The Value Of A Hoard

He listened from the mountain, from the great plateau that held the entrance to his lair, he listened and heard them in the distance. “Haha! With this we’ll have food and hide to spare!” “Now be careful, if you angle the blade wrong you’ll either gouge the wood or slide off of it and I don’t want you hurting yourself.” “Ooh, when are you going to come out little one? Mama wants to see you.” Each was said with a different voice, whether it was gruff or gentle or encouraging and these were only a bare few, for there were many more. He could hear it in their voices, the contentment, the anticipation, the happiness that they held and he couldn’t understand it.

He had cast his shadow over this little village a few different times in his night hunts, he knew there was nothing extravagant or beautiful or of true value in their little wooden hamlet. Most of their tools were fashioned from the same wood as their homes and the rings they shared with their partners, if they could be called such, were similarly crafted. They had nothing but the scraps they could pull from the forest that they called home and even then, he’d heard the grumbling when the taxmen came through to take of what little they had. So how?

He turned then, his mood soured by questions he typically ignored, and rose. He heard as the stone of the plateau cracked beneath his great bulk as he stretched, feeling the bones in his wings, neck and tail let out a series of cracks as he conquered the stiffness of his limbs. He strode then, back to the cave that served as entrance to his lair, his razor talons carving light gouges into the stone as he lowered his head to avoid striking the ceiling. ‘It seems I must expand the passage again.’ He mused to himself as he continued to move forward, through the twists and turns of the tunnel until he eventually came upon his destination.

The cavern was massive, large enough that he spread his great wings thrice over with room to spare. He moved to climb into his favored perch, a melodious ring echoing between the stalactites and into the offshoot tunnels as his movements loosed a veritable rain of gold. He snorted slightly, letting loose a small gout of flame from his nostrils to warm the mound he preferred as a resting place, barely noting as the polished jewels scattered through the pile glinted brilliantly at the light. He curled in on himself then, shifting his body to find the most comfortable position, his eyes closed as he made his search. When he opened his eyes, his gaze settled upon a familiar treasure.

It was a sword, a magnificent blade forged from steel crafted with beautiful swirling patterns of silver and obsidian, as though mimicking the twists and turns of the wind itself. The guard and pommel were crafted from true silver, with sapphire fittings to emphasize its beauty. The weapon thrummed with magic, for it was a mighty blade forged for a great champion and the power of its maker still dwelled within it. He recalled the battle that had been waged that day centuries past, when he was young, his scales tender and his heart brash. It was the closest he’d ever come to death and he’d reveled in claiming the blade of his would be killer afterward.

He was not the last of course, many champions came and went, though none were half as impressive as the former master of the blade he’d claimed. Eventually he’d grown tired of fools attempting to raid his hoard, or slay him in slumber and he’d destroyed the castle that stood nearby, claiming its riches and slaying the king who’d sought his life. Alas, it hadn’t worked and mere months later warriors from the neighboring kingdoms came in their place, the greed in their hearts hungering for what was his. After a century of constant annoyances he’d taken his hoard and left, coming here to this distant place where he could finally rest without interruption and, hopefully, find satisfaction.

Alas, he never did and now, as he stared at what he considered his greatest prize, he couldn’t help the frustration that rose in his breast as a deep, rumbling growl. He had treasure enough to satisfy three dragons twice his size, he had conquered kingdoms and slain champions and at last had found some measure of quiet. Despite it all though, he never found satisfaction. It was a prey most elusive, a treasure more valuable to his eye than any he’d claimed and yet none of his attempts to claim it bore fruit. A treasure that others seemed to find so easily.

He coiled more tightly on himself, closing his eyes as he drove back his own thoughts and attempted to return to slumber once more. Alas, even in the depths of his lair, the wind still carried the laughter, the joy, the contentment of the small ones in the forest at the base of his mountain. It was long and the contest severe, before he silenced his envy long enough to sleep.

….

‘Why do I keep studying them?’ He couldn’t help but question himself as he looked on, watching from the shadows of the great trees, carefully obscuring his presence as the villagers went about before him. It had become a common occurrence in the past years, that he would descend from his mountain lair to watch as the humans went about their lives. Currently, as the wind blew through the trees, carrying with it a cascade of leaves brilliantly colored like the light of the sunset, a festival was taking place in the village square. It was a common thing, they celebrated their harvests every year with a feast of their first fruits. The children ran between the tables and around the legs of their parents, all the while those same parents laughed and chatted with one another as the elders took their seats and would tell stories of bygone days.

He knew why he had begun to study them, years ago, he’d wanted the secret, the secret to satisfaction. He’d wanted to know how they could rise to greet each day with anticipation and peace, to learn how they, with barely enough to scrape by each winter, could be content despite it. He’d seen others who’d suffered from his affliction among them as time passed, many of those either left in search of glory, as he had done with his own nest, or found their peace with another, a partner with whom they could build a family. He had pondered attempting the latter, but his kin had grown more and more rare in the last century, humanities champions had grown more cunning and more and more dragons had fallen as a result. If he began a search now, he may be able to find a suitable mate but the chances were slim. Beyond that, he’d seen that some who sought partners were not satisfied with them, they did not find contentment with them and he was growing too tired of false leads to risk another one.

“Gather close little ones and I’ll tell you a story.” He heard the wizened voice of one of the human elders, raspy with age and wear as he began a tale, “In ages long gone, there were two men, they lived in the same city yet were as far removed from each other as one could imagine.” he risked rising from the shadows of the trees, pushing his head up above the treetops to see as the aged human spoke to the children who had gathered before him. “The first was a very rich man, his wealth was such that even the king of the land was envious of him.” the elder pressed on, “He had great swaths of field and more than enough male and female servants to harvest and tend to them, he had entire herds of beasts burdened with tilling the land and, despite having more barns than our village has buildings, his lands produced enough to fill them all to capacity and beyond.” he elaborated further, “He had many homes as well, in all parts of the land, each one filled with great wealth and servants to tend to them and he had many wives, each dwelling in their own manor with the children they bore to him.” he concluded on the man a moment later, “Alas, despite all his wealth and possessions, the greed of his flesh was not satisfied and he found no peace.” 

The elder shifted then, his gestures becoming less expansive, “In the same city, seated at its gate where travelers could see him, was the second man.” he elaborated, “He was a poor man, crippled in his legs and thus, despite a willing heart and spirit, he could do no work aside from that of his hands and his lips.” the elder mimed a climbing motion with his hands as he continued, “He sat beneath a great but short tree at the street corner you see, and every morning he would take a sharp stone from the road and, with the strength of his arms, hoist himself up to claim a branch from the tree.” his gesture shifted, as though gripping two objects that slid one against the other, “With the stone he would carve the branch into shape and trade the carving to travelers in exchange for food and water and thus was the work of his hands satisfied.” He pressed on, “His lips though, had no work aside from praise, for he numbered his blessings each morning, the rags that protected him the cool nights, the tree whose leaves and branches offered both work and shelter from the rain, the kindness of the strangers who gave him help-” the elder raised his hands high, “-and most of all, he thanked Providence for His Kindness and Peace.” he concluded then, “For though he had little, he was satisfied and knew peace.”

The elder shifted again, waving his arms in such a way as to mime the rising and setting of the sun, “Now many years passed and the wealthy man grew wealthier but as his heart grew cruel the satisfaction he sought slipped further and further out of reach.” he pressed on, “But the poor man remained beneath his tree, continuing each day as he had the last and yet, Peace was never lost to him.” the elder’s words grew solemn then, “Eventually, the day came and both men perished in the night, one surrounded by opulence and the other destitution, one was buried in a tomb of gold and the other was placed in an unmarked, shallow grave.” he brought his hands together with a thunderous clap then, “When both men opened their eyes and beheld a Throne more Grand than any other and a Great Voice came from The Throne, ‘Come, for your Inheritance waits.’” he pressed on, “The rich man stepped forward, bold and arrogant and opened the door presented to him and found a Terrible Nothingness.” the elder continued, “‘The Fruits of your spirit are before you, the pain and the suffering you inflicted in your greed.’ The Great Voice of The One on The Throne echoed in Judgement and, as he attempted to stagger back, the rich man slipped and fell through the door.” the elder struck the wood of his seat with the loud bang, “And the door sealed itself behind him.”

The aged man paused, to take a drink then and renew his throat, before he continued, “The poor man, similarly stepped forward to the door presented to him and opened it.” the elder smiled, his voice bright and happy, “He was greeted then by a great multitude clothed in finery beyond anything we could imagine, embraced and welcomed eagerly for a feast unlike any other.” he elaborated, “‘The Fruits of your spirit are before you, every soul your humble heart and grateful spirit saved. Every brother and sister you adopted without knowledge or regret.’ The Great Voice of The One on The Throne echoed in Commendation and the poor man stepped forward, healthy and whole into a beauty beyond compare.” he gently knocked on the wood of his seat then, “Softly closing the door behind him, another song of praise on his lips as he left his suffering behind.”

The dragon felt a rumble in his throat as the story concluded and the children began to clamor for another one. It seemed a foolish tale to him, for what did gratitude have to do with peace? In what way were thankfulness and satisfaction tied together? It was something he’d dismissed many times and yet it always bothered him, every time he’d heard the story over the previous years it had poked at his spirit incessantly and this time was no different. Yet he didn’t understand it.

As he turned, electing to end his observations for the day, he spread his wings and flew gently back to his mountain. The gust of his wings laid bare the trees that once hid him, the strength of that gust carrying him far beyond sight before any could perceive him. He couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Perhaps there is more to the story than I have seen.’

….

He wheezed, a crimson vapor escaping his lips as he lay amidst the devastation. His scales, once opulent and beautiful, were stained with blood and mud, his wings, once mighty and grand, were shredded and broken, his horns, once sharp and regal, were dulled and shattered. He still recalled how this had begun, when he’d heard the human army gather and strike at the village whose inhabitants had become… important, to him. He had pondered then whether to intervene or not, for these people were not his, they were not part of his hoard, of his treasure and yet… He’d treasured them. He’d watched the last generation as they grew old and sired young ones, he’d watched the young ones grow and become mature to start families of their own and he’d watched as the elders whose stories he’d listened to passed with peaceful smiles on their lips surrounded by loved ones. 

He couldn’t say the exact moment it happened, when it had finally sunken through his thick skull, the meaning of the stories they’d told, the lessons that they’d imparted. Yet when it did, he’d felt the fool. It was then, in that moment that he felt gratitude and offered thanks for the first time, that he’d finally found it, the satisfaction he’d been looking for for so long. It was then, that he’d learned that it wasn’t a treasure to be claimed or a prey to be hunted, rather it was a Gift to be received. More than four centuries were the number of his years and it had taken almost all of them to uncover something that, in hindsight, seemed so simple.

He’d owed the people this, when others like his foolish, young self had come to pillage and to conquer as he once did. When an army of men from the distant east came with their turbans and curved, talon like blades, he knew that the village would fall. For the humble farmers and foresters had no swords, nor armor, nor great fortress, they had nothing that could safeguard them against an enemy so powerful and numerous as this. Nothing, that is, save for himself and he valued his dignity and honor too highly, to leave his debts unpaid.

He’d descended on the army, with fire and tooth and claw, tearing into them with the power and ferocity of the elder dragon that he was. From dusk to sunrise and back again, he’d warred with them, with the forest just beyond the village as their battleground. Their swords broke against his scales, their arrows snapped on the flesh of his wings and their armor melted before his flames. In return, their catapults broke his scales, their ballista pierced his wings and their elephants rent his flesh. Yet he would not fall, he refused to fall, not until the enemy was broken and those he protected safe, until the debt that was the rescue of his spirit, was paid.

He’d done it, after forty nine hours of fighting, he’d done it. The enemy lay dead and scattered about him, the villagers had come with their bows and their arrows to finish the stragglers that remained and he smiled. He had done it and now, as he felt his heart grow weaker, the tips of his wings and claws growing cold, he knew he could die in peace. However, he had one final gift he had to give, “Go… to the mountain’s peak.” He urged the humans he’d come to care for, as they gathered around him in confusion and wariness, “There, you will find a great plateau, the soil is soft and plentiful and a great cavern can be found to shelter you.” He wheezed, his own blood oozing beyond his teeth as he pressed on, “In… the heart of those caverns… you will find the treasures of a false life… lived unjustly.” his words continued as his vision began to fade, “Take them and build a new home, where the Grateful and The Righteous may dwell.” he mustered what little strength he had left, his words growing softer as his heart began to stutter, “It is a pittance, a mound of metal and rock, wholly insufficient to pay back the gift of the lessons I learned watching you.” he smiled, one last time as he concluded, “Go, be at peace and… Thank… you…” his breath failed him then and his eyes fell a final time, yet his smile never faded and the peace he felt didn’t fade. Yes, he supposed, it was truly time… to rest.