Satyrs At Dusk ✔

Chapter Sixteen

Before Maxwell left the cave, the shackled woman by Ethryn's table raised her head quietly. Her hands clenched, eyes flicking up to Maxwell, then down to the instrument in his hand. The human had yet to notice her until her chains rattled. Myra soon exited the treasury room after stuffing her pockets with jewelry and gold.

The woman coughed harshly, her chains rattling again. Her wrists were chaffed and red, beads of blood pooling up at where the metal chipped her skin. She winced, elven ears twitching in pain as she raised her head more. Her crimson eyes and blond hair seemed to be familiar.. Maxwell realized what she was. An Arid elf, the assassins of the forests. He froze to watch her sluggish movements.

Myra took a step closer to her, scrutinizing the deep gash in her abdomen, which seemed to be the source of the smeared blood over her rough-spun, sleeveless tunic. Her arms trembled, straining against the shackles desperately. "Please," she croaked, "I've been stuck here for so long.." Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, honeylike and wavy. Her brows caved in with pain as she shifted under the attention of the siblings.

Her eyes traveled over to the fallen satyr, and the imp who lay frozen a few feet from him. Saevel was still breathing, though.

"I can heal him if you want-- and the imp, if I must.. Just please," she stopped to let out a cough, "you have to trust me. I've been in captivity for years... I want to breathe fresh air again." The two humans glanced at each other, silently debating on whether or not they could really trust a skilled assassin.

Then, without words, Myra crouched down in front of the elf. "Where's the key?" she asked softly. The elf shook her head, clearing her throat as she sputtered dryly.

"I don't know... Last time I saw it, that man took it to his bedroom." her voice was getting hoarser by the minute. Maxwell glanced down to the key in his pocket and dug it out, making sure to keep a tight hold on the lyre. He threw the golden tool to Myra and she carefully undid the shackles.

Once the woman was free, she slackened to the ground, arms limp. She lifted her head with a please smile. "Thank you so much." she breathed, looking back down to her arms. Experimentally, she wiggled her fingers and clenched her hands into fists. She flexed her arm muscles and let out a laugh of relief.

"My name is Penelope. What do you want to know? I surely owe you answers... Not only that but I am forever in your debt, humans." She stood with wobbling legs, brushing off her ragged trousers that stopped at her bruised knees.

"Are you... Y'know, an Arid Elf?" Maxwell went first. Penelope nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her pointed ear.

"Yes. I am a trained assassin, led by the Great Imni. On the other hand, I am a Restoration Mage... Though others consider me a priest." She sauntered over to Saevel, who was still lying on the ground helplessly. She knelt to his height, scooping him up to rest on her knees. Her hands hovered above his broken body, her palms producing a bright golden light that shimmered and produced a low, calming hum throughout the air. Tiny specks of ivory power fell onto the satyr like fluttering snowflakes, drifting along with the song of healing.

The spell sunk into his flesh and skin, lighting up his body at the edges. His eyes twitched, then his nose scrunched up. Slowly, his caramel eyes with honey-colored pecked opened to the world once again, and he let out a sudden breath; reminding himself that he was alive.

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The symbol on the back of Saevel's neck faded that night. With aching arms and weak legs, he rose. Upon seeing the lyre unharmed, grateful tears rolled down his reddened cheeks. Using the last bit of his magical energy, he transported the the four from the Yewleaf Meadow. The satyr, though, collapsed in the lake as soon as they passed dimensions.

Maxwell carried him into the tavern, since Myra couldn't lift anything with her injured arm and Penelope was too deep into her own little world. The Arid Elf couldn't help but ramble about how nice it felt to feel the brisk, Earthy air and how much she missed the wind as it trailed across her ears.

Maxwell groaned loudly as he dropped the satyr onto the bed. His head rolled to the side, eyes twitching slightly. "Okay... Myra, you sleep on that side. I'm gonna go see if we have any painkillers for that cut." Maxwell said as Myra was already on her way to the other side of Saevel. She plopped down onto the cushion and sighed, throwing her top off.

"I was on a mission when I was captured. That man cast a spell while I was near and my invisibility potion suddenly wore off. I even had my muffling boots on, so there's no way he could have heard me. He looked to be a simple human, but I was wrong." Penelope explained, watching as Myra threw her shirt to the side. She cautiously approached it, eyes narrowing.

Penelope sniffed Myra's clothing, holding it to her nose lightly. Myra forgot that all she wore were footwraps and an old, rugged tunic stained with blood and tears. "Hey, my bag is the one over there. Help yourself to a pair of clothes." Myra offered, making the elf grin thankfully.

After Penelope changed into more appropriate clothing and continued on about how she loved midnight hunts with her brothers, Maxwell continue to inspect her arm where the arrow drilled into her muscle.

Her bicep was tainted with a misty patch of vivid blue, dotted with pitch black specks and various hues of green and purple. It spread to her elbow, seemingly stopping there. Maxwell inspected it with a grimace. "Does it hurt? Do you feel any different?"

"Not really. But whenever I'm near Saevel or Penelope, I get a huge rush of energy for some reason." She shrugged, adjusting her grey sports bra. Maxwell raised a brow at the last statement; instead, he shrugged it off and began to search their bags for pain medication.

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