The Conquest of Mytheyr

Vath had woken up in a foul mood. He had slept with a rock in his back, and it was still sore. His horse, Bas, had been extremely… animated today. Even now, Bas wouldn’t even walk in a straight line.

“What is up with you?” Vath said irritably. Bas was older then he was, as it was his father’s horse before he belonged to Vath. And in all that time, Bas had never acted like this before, as least not that Vath knew.

“Steady!” Vath exclaimed, almost falling off as Bas suddenly reared, swinging his head and whinnying. “Bas!”

“You are the strangest nobody I have ever seen in my life.” an unknown female voice said behind him. Vath twisted around, catching sight of an elf on a dark bay pegasus.

“Steady!” he said firmly, trying to get control of Bas so he could get a good look at her. She didn’t look like a full Dark Elf, what with her smaller ears and blue eyes. Maybe she was a half-elf, left over from before the plagues wiped the humans out.

“I mean, look at you!” she continued. “A Canteior and a Merax. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke… or of a great story.” Vath was unsure if he was being insulted or not. Either way, he took it badly.

“Who do you think you are?” Vath demanded. “You know what, I don’t care. Just stay away from me.” He tried to gallop off, but now Bas wouldn’t move. “Bas, what is wrong with you?” Vath said, exasperated.

“He’s a Merax. He knows what’s going on, and I’m pretty sure he’s telling you to listen.” the girl said, smiling infuriatingly.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. Just leave me alone! Come on, Bas!”

“Even if it has to do with the murdered king?” the girl asked, cocking her head to the side.

“I’ll not be drafted or guilt tripped into any conspiracy. Goodbye.” Vath jumped off Bas and started walking, expecting the horse to either follow or catch up with him later. Instead, Bas trotted in front of Vath and blocked his way. He tried to go around, but Bas blocked him again. “Dumb horse!” he exclaimed, pushing him, to little effect.

“Are you always in such a pissy mood?” the girl asked, sliding off her pegasus and approaching Vath. “Look, the guy who killed the royals is no ordinary elf. He’s full of black magic, and, on top of that, he has gotten a hold of Blood Iron.” That got Vath’s attention.

“Blood Iron? I though that was a myth. And… An elf… using black magic?” he said doubtfully. “How do you know?” he added, almost accusingly, as if he expected to catch her in a lie.

“I’ve seen him. Fought him. Well, I didn’t actually fight him. Just mentally.” she tilted her head at him. “Look, I need you. The world needs you. I know this is very…. um… strange thing to ask… Well, you hear things, don’t you? Not like what a normal elf hears. A normal elf hears the voices of the wind, or of the trees. But you can’t, even if you tried. You hear something else, right?”

“How… how do you know that? Who told you?” Vath demanded, his posture changing as if he expected her to suddenly lunge at him.

“No one told me. I’ve met someone else like you before, and you feel like him. Both you and he hear the voices of the dead, but not like ghosts. You hear memories of them. You hear them as the magic remembers them. People like you are called a Canteior. It’s Gaelic for speaker, I think.”

“I do hear them.” Vath said slowly, unsure of how quickly this was happening, “And you’re the first one who’s been able to tell exactly what it was. What does… it… have to do with the royals?”

“I told you, this elf has both black magic and Blood Iron.”

“And that means?”

The girl sighed and plopped down in the sand.

“Magic is composed of emotion. That emotion is usually evoked with music, or memories. That’s why Elves have exaggerated feelings when compared to humans. Black magic, it’s… unnatural. Like… Have you ever met a human psychopath? A creature with twisted feelings… it’s frightening. And this elf… his name is Semele, if I didn’t say so… well, black magic does… things to its host. If it can’t destroy them, it takes their emotions and warps them, and sometimes you can’t even tell what they were originally. As to how that pertains to you, you have a different sort of magic. It’s not elemental, like the magic other elves use. Like I use. It’s…. something different. It is affected by emotion, but not governed by it. Blood Iron can’t affect that magic, since the metal is cursed by dragon’s blood, and dragons can’t use that sort of magic.”

Vath sat down in front of her, processing. His head was spinning. Finally, he was given a slight idea of his power, but he still wanted to know more. A fleeting thought crossed his mind; did this have anything to do with his mother? He brushed it away hurridly.

“You’re telling me that this magic… not even the dragons can use it?” he said, wondrously.

“Nope. Not at all.” she replied. “It’s entirely different from any magic we know. I only know what I learned from the prince of Zore, and, believe me, that’s not much.”

“Zore?” Vath asked, getting more interested by the second, “I’ve heard stories about it, but I didn’t think it really existed. Who are you, then? Not a half elf from this country, if you know these things.”

Morgan smiled. How to introduce herself this time? She knew he was probably already overwhelmed with information, so she decided to break it semi-slowly. She broke the threads of her glamour, returning her skin to its normal color. She pulled up her left sleeve, unveiling a long, slender scar running the length of her forearm.

“I am Morgan Silversword, of the Dragonkin of Irideth.” she said, looking into his eyes, as was considered polite.

“Uh…” Vath said, stareing at the scar, not returning her gaze, “Sure. Why not. Oh!” he remembered it was terribly rude to not answer her introduction. “My name is Vath. Vath Burntbush.”

Morgan stood and held her hand out.

“Well, Vath Burntbush, will you help me save your world? Like in an old legend.”

“I don’t care about any story.” Vath told her, grabbing her wrist, “But it’s stupid to try to dodge fate.” Morgan hauled him up, meeting his eyes again. There was a lonely soul behind them, but not one hardened by pain. The world hadn’t done much to him yet. Nut that was about to change.

“We have to rendezvous with my lieutenant and whatever army she’s mustered up.” Morgan told him, swinging up onto Caspian, “And collect whoever we can along the way.”