The Conquest of Mytheyr

The wind quietly rustled the trees’ leaves. The only other sound was the quiet plod, plod of their horses’ hooves on the forest floor. Morgan was concerned, for both horses were acting strange. Raven’s mount, Caspian, a hot-blooded stallion Morgan named after a book character she liked, was antsy, shifting his weight unevenly, as if prepared to turn about and flee at a moments notice. Nightshade, the black mare Morgan rode, was not so perturbed, but her ears were laid back and she stepped more lightly then usual, as if she did not wish to be heard. Morgan met Raven’s eyes, and they both nodded to each other.

Morgan and Raven had been friends for the better half of forever. Strangers often mistook them for sisters. After all, they almost shared a mind and, except for a few major bones and sore subjects, they normally agreed on everything. And right now, they agreed on one important thing; there was trouble nearby.

The two elves reached a huge clearing in the forest that permeated Mytheyr. Well, clearing is a bad term, as three-fourths of it was dominated by the luxurious Palace of Mytheyr.

Most of the people of Mytheyr build villages among the canopy, but that wouldn’t do for a construct as large as the palace. A long time ago, Humans and Dark Elves lived in harmony in Mytheyr, and a large council of both species governed it, overseen by two co-ruling monarchs from each race. The palace was built to hold all the people needed to govern Mytheyr’s large population, as well as the servants needed to keep the nobles and officials. Usually, the palace would be an impressive sight, and a heartening one to Morgan, but not today.

Above the great arch entrance, four bodies hung, dangling from nooses that twisted in the wind. Raven and Morgan were too far away to see who they were, but the sight sickened them. The grass and shrubs around the palace were limp and dying, but the physical appearance was not the worst of it.

Always, the quiet voices of the trees whispered in the back of Morgan’s and Raven’s heads, as familiar as the buzz of a city. Now they were painfully silent. They always felt auras on their skins, as natural to them as the air. Now the auras felt uncomfortable, heavy. The horses shifted their weight anxiously as they were reined to a stop. Caspian was almost to the point of fleeing. Nightshade would follow Morgan to hell and back, but she was making it very clear she didn’t want Morgan going any further, laying back her ears and lifting her front right hoof high, neighing urgently.

“Hush.” Morgan said soothingly, pulling gently on the reins. “Shh, shh.”

“Raven?” Morgan asked softly, dropping into an Elvish accent, something she usually did when she was upset or nervous. “You… feel that, right? And… hear it?”

“I do.” Raven said simply, wishing she could come up with a convincing reason to say it must be nothing. Last time any Dragonkin Elf felt this way, a lot of voices were silenced. But this feeling was different from last time… it was blacker, denser.

“I’ve been waiting.” an evil voice broke the tense silence.

Pandemonium broke loose. Caspian lost it, rearing in what may have been an attempt to throw Raven. Caspian was a usually brave horse, but he perhaps had better knowledge of the danger they were in then the elves did. Unfortunately for him, Raven’s favorite stunts on dragonback were corkscrews and barrel rolls, so staying on a bucking horse was little issue. Morgan’s thin, silver bracelet turned liquid and re-formed in her hands as a silver bow and a single arrow. It was knocked and drawn at a tall, pale figure, which radiated the terrible, black aura. She did not get a good look at the figure before the ground in front of her exploded, sending debris flying and blocking her view. Nightshade shied away as a golem pulled itself out of the hole. It snatched Morgan straight off the mare’s back, holding the struggling Elf high in the air. Morgan’s bow was wrenched out of her hand, turning into a dagger and becoming dull as it hit the ground. Morgan’s eyes widened as she realized the significance. She shouted a warning to Raven. Raven however, had been busy trying to get Caspian under control, and she was already grabbed by a second golem by the time her friend’s warning reached her ears.

“How very keen of you.” The figure said. “I expected it would take longer for you to realize I had mixed Blood Iron into my golems.”

“Murderer.” Raven hissed through her teeth. Blood Iron was actually mostly steel, and it was created only when a weapon spilled the blood of a dragon, whom the Dragonkin (obviously) had a close bond with. It was to magic as rubber is to electricity, and Elves were powerless in such close proximity to it. Morgan and Raven already felt sick, and they could fall into a coma if exposed to it too long.

“Who are you?” Morgan demanded. “What have you done?” She took in his appearance. He looked like a Sylvan Elf, but no elf, especially a race as pure as the Sylvan, radiated that kind of….

“Yes, that is Black magic you feel.” he said tilting his head. “None of that petty Darkness others deal in. I know who you are, Queen Morgan of the Dragonkin of Irideth. It seems hardly fair I keep you in the dark.”

He came forward, until his face was a foot from Morgan’s. She was forced into an awkward position because of the way the golem had its massive, stony arm around her neck, but she managed to make eye contact with him. She narrowed her eyes and growled in the back of her throat. All Fey can see the soul in one’s eyes, regardless of whether or not they know what they’re seeing. Morgan looked. She saw nothing, not a trace, not even a scrap.

He smiled softly at her reaction.

“I am Semele. I have been waiting a long time to meet you in person.”

“What. Have. You. Done?” Morgan snarled, her Elvish accent getting heavier by the word.

“Why, I have only done what is my right. I am, you see, a king. A king needs a kingdom. And every kingdom,” he started the sentence softly, bringing up his hand to touch Morgan’s face, “needs a queen.”

“Remove your hand.” Morgan warned, “Or I fucking will remove it for you.”

“Now, now, that is not language befitting a queen.”

“Morgan…” Raven said. Morgan knew that tone. Two quiet beeps reached her ears.

“Fuck.” she said, and made all her muscles limp.