifully done. It was an image of an elf with a brooding expression,looking at something off to the side of the viewer. His hair was swept to oneside so it ran down his shoulder, but it was carefully done so that the hairdid not hide the medallion the elf wore, which was small and circular, and borea crest of a withered tree, being struck by a lighting bolt.

“This is my son,” Teren said, “He died a week ago. He wasyoung, just getting used to manhood at one hundred and fifty years.”

“I’m sorry.” Morgan said, looking sadly at the image. Shefound herself wondering what he had been like. Before she got far in hermusing, however, Teren spoke again.

“Thank you.” he took a moment to compose himself. “He died aweek ago, and returned four days ago. He was among those you fought today. I…don’t know how they died. They were all warriors from our village, and we foundtheir bodies without a scratch on them. We brought them home to be mourned,and… they woke up.” He abruptly stopped speaking.

Morganlooked at Teren empathetically. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like, foryour child to die, but then to return before your eyes, as something else. Shedidn’t want to press him, but she needed the information.

“Where did you replace them?” she asked. She layered a littlemagic into her voice, a gift the female Dragonkin have to clear darkness out ofthe hearts of men. This was the first time Morgan used it on an elf, and not ahuman.

It seemedto work, as Teren’s heart returned.

“About a mile north-east of here. Their weapons were intheir hands, and their bodies were scattered about, but they lay no more thenten feet from each other, at the farthest.”

“I only have one more question, Teren.” Morgan said, hervoice soft. “What did they do when they woke up?”

“They said… that they were our guards. That they wouldenforce law for King Semele.”

Morganhissed under her breath. She swore to herself that Semele would pay for thepain he had caused.

“What do you intend to do?” Teren asked her.

“We’re raising an army. My lieutenant is in the northforests now, recruiting. We mean to meet with her.”

“Then I would ask you,” Teren said somberly, “We have twentysix men and women who wish to fight, myself included. We would be glad to joinyour army.” Morgan nodded, and looked to Vath.

“You don’t mind if they travel with us?” she asked.

Vath wasstunned. He had been feeling as if he were just along for the ride, that he wasonly there because he might be useful, because of some prophecy. But herealized that that wasn’t what Morgan intended at all.

“Um… sure. They can come.” He answered, not knowing whatelse to say. Morgan smiled, and nodded.

“I need to send a message toRaven.” Morgan said, standing up and dusting off her leggings. “We can leavetomorrow. Have your people ready.” Vath looked back at her as she went out thefront door.

“I recognize that look.” Teren chuckled.

“What look?” asked Vath.

“Oh, it’s a look young men sometimes get.” Without furtherexplanation, Teren left Vath alone with his thoughts.

Outside,Morgan had little trouble convincing a passing crow to carry a letter. Mischief managed, she wrote on a scrapof paper. She handed it to the crow, which took it in his beak and shook out hiswings, taking off into the cloudless, impossibly blue sky.