Guardians of Gold

Guardians of Gold

By C. R. Lukische

    Vestata woke from his slumber with a loud yawn. He opened his gullet, then nearly choked as he sucked in a gigantic waft of air. He rolled over and spat, a coin hurtling free from the depths of his throat. It crashed into the mess of coins under him, steam permeating from its edges. He slapped his claw onto his forehead, then rolled out of his bed of gold coins, like a child on a slide.

    It was boring being a dragon, let alone one with a hundred-year hoard. Vestata hadn’t had any guests since the soiree celebrating his stash. Even then, dragon cultures demands that a hoard’s owner wait at least fifty years before hosting such a rave. That would offer evidence a new owner could defend their gold.

    Dragons from Vesthie and Delspio came to celebrate, and those were other continents! They flew in overnight, despite the thousand-mile trek, and landed on the bluff of his mountain. They followed Vestata’s signage, burned into the rocks, eager for a good time.

    Fire dragons, like Vestata, were prohibited from consuming alcohol, a strict measure for fire prevention. There was an accident at a hoard party several thousand years ago, where an earth dragon perished from the fiery belches of one such dragon. It altered dragon culture forever because a major city built by humans was destroyed in the ensuing war. The humans retaliated and exterminated many of the nearest dragons, while they rested in their lairs.

    But, the other dragons were permitted to drink, especially water dragons because the water in their systems prevents them from ever getting drunk.

    Vestata showered when he was out of bed, washing away the memories as gold coins clattered into the tub like he’d hit the jackpot on a slot machine. He broke his fast on chili peppers and habanero juice, a nutritious start to the day for your average fire dragon.

    He ate his peppers with a gilded fork and drank from a golden goblet. The best thing about being a fire dragon, in Vestata’s opinion, was that he could use that fire to forge anything he liked. His breakfast was served on a golden table, in a golden chair, and fried on a golden pan. He slumped back in his seat when he finished, deciding on how best to spend his day.

    He remembered another party he held. Many humans stopped to visit, on hearing rumors that a dragon in Tencinno Mountain was nursing a treasure hoard. There were no survivors. Their bodies decayed into skeletons as the years wore on, so Vestata thought it best to sit them around his golden table and host a poker game. Archie the archer (Vestata named his skeletons based on his memories of them), who emptied his quiver on Vestata’s iron scales, refused to ante after losing a large pot of coins to Buddy the bad swordsman. Lester the leader wouldn’t tolerate in-fighting, though. After smacking Archie upside the head, he remembered that playing while angry was bad poker etiquette.

    Vestata didn’t have to intervene in their quarrel until Archie tried to pickpocket some of Buddy’s winnings. Archie, you see, had a wife, a husband, and twenty children that needed to be fed. So, Vestata shifted into human form, a generous gift the gods offered dragons, took Archie by the collar, and pinned him to the wall. “Thievery has no place amongst this company,” he said, thinking that humans had such strange codes and speech patterns. “Return what you stole or return to the earth in a six foot hole!”

    “I… I…,” stuttered the archer. He bowed, acceptance writ across his face. “Yes, Lord Vestata. My actions bring disgrace to the Master of the Mountain.” Archie handed the coins back to his human hand and returned to the table, his head lowered in shame.

    Vestata stacked all but one of the coins in front of Buddy. He flicked it into the air and caught it in his dragon hand. “Consider it a service charge.” Buddy did not complain.

    They continued their card game until Vestata had too much to drink and burned his friends to ash. He shrugged. He was under no drinking restrictions in the complement of his own home. He would have other visitors anyway, he reasoned.

    But none ever came. So, the dragon bided his time by swimming in his gold (which was not as pleasant as one would imagine, even for a dragon), organizing each coin by its country of origin and denomination, biting all the impressions out with his fangs, and stacking them to the ceiling. That last one was particularly fun because, by accident, Vestata rediscovered a toy chest that was buried under his stash. His young dragonhood flooded back to him. The chest was gifted to him bearing a dried log and some tobacco. It was courtesy for dragons to gift firebrands with things they could smoke and burn. Many kept these gifts as mementos. He tucked the chest under his pillow for good luck.

    But, Vestata was languishing in loneliness after breakfast, and was desperate to find a new way to explore his treasure. A thought struck him. What if he went to the nearest town and spent some?

    No dragon has ever done such a thing, his mind was quick to reply. It remained a fair question. What would he buy anyway? He remembered his human form and asked another question; what do humans buy?

    He might have stumbled on the answer. What if he spent the day outside, like an ordinary human?

    The mountain was old and musty. It smelled of spilled whiskey, capsaicin, and dragon farts. But outside? Outside was ripe with autumn. The leaves were changing colors, colors that might match his scales. The air would be fresh, soaked with dew he could extinguish. It was knowing he has the power to do that whenever he wanted that excited him. His two hearts raced as his thoughts filled with wonder.

    Yes, Vestata was going outside. But, he still needed to figure out what he was going to buy.

    Humans, he learned, were persistent creatures. Many died in their war against the dragons, but that persistence brought them victory. Exacting his revenge was easy. Vestata snuck up on them, too, after night fell. That was how he earned the hoard he lavished in. Bringing everyone’s treasure back to his home was the hard part. He hadn’t had a single helper! He flew back and forth from the mountain to the ruined city of Tencinno until it was all tucked away.

The humans rebuilt their city in less than a hundred years. Perhaps, he hoped, their technology advanced since then to harvest newer and better crops. Were dried chilis and habaneros still the hot new item? The question warranted a journey.

    Sure, he could have spent a lifetime eating the insects that crept into his lair, along with the occasional birds and squirrels. Plus, dragons could hibernate for years at a time. But Vestata needed adventure. He needed change. He needed to get out and do something before boredom and agoraphobia crept in. How had his cousins from Vesthie and Delspio done it? Self-imprisonment was not Vestata’s desired way of life.

    He flew to the entrance of his lair, high at the top of the mountain overlooking Tencinno, and changed form. He brought Lester the leader’s armor, and dressed as though he were a knight.

    Vestata trekked on foot for a few hours before reaching the base of the mountain. He’d have flown straight to the city, but a dragon in the skies would have garnered attention he didn’t want. Attention from an army. But, the dragon didn’t tire much, even in human form, and reached the city by mid-afternoon.

    Tencinno was transformed since his last visit. Guards were stationed along its walls, armed with ballistae and trebuchets. There were also guards on the ground, pacing back and forth in the same patterns, armed with spears, swords, shields, and ornate armor. Had the city developed a new wealth he hadn’t known about?

    The guards pacing the streets kept their eyes on him as he walked through the city. His armor was old, rusted in many places, and did not have the same luster as the others. He jiggled the coins in his pocket and the guards turned away at his arrogance.

    He found his way into the local food market. It was a raucous area, and he never knew humans could be so hungry. Thousands were packed into a small square, gabbing at each other while crumbs and spittle erupted from their mouths. They carried enough food to fill both of their arms, even the children, and devoured everything they carried.

    Vestata walked around, enjoying the noise the humans brought to the city, something he had to create himself to lead a busy life. He walked passed butchers and bankers, until he found the greengrocer.

    A young woman was standing behind her wooden cart, wiping down some apples with a damp cloth. Vestata approached her from an angle where she could see him. “Good morrow,” he said, holding back his laughter. “Might I inquire as to the peppers available in this fine establishment on this exquisite day?”

    The woman blushed. “Only the usual,” she replied. “Habaneros and death peppers.”

    The name roused his curiosity. “Death peppers? I’ve not heard of this delicacy.”

    “Careful, lad,” a middle-aged passerby cautioned. “One death pepper is said to kill a man.”

    “I don’t see any men around here.” Vestata refrained from laughing again. He turned back to the young woman and announced. “I’d like to buy your entire stock of death peppers, please.”

    The middle-aged man snickered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He walked away, shaking his head in disbelief. The young vendor, meanwhile, had gone pale, her eyes wide.

    “Sire,” she begged, “I don’t suggest you purchase that many death peppers.”

    “I don’t plan to eat them all in one sitting,” he lied.

    Yet, it was a persuasive lie. She counted her stock of peppers and said, “That will cost you five silver pieces then.”

    Vestata reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of his gold coins. “I don’t get out much,” he said, letting the gold twinkle in the sunlight. If only they knew how much he was playing with them. “How much is five silver from what I have here?” He extended his hand to her, but she stepped away, her palms facing out. At least she was honest.

    She retrieved one gold from his hands and replaced it with fifteen silver. “One will do. With your change, sire.”

    That made Vestata laugh. He placed the fifteen silver onto the counter in front of her. “Please keep the change, then.” She fainted.

    Vestata left the city forthwith. He saw many eyes watching him when the woman collided with the ground. Many hurried to check on her, but she was awake in seconds, brushing off their concerns. She concealed the gold in her pocket so no one could see, and gazed toward her knight in rusted armor.

    The sun was setting when the dragon was halfway home, shining an orange hue over the colored trees around the mountain. He camped under the nearest tree and snacked on one of the death peppers.

    It was hot. Hot enough to cause steam to emit from his ears in his human form. He coughed several times, then belched out a fireball. He felt lucky it sailed into a nearby stream, hissing until it disappeared. White vapor filled the air, reeking of death pepper.

    He transformed when the sun was gone and the sky black with night. The rusty armor crumbled over the force of his expanding size and the hardness of his scales. His day away was pleasant, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of being away from his gold much longer. He jumped into the air and took flight.

    Vestata absorbed the color of the trees below one last time. He reflected on the quality of his time outside of his lair and thought highly of it. How many hours had he been away? It didn’t matter. He had death peppers as tokens of his gratitude.

    He saw two humans scurrying down from the mountain, hustling around the trees like they were skiing. Their shirts were rolled up from the bottom, and they each had both arms wrapped around their bellies, like they were carrying babies. He peered behind them and could not find any sense of danger nearby. That made sense. He was the danger.

    Something was off, though, when he arrived at the top of the mountain. He had grown used to the radiance that his home projected as he neared the cavern entrance. But, it was missing tonight, even with the braziers leading inside burning bright. The shine was gone.

    Vestata raced inside. His dragon hearts beat hard and fast against his chest, leaving traces of an echo. His breath quickened. He felt hollow as his heart pounded – both his human and dragon instincts told him something was wrong.

    The shine at the top of the mountain he learned to adore was gone because his hoard was gone. All of it was missing. Every gold coin, gold chair, gold table, gold statue… none of it was there. He rummaged through what remained of his belongings, and even his chest with the log and tobacco were missing.

    A thought struck him. Did he know what his cousins looked like in human form?

    Vestata roared. He roared with so much rage that even the citizens from Tencinno heard him. He burst through the mountain – not from the entrance that was there, he created a new one through it – and flew towards where he saw the two suspicious humans. Where had they gone?

    He breathed fire all over the forest, working his way from the outside in. That would catch them, had they still been there. But, when the forest looked nothing like a charred wasteland some days later, he knew he had lost.

    Vestata the firebrand was robbed.