The Lake of Death

9

This time Dhamon swam farther out, diving and surfacing, until finally he caught sight of the edge of the sunken city. His eyes widened at the sight.

He circled above a tall building. He was surprised it seemed so well preserved, looking almost as though it were purposely built on the deep bottom of this lake. The bones, bits of armor, and possessions he could see strewn below on sidewalks clearly marked this place as an abandoned graveyard.

Wispy ghosts of elves spotted him and hid in doorways and pressed against walls. Though no longer alive, they still feared dragons, and they recalled all too vividly how Beryl brought about the death of their beloved Qualinost.

Circling widely, Dhamon also spotted the horns of Beryl’s carcass but did not swim close, especially because the overlord was mired in the depths. He swam and searched for hours before feeling the old anxiety and tightening in his chest. Then he returned to the surface, gulping in air and relishing the warmth.

Three days went by without any sign of Feril. Three days of Ragh’s griping and repeated entreaties to leave. Three days before Dhamon decided to risk another swim farther out and deeper down into the Lake of Death.

It was the afternoon of the third day since Feril had dived into the lake, and on that day Feril returned, just as Dhamon approached the sunken city from above. With tremendous relief he spotted her swimming in a straight line toward the surface. He shot up, surfacing not far away, and followed her to the shore.

“Dhamon! You’re shivering! You’ve been in the lake looking for me? Isn’t that…sweet. Ack, but you smell even worse when you’re wet. Move away!”

He gave a nod of his massive head, water dripping off his scales. Wet, they shone almost brilliantly in the setting sun. “Three days you’ve been gone. I feared you had drowned,” he rumbled ruefully. Ragh was plodding toward them.

She ran her fingers through her hair and stretched in the fading sunlight. “I was fine, Dhamon Grimwulf. You know I can well take care of myself.” A pause, then: “In truth I didn’t realize so much time had passed.” She wondered how long she’d been unconscious in the tower room before Obelia warmed her. “Elves do not have to sleep very much, you know, though I am terribly hungry.” She offered him a wistful smile, showing she appreciated his concern.

Dhamon wanted her to tell him everything, especially if she’d found any magic to help him in the sunken city, but he stopped himself from asking directly. He knew Feril and knew that she talked about things in her own time.

“I saw Beryl’s horns,” he began.

Feril nodded. “I found her, too.”

She said nothing else, causing Ragh to roll his eyes. Dhamon glared at the sivak, who hacked away, holding his hands up, leaving the two alone. She tipped her face up and breathed deep, taking in the smells of the late summer wildflowers and the grass. The breeze was drying her, though it would take some time to thoroughly dry her leather tunic. She was reminded of her private vow to visit the sunken shops below and find some new clothes. First, however, she intended to return to Kalilnama’s tower.

“Don’t worry. I’m just taking a breather. I’m going back down shortly.”

“Not alone this time. Let me go with you.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said, shaking her head, “and I know that you are afraid of water.”

Dhamon winced. “Let me go with you anyway,” he said. “What’s down there that’s so urgent?”

She glanced away, avoiding his question, not wanting to raise his hopes. “I missed you, Dhamon.”

He was going to say something else to her, but he was surprised by her candid emotion, and his words caught in his throat. He glanced awkwardly over at Ragh, who had simply gone back to sleep against a tree.

“I shouldn’t have left you after the Window,” Feril continued softly. “I thought I needed time alone, away. Apart. I thought putting distance between us would help clear my head, but it only troubled my heart. I have missed you.”

She didn’t say anything else for quite some time. She stood at the edge of the lake and watched the thin, low-hanging clouds turned gold by the setting sun as they slowly dissolved. The sun set, and in the growing twilight a pair of owls sailed low over the far side of the lake then turned east as they flew off for night hunting.

The air was cooling, the wind dying down. Feril and Dhamon continued to stand on the bank as the breeze carried new, faint scents to them—the mustiness of raccoons and possums that must be hunting at the edge of the treeline, along with a subtle hint of blood, suggesting something had been killed in the nearby woods.

Stars gradually winked into view, and Lunitari was the first moon to peek over the canopy and reflect palely on the surface of the ever-still lake.

Feril walked forward until the water teased her toes.

“Don’t go back in tonight,” Dhamon said. There was an unusual pleading in his voice. “I know elves don’t have to sleep very much, but you look tired.”

Feril turned away from the lake and looked straight up into the night sky. Then she took a deep breath, and another, starting toward the trees to the southeast. “All right. Do you think your sivak friend will mind sharing the forest?”

She bent and tugged at something in the grass, some type of root she was brushing the dirt from. She was quick to eat it.

Dhamon caught up to her and walked slowly at her side.

“I found…something…in the lake that might help you,” she finally said, just as they approached the sivak, one eye open, resting propped up against an old white oak. “Let’s consider the matter in the morning.”

The sivak was on his feet, eyes drifting up to meet Dhamon’s gaze, then catching the Kagonesti’s. She looked tiny next to the dragon. “Welcome back. After so long I figured you’d probably drowned, elf. Dhamon thought so, too.”

Feril walked right past the sivak without so much as a word of greeting and stretched out on a bed of ferns. Dhamon stayed back near the clearing with Ragh. As Dhamon watched her, he offered a silent prayer to the gods. He had never prayed so hard for the return of his humanity, never prayed so hard for anything.

If he were human, he could have rested at her side, draped an arm around her and held her close. If he became human again, they could use the treasure in his hoard to buy a mansion anywhere they wanted. Hire servants. Nothing would be too expensive. He relished his dragon power…but he was not happy this way.

He noticed Ragh scrutinizing him.

“Well, I’m glad the elf didn’t drown,” the sivak said.

Ragh paced behind Feril and Dhamon. The draconian kept telling Dhamon that it was time to move on to another part of the Qualinesti forest. He was achingly bored with sitting under oak trees and watching birds and insects while waiting for Feril to finish up with whatever she was doing deep in the Lake of Death. Now she was planning on going back…and for how long?

“So you found something that might help Dhamon. What is it?” The sivak pressed.

The Kagonesti didn’t reply.

“Well, how long are you going to be down there this time?” Ragh raised his voice but still didn’t get an answer. “How do we know how long we should wait or whether you’ve been killed by an octopus or something?”

“Stop it, Ragh,” Dhamon said after a few moments. “You don’t have to wait for us.”

Ragh gave a soft growl. “Fine, fine. Just where am I supposed to go?” He waggled his scaly fingers toward the trees. “All right. I guess I’ll go back to sleep over there until you’re finished with your little quest.” The sivak took a dozen steps away and looked over his shoulder. “Dhamon, I truly hope she finds something down at the bottom of that lake that can…that might…”

“Make me human again.”

The sivak nodded.

The sun was rising and the trees were already throwing shadows. Dhamon touched a talon to Feril’s shadow and arched his back. His glossy black scales turned darker and dull, the blue and silver scales disappearing. He had come up with this idea last night. He could transform into a shadow dragon; he had that ability from the shadow dragon who had birthed him. That way he could accompany Feril into the lake, protect her even, though he didn’t dare say that to her.

This way, he had argued, they could team up and double their efforts to find what she was seeking.

His fear of the lake was lessened when he was a shadow dragon.

Dhamon’s form shimmered slightly, then flattened until he looked like a dragon-shaped pool of oil. A few moments passed, the pool shrinking and melding with Feril’s shadow.

The Kagonesti breathed deep, the air heavy with wildflowers and the hint of rain. No trace of the odors of stagnant water and rotted plants remained. As a shadow, Dhamon lost his scent.

“You said you’d be able to hear me, Dhamon.” Feril waded into the water, “and that you could stay underwater with me the entire time, that as a shadow you don’t breathe.” Feril was up to her waist now, relishing the feel of the warm water and knowing the cold would come soon enough. “We’re going to an old section of the city, Dhamon. I’ve met some…some people…there.”

Then she was swimming ahead of him toward the center of the lake and diving. She chased schools of small sunfish and perch, and as she did she grew gills almost immediately. She was invigorated after a night’s rest and reflection, and she kicked fast and strong, angling like an arrow toward where she knew Qualinost reposed. She watched pike, bass, and silverfins swim by, then the fish and plants disappeared abruptly and she braced herself for the cold. It wrapped around her, and she felt her heart being squeezed. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Dhamon had the same reaction, but she couldn’t tell, though he was close behind.

She was impressed, though not astonished, that Dhamon could attach himself to her as a shadow. Feril could assume the forms of most living creatures—something she thought preferable to becoming a shadow. Did he feel this horrible cold? She thrust her worries aside and threw her efforts into fighting off the numbness and looking for a glimmer of light amid the dark blue water.

She’d placed the enchanted crystal on the roof of the philosopher’s home, as a beacon. Kalilnama and Obelia promised to wait for her there, and she hoped that they hadn’t drifted off somewhere during the hours she’d lingered above.

Ragh stomped grumpily toward the white oak. He’d hollowed out a spot between the knobby roots of the tree, and the depression made it comfortable enough to sleep there. That was virtually all he’d been doing for days—sleeping.

“Hope they find something down there to help him,” Ragh said. “Make him human again. No more flying, no more swamp. No more smelling the swamp on his breath all the time. He was all right when he was human. He saved me when he was human. He might still want me around, but I wish they’d hurry up. It’s boring around here. Boring, and I still think it’s strange and dangerous.”

The sivak looked over his shoulder again. The surface of the lake was placid as usual. No sign of either the elf or Dhamon.

“Now I’m talking to myself. Nothing else to do around here.” He chuckled and ground the ball of his foot against the earth. “No one to talk to, no one to fight with. Nothing good to eat. Nothing to look at, but trees and trees and trees and that damnable lake.” His head jerked up and he scanned the treeline.

Hey, something was moving up there. He heard leaves rustling, but there was no wind to speak of. Shadows shifted, and he swore he could smell something foul.

The enchanted light showed the way, and Feril swam fast toward the beacon. Obelia and Kalilnama could easily be spotted waiting in the tree-home, along with more than a dozen other Qualinesti spirits, some of whom she recognized from her previous visit.

Obelia cast a glance at the shadow which trailed her but said nothing. “Here are things we’ve found that might help, elf-fish.” Obelia summoned his globes of light and used them to chase the chill from Feril. “Unguents from Rosemoon’s, powders and crystal shards that Kalilnama’s wife left behind. Her laboratory is at the top of this place. There are scrolls with spells in Jerlin L’oile’s shop, and these should be safe from the water. Jerlin used to heavily wax the edges of the tubes. There’ll be more things in the library at the east edge of the city. Though I suppose nearly all the books are ruined.” He stroked the bridge of his nose and stared long into her eyes. “We’ll tell you precisely where all these things are, my elf-fish. I’ll take you to them, but you’ll have to do the gathering. You see, our hands…” He sadly passed his fingers through her. “We cannot pick any of these things up. I alone of my dead friends can hold any semblance of a physical form, and I cannot hold that for more than a breath.”

You’ll show me where all of these things are?

Obelia nodded. “I’ll be your guide, and show you those things and more, elf-fish. All precious and enchanted, things the lake couldn’t destroy. I don’t know if they’ll be much help in obtaining an overlord’s scale, but it’s worth the trying.”

Dhamon saw the elf spirits through Feril’s eyes and heard everything Obelia and Kalilnama said. Dhamon wanted to ask them questions about how an overlord’s scale might help return him to human form. Too, he wanted to know what kept these ghosts in the city and why they hadn’t passed to the spirit realm where dead folks were said to drift near the gods. The only one he could speak to was Feril, and she had cautioned him to keep his tongue around the spirits.

The sorcerer-elf had been ancient in life, Dhamon reckoned. He’d seen plenty of elves, but none with wrinkles so numerous and deep, fingers and limbs that had they been flesh would be bony, pale, and sprinkled with age spots. Hundreds upon hundreds of years old the spirit elf was, maybe a thousand or more—in Dhamon’s early days with the Dark Knights he’d heard campfire tales that elves could live that long. Not so long as dragons, though, he thought smugly.

He continued to observe everything through Feril’s eyes, marveling at her acuteness of vision as they passed over a once lavish neighborhood. The huge head of Beryl came into focus, and he recalled the one time when he had laid eyes on the overlord at the Window to the Stars. That was years ago, and Beryl had been dead for years, too, so Dhamon guessed it was the unnatural cold of the lake that kept the carcass so preserved that it looked alive and merely sleeping. Conversely, it was likely the magic in the overlord’s carcass that made the lake so cold. Here the depths were truly murky and at the same time tinged green.

The ghosts of the Knights of Neraka appeared among the overlord’s neck spines, difficult to see because they were more translucent than before. They didn’t make any hostile moves toward Feril, and as she and her dead Qualinesti companions came closer, the knights’ images wavered and dissipated.

“I would think any scale from Beryl would do, elf-fish.” Obelia, speaking conspiratorially, was close at Feril’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should take two…as a fail-safe, in case your first attempt to help your friend fails.”

Three, Feril decided. Or perhaps four. However many I can pry loose and carry to the surface.

She kicked harder and drove toward her target, speeding past Obelia and Kalilnama, so close to the overlord now that all she could see was a wall of emerald scales that made up its jaw. She hovered for a moment, regarding the corpse’s scales and wary of the knightly ghosts. The smallest scales were on its claws and along a ridge above the dragon’s closed eyes. She darted in and gripped one of the smallest on the dragon’s head, just above one of its huge nostrils. Her arm muscles bunched and a vein stood out on her neck as she yanked. She gritted her teeth and pulled harder, but the scale would not give way. Feril doubled her efforts and was rewarded with the palms of her hands being sliced by the sharp edges of the scale. Blood trailed away and a string of curses tumbled through her head.

Silently, Dhamon encouraged her, half thrilled, half disconcerted to be this close to the great dead Beryl.

“You’re hurt, my elf-fish,” Obelia said consolingly. He appeared at her side, his heavily-lined face thick with concern. “You must bandage your hands. There is exceptional, thick cloth in the city and…”

I’m fine, she thought to him. I’ll go back to Qualinost and bandage my hands after I get some of these blasted scales.

“But you’re bleeding—that’s not good.”

I’ve had cuts all over in my time, she returned. The scales first.

Good for you, Dhamon thought.

Obelia nodded and floated away. Feril turned back, studying the ground around the dragon’s talons until she found what she was looking for—a long sword lying amid the bones. There was still no sign of the dead knights who had evidently vanished. She swam down to the sword and gripped the pommel in her slender fingers. The leather wrapped around the crosspiece was rotting, but she could use the blade to pry loose the scales, though she’d have to be careful not to damage them. Her goal was to extract scales in the most flawless possible condition.

This one first, she thought, eyes locking onto one of the deepest green scales. It was tiny compared to some others, about the size of a serving platter, but she thought it might be easier to get loose for that reason. She slipped the tip of the sword beneath the scale and, using it like a lever, carefully tried to pry it.

It shifted slightly, to her exultation. She nearly had it free when an icy wave surged over her; the cold shot down her back, and the sword slipped from her fingers—a cold more intense than anything she’d experienced before, instantly numbing her. Whirling she faced a row of militant ghosts, all spirits of the Knights of Neraka. The closest had needlelike claws instead of hands, and though he looked transparent, he’d somehow managed to pierce her. Though the cold was vicious, she also felt some warmth and guessed this was her own blood.

“You dare mutilate our mistress,” the knight with the claw hands cried. “Defiler! Despoiler!”

“You will die for your transgression,” another knight added. He reached toward her, his hands turning to wispy claws.

Obelia! Feril’s mind screamed. Obelia! Help me!

The specter of the ancient sorcerer appeared above and behind the line of knights, his sage companions forming a foggy cloud near him. Obelia’s hollow eyes met Feril, and he sadly shook his head.

“We cannot help you, elf-fish.”

Dhamon! she wanted to scream.

Looking around wildly, she could see no sign of her shadow.

Feril reached for the dropped sword, held the pommel tightly, and swung it wide. The blade harmlessly passed through the approaching ghost knights.

“You will die,” they said as one.

One smiling ghost knight floated so close that his form brushed against her. “Your spirit, too, will help guard this sacred dragon.”