Hoard

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley-”

“Uuuuugh, please, spare me. I didn’t ask for a fairytale, much less that dusty old yawn.” Baryns mouth stretched slightly in the ethereal glow of my presence, as if to illustrate his complete boredom with an actual yawn. “I just want to know-”

“Where I stashed my priceless treasure?” My voice came out just as dry and sarcastic as I had hoped. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, as that would be most undignified of a thousand year old spirit who’s only been summoned for less than five minutes. Sarcasm was a good start.

Baryn balled his fists and scowled silently at me, obviously composing himself. I thought it made him look exactly the way he acted. Like an entitled toddler. I decided that I could afford to be the bigger person here, even if I was technically dead.

“My apologies, my prince.” I swept into an exaggerated bow. “Please, restate your request. I fear that after all these years of not being summoned for wisdom, my stories have grown long and my patience short.” I straightened and waited. He stared at me sidelong for a moment and I wondered if perhaps he did have an ounce of sense somewhere under all that fabulous hair. But then he continued.

“Yes, well. As I said, my undead Lady of Androthelea, mistress of Hancoren and-”

“My undead lady will do.” I interrupted cheekily. I thought I was demonstrating impressive restraint. He clamped his lips together and breathed heavily through his nose.

“No, really, the extended title is only necessary for the summoning. Do you know how many undead Ladies are down there? I mean, it would just be so confusing otherwise.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, mumbling something along the lines of “why me?”. I waited patiently.

Finally he clapped his hands together and met my eyes.

“My undead Lady,” I suppressed a smirk. “I come to inquire of the location of the Treasure of Androthelea. The kingdom is in peril and I,” his voice broke, and for the first time I saw an emotion other than pride or irritation in his eyes: desperation. “I need your guidance, and your riches, or there may not be a kingdom to rule when my mother relinquishes the throne.”

I cocked my mouth to the side, staring hard at him. This had just gotten very serious. “Do elaborate. I’m not sure that you know what you’re asking, young prince.”

He took a deep breath. “Over the last nine centuries, we’ve told the story of your achievements. They say that you slew a hundred dragons and gained as many hoards in the process. They also say that dragon hoards are cursed to haunt the unfortunate soul who takes them, beyond death, and bring destruction on them and on everyone they love.”

My eyes widened slightly, but he seemed not to notice. “You were once our queen,” I opened my mouth to snap at him, but he held up a hand. “Whether the position was chosen or forced, you held it. And regardless of whether you loved the king or not, you did love his people. Now the curse of your treasure haunts us all, generation upon generation. And the dragons are the executioners of its punishment.” The desperation had hardened now into insolent surety. “I intend to find that treasure, return it, and rid the kingdom of your curse once and for all.”

Any sympathy that I might have been starting to feel for his plight dissipated like a sad puddle on a hot day. I gave him a dry look as the silence following his proclamation stretched into discomfort. Finally, I sighed heavily, gazing up to the sky.

“It only took a hundred years for them to mess it up.” It was muttered, but he must’ve heard something.

“Beg pardon?”

My eyes slowly shifted back to his face. "Well, you only got about..." i squinted and counted on my fingers, "five things wrong. Which was everything. But whatever." He stared at me stupidly. I pursed my lips, arms folded over my chest. “I didn’t curse anyone. I didn’t steal anything. I had no special love for the kings precious kingdom, and I killed zero dragons. And dragon hoards are not cursed!” I clamped my mouth shut and suppressed a scream of frustration. “You’re all such a bunch of superstitious ninnies!”

His face was turning a fascinating shade of red and his mouth was flopping like an indignant landed fish. I rushed on.

“If you want my help, little boy, you’re going to listen to my stories. And like it. And be quiet!” His mouth snapped shut, but his face was still red and indignant. “Are you ready to listen now?” I snapped.

He pressed his lips firmly together and nodded, if somewhat stiffly. I sighed and straightened my glimmering tunic.

“Excellent! Now. Where was I…ah yes.” I smoothed my hair and folded my hands in my lap.

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley…”