The Conquest of Mytheyr

“Hey.” someone hissed in Vath’s ear. “Hey! Get up!” Vath glanced to his left and fell back in alarm when he saw a translucent Dark Elf girl with red eyes and black hair. “Oh, please, I’m just a ghost.” The girl scoffed. “This guy killed me, and you’re acting like a wimp after you get knocked around awhile.”

“I… uh…” Vath stuttered.

“Get up!” she scolded. “I didn’t sneak into the prince’s room so the Dragonkin could die here. Hurry!”

“Wait, what?” Vath said, jumping to his feet.

“I can’t get in her cell. She’s hurt, badly. Hurry!” the ghost ran straight through the door, and as Vath approached it, he found it unlocked. He pushed it open and raced down the hallway, following the black haired girl. She stopped short, standing in front a door at the other end of the hall.

“She’s in here, but I can’t unlock it. There’s just something about the inside of it… I can’t go in there.” Vath checked the lock. A single barrel lock, easily broken.

“I need a knife.” he muttered. “Something small.”

“The walking dead threw your knives in that room.” The ghost girl said, pointing to a wooden door at the very end of the hall, just twenty feet from Morgan’s cell. Vath jumped up and raced to it, throwing open the door and grabbing two of his throwing knives from a table.

Running back, his knees hit the ground a few feet from the door, and he slid the rest of the way, sticking the first knife in the top of the lock. He slipped the second knife in, changing its position until he heard it click into place. Carefully, keeping the second knife aligned, he turned both knives together and the lock clicked open.

“That is poorly made lock.” he commented, pushing the door open and stopping in his tracks.

The ghost gasped, putting her hands up to her mouth. Vath seemed frozen, the sight before him beautiful and terrible at the same time.

It was beautiful because strange, lizard like creatures darted in and out of his vision, appearing and disappearing through the walls. They were jewel colored, with intense, ancient eyes. Some had frills, others horns, and a few had manes or fur. A great many of them had wings. They were all whispering, a constant stream of a mournful, lamenting song that brought tears to any eye. The song sounded as if it could never die, it was strong and eternal, even if its singers weren’t.

But it was terrible because of the pool of blood that permeated the cell, and the unmoving body that the creatures would pause at, looking upon it sadly before moving on. The rotten, coppery smell of her blood choked the air, but there was another smell to it too, almost like ozone. A green, serpent-like creature was curled around the body’s broken form, its voice distinct above all the others.

“Morgan!” Vath cried, rushing to her side. “Please be okay. I need you to be okay.” He put his arm under her back, lifting her up, noticing her braid was sticky with blood. He caught sight of her wrists, and the ghost did too.

“Get her out of there!” she urged. “It’s the room, there’s something wrong with it!” She couldn’t see what Vath saw, but did she sense what he couldn’t. With difficulty, Vath half dragged, half carried her out. As soon as her body left the confines of the Blood Iron, her bleeding slowed and her breathing evened out. The shade of the green serpent looked on Vath for a moment, and faded away, taking its voice with it.

“You can’t stay here.” the ghost warned, “In there!” she pointed to the door where Vath’s knives had been. Vath pulled Morgan’s arm over his shoulder, struggling with her weight. Even though Morgan had a relatively small stature, upper body strength was not Vath’s strong point. The walk from the cell to the other room took a painfully long time, and any moment Vath expected something to happen, something to go wrong. He breathed a sigh of relief when he gat her into the room, but before he closed the door, relief turned to despair as he saw a tell tale trial of blood.

“Worry about it later.” the ghost scolded, “There’s some bandages on that shelf.” It seemed the room they were in was a guard’s room, as there were swords on a rack on the wall, a table on which the rest of Vath’s knife collection still rested, a few chairs and two shelves. The floor and walls were made of unremarkable grey stone.

Vath grabbed the bandages and tied up her wrists the best he could, however his inexperience led him to tie the knots in the wrong places, so that no pressure was put on her wounds. The ghost did not remark on this, but instead stood on top of a lonely rug in the room.

“Move this. Hurry!” she told Vath. Vath pulled the rug put from under her, but it didn’t affect her. Now she stood on a wooden trapdoor. “Take her through there. I’ll try to pull the rug back once you’ve gone, but it’s hard to move things… just hurry.”

Vath pulled Morgan over his shoulder the best he could, and staggered over to the trapdoor. It opened into a stairway, at the bottom of it a long hall leading off into darkness.

“It’ll take you outside,” the ghost whispered, “but there’s no light in there. Once you close the door, it’s pitch black. Just keep going straight. If you feel a draft, you’re near the exit.” Vath nodded silently and descended, holding Morgan up as much as possible. “May whichever god you pray to be watching over you.” he heard the girl whisper as the trapdoor fell closed.

The hall was indeed pitch black. Vath couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, let alone where he was going. He staggered under Morgan’s dead weight, and he leaned against the invisible wall to keep his balance. After a few minutes, he slouched to his knees to take a breather. It was now that Morgan opened her eyes, though it took great effort. Her magic had been working hard to heal her, and now it woke her from her unconsciousness only so it could put her into a true healing sleep. In those few waking seconds, however, she felt a warm body against hers. She heard a familiar breath, and felt a welcome presence. There was no mistaking the energy radiating from him.

“Vath…” she said, her voice under a whisper, but in the silence you could have heard a pin drop.

“Morgan!” he exclaimed, jumping a bit.

“You’re… not dead…”

“I’m not,” Vath answered, leaning her back against the wall and setting her down, “so return the favor.”

“I meant it… every… word…” Morgan sighed as her magic pulled her under, closing her wounds and replenishing her lost blood.

Vath didn’t know how long it took to get her to the end of the tunnel. But when they finally made it, it was evening. The sky was colored in a glorious sunset, but Vath barely noticed the sight. How could he possibly get Morgan away from here? It was a hundred yards across an open landscape before they could reach the concealment of the tree line and even then, they wouldn’t be safe. At this rate, they’d be caught as soon as their absence was noticed…

His thought trailed off as he heard a familiar whinny. Where at first there had been nothing but shadow, now a bay stood, his mane and tail wisps of golden smoke, flowing across his body, his eyes holding a ghostly light.

“B-Bas?” Vath said in awe. The horse bent down on his knees and threw his head. Vath took the invitation, Putting Morgan up in front of him. Bas took off at an impossible speed, yet his gait was so smooth he seemed almost to be gliding. The wind threw Vath’s hair back, and he couldn’t help but feel exhilarated.

Who could blame him? He was, after all, a Hero riding with the wind on his Merax.