The Conquest of Mytheyr

“So what exactly is so special about a dragon’s magic?” Vath said, just the latest in his long stream of questions. Several elves were listening into their conversation, as many had the same questions. Morgan had barely had time to eat anything, but she didn’t mind. She held up a finger and finished her mouthful of bread before answering.

“Okay,” she said, swallowing, “You know how Light magic feeds off emotions like joy and love, and Dark magic feeds off things like anger and sadness. Then there’s the elemental magicks, Fire, Water, Earth and Air. Well, dragon magic, which we call Silver magic, is all of those things. Instead of feeding from one aspect, it comes from the entire being, which is why it’s so powerful. It allows us to do things that other Elf species can’t.

“Like dragon riding?” an elf jumped in. Vath resisted the urge to glare at them by taking a sudden interest in his food. He wished he had taken the chance to talk to Morgan like this while they were alone, but he had forgotten about it while trying to master his shot.

“Technically, anyone can ride a dragon.” Morgan said, “But the dragon blood we have creates a bond, a sort of mental link. When that link is… activated, I guess, we can hear each others thoughts and… utilize each other’s senses. Like, I’ll know if my dragon smells blood, or sees an imp. Our hearts literally beat in sync when that happens, and your senses elevate until they match theirs. That’s why fighting on dragonback is our thing.”

Vath did get various opportunities to talk to Morgan, and he made the most of them, asking as many questions as he could. He didn’t realize, however, that Morgan was taking equal opportunity to learn about him. Though she hadn’t asked anything yet, she paid attention to what he asked and how he asked it. She observed his posture and expressions, and could now reliably predict his reaction to her answers. She had a good idea of his interests, and even an outline of his ideals. She saw him as a blank canvas; life had yet to shape him into a man. The death of his father and family had affected him, but it had not shaped him, yet, at least. Though she made all these observations, his interest in her was not lost to Morgan.

Morgan fell asleep still considering these observations. She did not dream.

She should have known that was a bad sign.

“Ninety?” Morgan exclaimed in disbelief.

“Ninety Dark Elves, all able and wishing to avenge our king.” Asa confirmed.

“We are glad to have you join us. Some of my people have already befriended yours.” Teren said, a laugh of joy in his voice. He thought the differences between the forest and desert elves would be greater, but, he supposed, they were bound by blood and loyalty.

“Ninety!” Morgan muttered to herself. “I didn’t think that many lived in this village!”

Their numbers now increased to one hundred sixteen, they made good time, and Morgan hoped to reach the Rimcenter wood and Raven in a week. The weather was perfect, bright sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees, not a cloud to be seen. The elves were chatting, comparing ways of life, culture, and sharing local legends.

Despite the isolation the ring of mountains created, they weren’t quite as different as they expected. Their accents did differ slightly, but it was barely noticeable. Morgan began to wonder the caravan leader who had taken her to the desert was from; as his accent had been very different then any she had heard thus far, different even from the voices of the other caravan members. A thought occurred to Morgan, and she smiled to herself. Humans had been extinct for nearly a hundred years now. She wondered if the human language would fade away, replaced by the difficult to mimic sounds of pure, ancestral Elvish. There were few places left were Elvish was exclusively spoken.

There was one damper on this otherwise ideal day, and that was Caspian. Every fifteen minutes or so he’d start to browse the leaves, refusing to move until he had finished.

“Oh, come on!” Morgan cried as he did it yet again, dropping his head to catch the leaves of a small bush, “You had all night to graze! SohelpmeGod, Caspian, I will drag you by the mouth. I’ll do it!” Caspian gave her a glance and continued eating. Bas left Vath’s side and headbutted Caspian in the shoulder. The bay lowered his head in the presence of the Merax, like a chastised child. Caspian took a few steps closer to Morgan, giving her an apologetic look. Morgan couldn’t speak horse, but she got the picture. “You are a defiant little shit,” she told Caspian, “but you’re my defiant little shit. Head up, you’re an Elvish horse, act like one.” She turned to Bas with a small smile. “Thanks.”

Vath jogged to catch up, but before he could say anything, Morgan asked a question.

“How good are you with magic?”

“I… uh…” Vath blushed and looked down. “I really… can’t do any magic. I’ve tried. But I… just can’t.”

“It’s because you’re a Canteior. Your magic works differently.” she said softly. Her tone made Vath look up, and he thought he saw a deep set kindness and compassion in her eyes. “I can’t teach you about that, I don’t know anything. You’ll have to figure it out… but… I wanted to talk about Semele. You are, apparently, a prophesied Hero. At least, the trees seem to think so, and I’ve never known the Earth element to be wrong. But I don’t know what you can do against him that I can’t. I mean, you won’t be affected by Blood Iron, but that means little if you can’t use magic anyway. And, no offense, but your combat is… lacking. Your Merax… they only accompany great heroes. Like capital H kind of Heroes, and this one’s been around you your whole life. That’s special. If there is anything you can do that I don’t know about, now would be a great time to tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” Vath shook his head, “I don’t have anything.”

Then everything went to hell.