He and his followers became known as the Order of Twilight. Zhamiel promised Morgynn that powerful secrets lay hidden in Goorgian's grave, a crater where he'd been destroyed by his own foolishness. She'd left the Bildoobaris unannounced, knowing her mother would search for her, but Morgynn had no intention of returning to the Sedras or even the Creel. Her time walking in the paths of others was over. Her group eventually found the edge of the pit where Goorgian had consumed his own life in dreams of power. Morgynn stared deep into that darkness and began to dream herself. For the first time, Morgynn imagined power, real power. She had no idea that the next three years would pass so quickly or that her mother would not only give up on her only daughter but would also seek to end her life. With her ritual complete, the memories faded along with the pain that lessened to a dull ache in her forearm. Traced with the letters and secret language of her magic, she admired her skin for a moment, studying her work and feeling more confident with her scars restored. She sighed, shrugging off the haze of the pain-induced trance, and surveyed her surroundings. The walls inside the lone tower of Jhareat were piled high with bones, shoved from the floors to clear them. Dusty skulls and fleshless limbs adorned each room in the narrow tower, its long-forgotten defenders well beyond caring about being conquered.
Their weapons and armor lay rusting and tattered amid the bones.
Through a small arched window, lightning flashed and powerful winds roared. She could almost hear the chanting Gargauthans below, weaving the storm spell into the base of the tower. She found that she enjoyed the storms more as she'd traveled farther south. Their warmth was a welcome change from the chilling gales that blew across the tundra in Narfell. The more she beheld them, the more it seemed her thick blood demanded them. Lost in the chaos of thunder and roaring tornadoes, her memories were but a nagging whisper, where her blood was a raging tempest. She peered through the darkness of the low-hanging clouds, across the fields of ruined walls and jutting bits of rubble, to the edge of the forest. She whispered a quick spell and her eyes became as sharp as an eagle's, focusing the forest with amazing clarity. After a few moments, she found what she'd been looking for, what she'd sensed coming closer. A massive, coal-black mastiff stared back at her, its muscles rippling as it prowled through the trees. She smiled at his savage beauty, his brute strength and stealth as he negotiated the shadows of the ruined clearing at a full run. Khaemil was shadurakul, a breed of shapeshifter called from the realm of Avernus in the Nine Hells. Though released from his initial bond of servitude, Khaemil had bound himself to Morgynn willingly, remaining at her side ever since and considered a blessing by the Gargauthans. Morgynn stopped short of calling him a blessing. She'd tasted one of Gargauth's favors already.
Though grateful, she felt no desire to entertain them in the future.
Morgynn could hear him entering the tower below. The heavy clicking of his paws became the familiar rustle of night robes as he ascended the twisting staircase along the tower's interior. Then Khaemil stood in the doorway to the uppermost floor, his head bowed and awaiting Morgynn's attention. She'd been casting recently, and she knew he could smell the scent of her as soon as he'd entered the tower. The aroma of blood and heat defied the open window and the cool air that blew outside. She turned to him slowly, settling into her stone seat and dismissing her spell of vision, bringing the room back to a softer focus. Khaemil stepped into the candlelight, lowering his hood, as Morgynn watched him expectantly. "What news from the forest?" Morgynn asked the question nonchalantly and looked down to inspect her skin once again, caressing and tracing the darkening designs. "We have many potential allies deep in the woods, but they are mere beasts. Those more intelligent attempt to hide themselves from us, but they are there." "No matter," Morgynn replied, "All is as it should be for now.
The Gargauthans have begun their work on the tower and the storm grows by the moment. We have little to do but gather our strength and wait."
"Yes, my lady. The storm is magnificent." Khaemil walked to the window then, looking across the dampening ruins as she had moments before.
"Talmen looks little pleased by our success so far." A smile crept into his voice, capturing Morgynn's attention with his implication of further news. "Your voice is mischievous, Khaemil. What delights you so?" Khaemil turned, sighing through his toothy grin. "Only that poor Talmen and his favorite pupil no longer serve Gargauth in the same manner. While Talmen seeks his god's favor in his daily works, Mahgra now petitions for mercy in the pits of the Nine Hells. He is dead."
Morgynn returned Khaemil's smile, but the look lasted only a moment before her mood changed and rage boiled in the back of her throat.
Khaemil gasped, his heartbeat pounding as she stood and walked toward him. He couldn't breathe and stared wide-eyed at her, frantically clawing at his chest and shoulder as pain raced through them. As she watched him struggle, her eyes welled with blood, red tears seeking to burst forth in a mockery of despair. At her belt she gripped a small silver vial. Within it was Khaemil's blood, taken long ago and used as a kind of leash against him. A leash-and, as now-a lash. "Why does Talmen know the tale of Mahgra before me?" Her words were swift and forceful, wasting none of the time Khaemil had left before death might claim him. She eased her spell slightly, giving him a moment to answer with shallow breath. "Scrying! My lady, please! He watches!" Morgynn arched an eyebrow and looked to her side. "Ah, so the worm isn't as docile as I'd imagined him to be." She released the vial of blood and Khaemil fell to the floor, gulping at the air and allowing the pain to fade before standing again. "We must watch the dear malefactor more closely. He may be ready to accept that a wandering Hoarite has killed Mahgra, but if he suspects our hand in the matter, we may lose the support of the Gargauthans." "Yes, my lady." Khaemil's voice was hoarse as he regained his footing. He staggered slightly as his pulse slowly fell into step with his actions. "I will watch him." "No, Khaemil. He already knows you are not fond of him. I will keep an eye on dear Talmen. He is blind enough to accept my presence without question." She stared into the flame of a nearby candle, her mind racing to put all in order. "We have no more need of the Hoarite. His job is done here-make sure he crusades elsewhere." Her voice softened and grew more detached as the flame transfixed her gaze. "I will do as you command, Lady Morgynn, as always, but there is another matter of the forest. A ring of pale trees, a short distance beyond the edge of the woods-a strange scent lingers there, a feeling of defiance and power but also fear." Morgynn did not answer right away, lost in thought. She tilted her head, her eyes nearly closing in the embrace of her own magic, her blood excited and dancing within her. "My lady?"