Trouble had followed him for some time, and Lython was starting to feel the weight of his past. He had finally lost the most recent group that had been chasing him, but not as a result of his ability. They had been close, too close, but he had overheard them say that they were going home, and he agreed. He wanted to go home also, but he had no clue where that was.

When he was sure his pursuers had given up and left, Lython stepped out of hiding and took a look around. He had been to - and chased out of – almost everywhere, and this was like no place he had ever seen. Below him was what appeared to be a large town nestled against the mountain and a lake.

Lython smiled to himself; everything before him looked pristine, primed, and perfect for his talents. He strolled towards the community whistling tunelessly to himself and wearing a faint grin.

Tirchian sat on his meager throne, inside his meager palace, and lamented his meager realm. He looked old, much older than he was. His shoulders were slumped, his hair was gray and thinned, and his eyes once bright blue glazed with a stare that reached nothing near, and found nothing far.

Dangling to Tirchian’s right was the last vestige of his once glorious reign and the only proof that he was still alive: A short scepter with a small stone was gripped so tightly by the king that even Death would be hard pressed to pry it from his hands.

Lython made his way down the deserted street. It appeared to be such a nice town; he couldn’t imagine why there was no one in it. He followed the path to the largest structure and knocked. Nothing happened so he opened the oversized doors and peered in, “Hello?” Nothing. He became bolder, “Hello!?!” he shouted, and then listened as the faint remnants of his voice worked their way back to him. He shoved the door fully open and strode cautiously inside. He unsheathed his sword and held it in front of him, all the while marveling at the neglected majesty before him.

He crept through the halls like the vagrant/thief/warrior that he was, and followed the main hall until he found another person: A thin, armor-clad man who appeared to be guarding a door. “Hello? Er, you there.” Nothing. Lython stepped closer and poked the figure with his sword.

“Wha-!?!”

Lython jumped into his battle ready position, “Sorry to bother you, Sir.”

The guard managed to compose himself, “Are you here to see the mighty Tirchian?!” His words echoed eerily down the hallway.

Lython shrugged inwardly, “I am here to humbly present myself to the king.” He had spent time in royal courts before. “If this is an inopportune time, I will gladly return when the king is available.”

The guard’s eyes almost focused on Lython, “No, fine sir, the great Tirchian will see you,” and he pushed at the door.

Lython waited a moment, then helped. The large slab of wood creaked open, and Lython stepped into the room. It was a mediocre throne room at best. He had seen some more magnificent, and some more pathetic, but he had never seen any so...empty. Everything was where it should be, including the king, but that was it. There was a thin layer of dust covering everything, and not a servant in sight. The King sat alone in the chamber, and looked as regal as possible, but the effect was diminished by the ambience.

“Lord Tirchian?” Lython said. He waited. “My majesty!”

“Hmmph!” the king wakened and tried to gather himself. “Who…” Tirchian’s eyes focused, “seeks our counsel?”

Lython bowed deeply, “I am Lython, master of many trades.”

Tirchian looked him up and down for a moment, “Why are you here?”

Lython removed his plumed hat with a flourish, “My wandering path brought me to you and your realm.”

A snort escaped the King, “My realm? My realm! I have no realm, no kingdom, no daughter, no people, no reason…”

Lython waited for more, but nothing came, “My lord, is there anything I can do?”

A brief snicker escaped Tirchian lips, “You?!? What do you think you can do that my best warriors could not? What claims do you make, what feats do you declare, what right does your presence here mean that you can do anything?”

Lython looked around, then walked forward and knelt, “I am the only one here, Sire. Do you wish me to help?”

Tirchian sighed, and said almost inaudibly, “I wish that anybody could.” Louder he said, “My kingdom has been doomed. Not by an army, a plague, or famine, but by a ghost.” The last word almost came out as a whisper.

“A ghost?”

“A ghost! We used to be prosperous, and happy. We were secluded enough that we were rarely bothered, the lake provided all the fish we needed for trade with the hunters and travelers, and my daughter was the fairest woman…” the king’s sentence ended with sobs.

Lython allowed Tirchian his remorse, then posed the question, “What of this ghost?”

The King choked back his tears enough to answer, “A ghost haunts this realm. It has frightened away my people, and those who once came here.”

Lython mumbled, “One ghost can ruin a kingdom?”

“It can, and has!” Tirchian’s eyes focused on the rogue before him, then he recited the words, “Rid us of the ghost, allow my people to come back, and I will give you anything in my power you wish.”

Lython studied the king for a moment, then turned and strode resolutely away.

© 2009 Ravenai