Chapter 31 #2
Ainsworth tried to keep his face still and composed, unwilling to reveal his inherent horror.
Honey raised a knowing brow but continued.
“Second is the need to find, or create, somewhere suitable for our hoard.
Caves, chasms…natural or otherwise. As we grow, we become better able to carve these out, with magic or with our own claws.
Thankfully, Mount Vengeance was home to some particularly gaping chasms, previously mined and abandoned long ago by the dunelfen, so I soon made it my home and staked my claim.
“And finally,” she said, thrusting the book in her hand at Ainsworth’s chest. He took it, puzzled, and realized it was one of the old accounts noting the outgoing expenditures of the inn.
“There was the need to establish and build my hoard. Dragons are destined to search the land and claim wealth however we see fit—even if that means by deceit, theft, or plunder. The biggest, most impressive hoard…” She shrugged. “Wins.”
“Oh my,” said Ainsworth, clutching the logbook to his chest. He was not sure what to say. Should he try for humor? “How very…stereotypical of you?”
She huffed a laugh. “Well, I suppose. I am getting ahead of myself, but how we live now is a shadow of the way the dragons reigned and conquered during the Great Sweep. We have been pushed back, hunted near to extinction, but still we have found ways to live that satisfy our instincts, that let us have power over the land. The instinct to hoard is strong; it is as natural as seeking out food when hungry. And the more we collect, the stronger we become—both physically and in magic. And yes, I know,” she said, raising a hand to stop Ainsworth from interjecting.
“Your dragon scholars have worked out that much; I snuck a look at your manuscript.
But there is one thing they have yet to discover.
We dragons have the ability to change our form.
We become what you might call the Dragon Pèidse so we can navigate the world in secret.
Granted, it is difficult to hide some of our features, like our eyes and horns and tails—and sometimes our scales as well. But we do our best to blend in.
“In my case, my humanoid form looked a lot like a tyflan, which I used to my advantage. I wanted to join a group who plundered other monsters’ lairs, or who would fight bandits and bad guys for rewards.
I thought it would be a good way to build my hoard while still doing some good in the world.
Plus, being among the very people who might one day set out to seek my wealth, even to kill me, seemed a sensible way to get to know them, to understand their weaknesses and how they could be best exploited.
I quickly found a party willing to take me, and indeed they thought me a tyflan sorcerer, not realizing that the fire I possessed was inherent and not bound to any spell.
” She held up her palm, and the gentle light transformed into a small, ferocious flame.
Old instincts had Ainsworth flinching—but just at the sight of fire in the midst of a flammable archive. Had they not been surrounded by books and papers, he would have found it miraculous. And he assured Honey of that when she clocked his reaction.
“A true scholar, indeed,” she said, laughing. “Well, for a time, I was enamored of the existence I had chosen. I met wonderful people, had a fulfilling life, and found love. Her name was Driana, as you know, and she was the leader of our group.”
“The portrait in your room,” Ainsworth said, suddenly recalling the striking painting. “She was beautiful.”
“She was, yes. We traveled together for years, Driana and I, and we were very, very good at what we did. She never found out about me—that I am a dragon, that is—but I like to think she would have understood. I knew from other dragons I had come across that I was far from the first to delight in companionship—though I knew the time would come when I would complete my hoard and then spend my days defending it.”
“But as you were acquiring your hoard…who defended it then?” Ainsworth asked, unable to suppress his inner scholar—much as he both wanted and feared to hear more about her lost love. Could a mere scholar compete with such a bold adventurer?
“Put that down to dragon magic, which tends to attract the sort of dark beasts who now call the mountain home. A dangerous territory becomes a kind of barrier all on its own—though such a tactic is not considered an acceptable way to defend your rightful territory for any longer than it takes for you to build your fortune. Still, for the moment, I was able to use magic—in a way similar to your Transportation Circles—to send my coins, gems, and treasure to my hoard on Mount Vengeance while the beasts kept thieves away. I would go to bed every night with a wonderful woman in my arms, and the delightful knowledge that I was amassing quite a fortune without ever having to resort to stealing or trickery. Or robbing the innocent. So for a time, I could push my troubling thoughts about what my life would be after my hoard was complete far, far away.”
She paused when he raised his hand slightly, then grinned. “Yes, Ainsworth?”
“Sorry, I simply have to ask: What is the point in amassing such a hoard, beyond increasing your strength, your magic? I mean…dragons, do they…spend it? Use it to build? Or is it truly merely something to be collected, so you can…fight to the death defending it?”
Honey stared at him for some time, and he did not look away from those eyes—eyes that were now, he realized, very human.
He hadn’t noticed her dispel her magical flame, either, but only the ghostly light from the window now illuminated the space.
He wondered how much effort she was expending to keep her eyes that way when she resumed speaking, a small tremor in her voice.
“That is exactly it, Ainsworth. Why? What is the point? To be the richest and mightiest is the dragons’ goal—but it is a goal shared by many others in this land.
People want to be the quickest, the strongest. The bravest, the smartest. People fight and clamber over one another to get to the top of whatever mountain they envision themselves climbing.
And some never once turn their head to see who they pushed out of the way, or climbed on top of, to achieve that goal. ”
Her voice rose as she went on, and that faint molten glow began to shine in her eyes once again. Ainsworth ached to take her hands—balled into fists by her sides and trembling—into his own. He had been on this path himself, and it was she who had turned him away.
She clasped her hands to her chest. “While adventuring, I lost a lot of friends to their pursuits of glory, to their ambition.
But despite my doubts creeping in—despite wondering what was the point of it all—I kept going.
Because Driana did not share my outlook on life.
She wanted to be a merchant, but one of high esteem, meaning she required large sums of money to get her started.
It went against all my instincts, but I offered her my own earnings because I loved her so.
She refused. She never was any good at accepting help—not that she needed it often, mind you.
Then…one day we arrived at a town near the republic border to the north.
“It was one of the rare times I was naturally in the vicinity of Mount Vengeance and…” Honey paused, weariness washing over her features.
“I got…territorial. I sensed another dragon in the vicinity and was overwhelmed with the urge to seek them out and challenge them. It utterly consumed me. I couldn’t sleep or eat until I knew they were gone.
Driana assumed I was ill and insisted she do our job alone.
We had been tasked to flush out some bandits who had taken over one of the old mine shafts, which still held some ore the city had claimed.
It should have been a simple job, so I let her go on her own.
Meanwhile, I discovered the dragon I sought, challenged them, and won. ”
Honey walked away from the light of the window toward the shelf at the back of the room.
She crouched and retrieved a leather-bound journal by the floor.
He frowned—he had certainly not left one lying out!
She flipped it open, and despite the darkness Ainsworth noticed the scarlet-red ribbon she had used as a placeholder.
“Driana’s job was simple—in a way. The bandits were no match for her, but she was no match for the unstable terrain.
She died along with the thieves when the mine shaft collapsed.
I still, to this day, cannot believe it.
How can a magic-user, one of the long-lived, meet such an end? ”
“I’m sorry, Honey,” he said softly, and she nodded. There were no tears in her eyes, but he sensed she had not told this story for a very long time—if ever.
“I was devastated, but also furious. What a waste! We were there for a five-hundred-gold-pieces reward, so she died for two hundred and fifty, Ainsworth! And what good did her amassed wealth do for her when she was buried alive in pursuit of more? Something in me snapped, then, and I could no longer control my dragon instincts as anger and grief took over.”
She once again held up a sphere of golden light, the other hand holding the open journal. She looked at it so intently that Ainsworth wondered if she was reading from it, but he did not look at the page lest he overstep a boundary.
“The only things I could think to do were to feed myself and continue to amass my hoard. But I had no heart for gathering my hoard in an honorable way, so I started stealing, using my power as a dragon to raid towns and cities until I felt my hoard was sufficient.