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CHAPTER 5
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Lothinar had made his way back to the lake at first light. He had dressed quietly and left his parent's home without waking them. He knew they would be saddened that he didn't say goodbye, but then again, he had been hiking and exploring the forest trails from the first light of dawn since he was just a boy. When he came of age, it had only seemed natural to join the lake wardens. His parents also knew that he had a rigorous route and schedule to keep as he patrolled the part of the forest assigned to him. They would hardly have expected him to do anything less.
Now, as he climbed the cliff at the water's edge and looked out over the expanse of shoreline, the cool gray fog was slowly loosening its grip on the surface of the water. A stiff breeze blew, and he pulled his cloak tighter around him as he waited. The dragons were nowhere in sight, but he was not concerned. The dragon had seemed to instinctively know that failing to return as promised would undoubtedly be an unforgivable mistake.
Just as the sun rose properly, spreading its brilliant radiance across the sky as it slipped over the tops of the mountains encircling the lake, he saw him. The dragon looked almost comical in the water as it thrashed its body from side to side, more like the swimming style of a serpent than a four-legged creature. Still, Lothinar had to admit. It seemed to make good progress toward the shore. Wading on to land, it shook itself like a giant dog and, not seeming to notice him, made off with surprising speed through the trees toward the place of yesterday's meeting. He did not see the female, which he found rather curious. More questions. He descended the hill.
“It would not be polite to keep a dragon waiting,” he chuckled.
He wasn't apprehensive as he approached the clearing where they had first met, but nonetheless, he notched an arrow as he stepped out of hiding and in view of the creature. He noticed that it seemed to be noticeably larger than the day before.
“Good morning,” he said brightly, sending his thoughts of best wishes toward the dragon, who spun around to face him.
It shifted nervously from side to side but only hissed and shook in reply. Lothinar pushed forward with his thoughts, thrusting aside the veil of resistance he felt blocking his access to the creature's mind. He pressed through...
“I have returned... do not kill... I have returned!” came at last the dragon's thoughts, rushing into his mind. They were filled with fear.
“It is not my wish to harm you,” Lothinar replied
“You carry the wood used for killing!” the dragon replied, his mental voice almost rising to a shriek.
Looking down at his hands, Lothinar realized instinctively that he had instinctively pulled the bowstring back when the dragon spun around to face him. Slowly, so as not to cause further alarm, Lothinar relaxed the bow and quickly slipped the feathered shaft back into the quiver on his shoulder. The dragon seemed to calm down a little.
“Your words, they are inside my head,” the dragon said, his mental voice seeming to falter, rising and falling in volume as the words came across the telepathic connection.
Lothinar stepped closer. It seemed apparent that the dragon had not previously been accustomed to mental communication. Projecting a feeling of calm, he answered.
“This sharing of thoughts sometimes occurs among my people,” he said. “I believe it is also how someone among my race was able to warn your ancestors about their coming doom and allow a few of them to escape destruction.”
“We were enemies, then,” the dragon replied cautiously, suddenly asking, “Must it still be so between us?”
Lothinar looked at the dragon for quite a while before he finally responded.
“I don't think either of us is in a position to negotiate peace between our peoples, but perhaps in time, if we are sincere, an opportunity may present itself.”
The dragon seemed to ponder the words, struggling with the images the vocabulary had thrust into its mind.
“This is preferable. I do not want to die. There is a story I have heard that once all my race were as I am... “
The dragon paused, and Lothinar could sense a deep feeling of shame.
“No, they were better than me. Bigger and with real wings that could carry them through the air.”
“You have heard correctly,” Lothinar said at last, marveling that the water dragons had somehow kept the stories of their heritage alive so many years after their fall and exile.
Seeming to read the images of his unspoken thoughts, the dragon said,
“Now, only one of my kind still remembers the old stories. It was she who saved me when the others sought to end my life. The others must believe me dead, or they would certainly return to finish the task.”
“And my people,” Lothinar replied, “If they knew that I was talking to you now, they would consider me a traitor and most likely kill me as well.”
“Why do you do this thing? The dragon asked, looking quizzically at him. "Why risk your life?"
“'I'm not entirely sure,” Lothinar answered, shrugging. “Mostly, the dragons from our stories were arrogant and dangerous. Their appetite for blood and death seemed insatiable. They were ferocious physical adversaries, feeding indiscriminately on anything they chose. They ate men and elves and any beast they decided was appealing."
"I do sometimes get hungry," admitted the dragon. Then added hastily, "But I would never try to eat you!"
"Thanks for clearing that up," said Lothinar, chuckling.
"Our records say that our attempts to communicate with your ancestors, for the most part, were unsuccessful. It was only by the great skill of one of our foremost magicians and quite a bit of luck that we could stop the old dragons from laying waste to the world.
The dragon seemed to ponder the stream of thoughts and words, taking a while before finally responding.
“So again, I ask. Why do you spare my life? My birth seems to indicate that my kind may once again have the potential to leave the prison of the lake and return to our faulty ways.”
Lothinar looked at the shriveled wings and thought of what it must be like for this creature to be almost entirely alone in the world. He had spent months in the forest on patrol, counting and cataloging plants and animals, but deep inside, he always knew that he would eventually return home. He had family that loved him. He finally answered the question for both the dragon and himself.
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“There are also stories among my people, stories not popular or often told, about the friendship and respect between some of my people and some of yours. There must have been something worthwhile in that. Something that caused one of my kind to lay down his life to try and save a few of yours. I want to find out about that.” Lothinar said. He realized suddenly, as he sent the thoughts to the dragon, that he felt sure the traitorous elf of the history book was somehow looking down upon him and nodding in approval.
“My name is Tundor,” the dragon said softly.
“And I am Lothinar,” the elf replied, reaching out to touch the dragon gently on the nose, realizing that with one terrible snap of the massive jaw, he would disappear.
The dragon did not move, but some of the remaining tension seemed to leave him. After several seconds, it pulled away and finally spoke again, shaking his head and his thoughts sounding massive and somber.
“Would you mind coming with me over to the water? I would like you to meet someone.”
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As was her usual routine, Candasar had spent the first part of the morning trying to fish. Not surprisingly, however, it didn't seem at all appealing. After feeding yesterday on the deer meat, she had little enthusiasm for the swift darting silver prey of the deep. Still, her energy level was high, and she had no trouble catching even some of the faster species.
Besides increased energy, she could feel other changes the strange food had wrought in her. It confirmed to her yet again that her kind was not native to the water. Fish consumption kept them alive but only as pale shadows of what they might become with a proper diet. Previously, only a tiny simmering cauldron, the internal fire of magical energy she had been carefully hoarding, had burst into a roaring furnace of heat. She had not intended or planned for it but now found that her body had unexpectedly prepared her for a pairing.
“Poor Tundor,” she thought to herself. “No wonder he left the cave so quickly this morning.”
It occurred to her that she didn't even know how old he was or how his different body type would affect the timetable of his maturity. He had been eating meat for several days now and judging by the changes it had made in her own rate of metabolism after only one feeding, she suspected that he was more than ready as well.
Based on his change in size alone, his growth had been abnormally fast. It was as if their bodies had been starved for some missing nutritional ingredient. Now that it had been supplied, they were making up for lost time.
As she swam around the point of land that separated the cove that held the underwater entrance to her lair, Candasar suddenly stopped, frozen in surprise. Swimming in the shallow waters were two young but large males. Quickly spotting her arrival, they made their way toward her.
Her first thought was that they had found Tundor, but she quickly realized that if that had been the case, the clan would have sent many more to make an end of him. She scanned the shoreline but saw no sign of him. He was still off hunting, no doubt.
Instead, she suddenly realized that her unplanned sexual readiness had sent traces of an ancient unmistakable call far into the lake itself. She suddenly realized in terror that the two males were here for her!
Her first instinct was to run, but Candasar had chosen this place specifically for its seclusion and distance from others of her kind. There would be no appeal to the clan for protection or justice. If there had been only one, she might have stood a chance in fighting him off, but with two, the outcome of a physical confrontation was inevitable. One or both of them would end up forcing themselves upon her.
These stupid, wretched beasts would fertilize the carefully crafted ripe eggs that she had carried and nurtured so carefully within her. She watched as they began circling her in the water. She held her position, spinning rapidly and trying to keep herself facing whichever one was the closest. Their faces locked in malevolent, silent grins.
Finally, one of them spoke.
“We have smelled you, Candasar. You have called us,” He hissed.
“Yessss. We have heard stories about the female who lives alone but gives pleasure to all males that approach her,” the other replied, lunging in with his long neck to try and bite at her.
“But we didn't expect you to be so young and...smell so tasty,” the first continued, quickly swimming in closer and trying to circle behind her.
“I am not interested!” Candasar said brusquely, pushing away and trying to maneuver herself into a position with her back to the face of the cliff above the entrance to her cave. She didn't want to make a run for the underwater opening, just in case Tundor had returned and was inside.
“You sssmell interested!” came the nasty reply as one of the males lunged forward grabbing her by the neck. The other quickly approached her from behind while his conspirator held her. As he rolled on his side in the water, she could see his male organ, distended and ready. She struggled frantically, feeling a terrified scream escaping her throat.
Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead, eclipsing the sun. An incredible shriek and enormous splash followed it. The large male's grip on her neck released as it stared in astonishment at the rolling boil of the water's surface where his companion had been swimming. The water frothed crimson. Stranger yet, the male that had bitten her neck suddenly let out a strangled cry. A wooden shaft stood out from his shoulder, a feathered tip protruding just inches from where his heart would undoubtedly be beating loudly in his chest.
The surface of the water broke open and Candasar saw Tundor, He had the other male's neck in his powerful jaw. Its body was limp and lifeless. As Tundor surfaced, his thrashing wings cast water droplets high into the air. The remaining male gasped in shock but then dove quickly as a second arrow narrowly missed hitting him in the neck. Looking up to the cliff above, Candasar could see a two-legged figure dressed all in green as he quickly placed another wooden shaft against the string of his weapon.
“Don't let him escape!” The man in green called to her, his urgent words reverberating in her mind. Shaking free of her shock, Candasar dove after the remaining male, swimming with the anger of purpose that she had rarely felt before toward one of her own kind.
No doubt the arrow in his shoulder slowed him, but the big male had put on a burst of speed that was yet impressive. It was, however, easy to follow his bloody trail through the water. She caught up with him at that point. When he finally realized he could not outdistance her, he wheeled to fight. Even with his wound, he was still much larger than her and enormously strong.
“Do you really think you will be able to kill me?” he scoffed at her as she lunged toward him, seeking a grip.
“I might,” she replied, “Old as I am, I have learned a few tricks while fighting off young, stupid brutes like you.”
The male did not waste words but growled angrily as it swung a head full of razor-sharp teeth once again toward her throat. She dodged and struck back, tearing a deep slash in the side of its face.
“Now you won't be so pretty if you live through this and attempt to force yourself on some other female,” Candasar taunted, the heat of battle awakening an intense internal heat in her spirit. She was angry. Angry at this male. Angry at all of the others who had individually tried to force themselves on her over the years. Enraged at her life of exile and the hatred she felt from those of her kind. She was furious that now that she was so close, they tried to steal her dreams again. In her fury, though, she miscalculated and left an opening for him. He found her throat with his teeth and bit down hard, she felt the pressure of his jaw on the bones in her neck. She would have screamed but no air would come out.
Suddenly, the pressure was released. Looking down, Candasar was surprised to see yet another feather-tipped shaft protruding from the base of the male's skull. His eyes glazed, and his body twitched reflexively just before it began to sink beneath the waves. On the shore at the point was the elf. The bow was still clenched tightly in his hand. It had been a fantastic shot. Candasar sagged in the water, gasping for breath, the agony in her neck stripping away the anger she had felt only moments before.
Who was this elf, and what had Tundor said to him to elicit his help? She wondered. Years of fear overcome by an overpowering curiosity, Candasar turned and returned to the beach where Tundor lay panting in the shallows. Nearby, the body of the first dead male bobbed up and down in the water. His guts lay torn open from the deep raking of Tundor's rear claws. She nuzzled him in thanks as he turned and rose to greet her.
“That was close!” he said quietly.
“Somebody will eventually miss them,” she said at last. “Others will come looking.”
“We will face them together when they come,” Tundor replied, nodding toward the elf, picking his way quickly toward them over the boulders on the shoreline. “And we will have help.”
“What deal have you made, Tundor?” she asked, sagging against him, her neck oozing from the jagged marks of the male's sharp teeth.
“I have renegotiated an old relationship,” he said slowly. “But now you need rest and food. Go to the cavern, and I will hunt for you. For both of us.”
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Candasar nodded and swam out toward the entrance to her cave. Looking back, she saw the elf reach the young dragon on the shore. It astounded her that she saw Tundor lay his large head upon the elf's shoulder as if in thanks. Wearily, she dove underwater for her bed. Explanations would have to wait. She seriously doubted that the two dead males would not be missed. Reaching her small shelf, she lowered her head to rest, but unbidden and springing to her eyes despite herself, the tears began to flow as the terror began to leave her slowly. Deep within her, she could feel her eggs' heat and the promise they bore. She would have to be much more careful with them.