The Lake of Death

5

Dhamon often caught Feril staring at him, eyes wide and unable to wholly conceal her disbelief. Though she acknowledged that he was a dragon, he knew she was having a difficult time accepting it, and he knew that as much as she loved all creatures and might have once loved him, a part of her was horrified. Dhamon understood; he knew that he was repellent, even to Ragh, his only friend. All dragons had a particular odor—he remembered Malys the Red smelling of brimstone and ashes; Sable of decaying plant life and fetid water; Brine of the foul sea. His own smell was poisonous; his breath reeked of metal and blood.

Still, the Kagonesti had stayed close. Dhamon intently watched Feril, noting the Kagonesti’s slightly upturned nose, her high cheekbones and rounded chin, those gently pointed ears that he once caressed—back when he was human.

When the sunlight hit her eyes, which were blue flecked with green and saffron, they sparkled dark green like emeralds. Perhaps they were whatever color she wanted them to be, he thought, recalling that late at night under the stars they seemed to shift between deep blue and gold. There was a magic about her after all, and perhaps her eyes changed color with her mood or her setting.

Feril’s hair reminded him of the rich shade of leaves just beginning to turn in the early fall, and though he at first thought he missed her long mass of curls, he decided that he actually liked this new hairstyle better. Her hair was so short that nothing competed with her face. Her skin was lightly tanned like the bark of a young hickory tree, her complexion smooth and flawless. The only exception was a tiny scar on her forehead where a tattoo once had been. He would ask her later what happened to the tattoos and where she had lived these past few years.

He closed his eyes, in his mind still seeing her vividly, and he offered a prayer to whatever god would listen to a dragon, that he could always see her just like this. He wanted to be able to perfectly recall her image after she left him again forever. He wanted to remember what she smelled like—newly opened wildflowers and sage grass, her hair carrying a suggestion of honey and ginger.

She would leave him eventually—this time permanently, he was convinced, but how soon? Wild elves were solitary figures, and Dhamon thought before that it had been a struggle for Feril to stay as long as she did with Palin and the others when they were all Goldmoon’s champions and fought against the overlords.

He just hoped she would stay this time long enough to be of use to him.

Though there had been many women in Dhamon’s life—back when he was human—Feril was the only one he truly had loved. He’d come close to settling down once with a half-elf thief named Riki, who bore his child. He had genuine affection for Riki, but he couldn’t bring himself to commit to her, not considering his reckless nature, and not considering that Feril was too often in his thoughts.

Feril had changed, other than cutting her hair and removing her tattoos. Dhamon noticed that she seemed more confident, that her arms and legs were muscular, yet somehow she moved even more gracefully than in the old days.

She has changed for the better and I so very much for the worse. How long before she leaves? he thought one last time. Then he pushed his musings aside.

It had been just past dawn when Feril led Dhamon and Ragh down a wide path and into this grove of unusual trees. There were lofty black wattles and spreading rusty laurels, and stretching above them were silky oaks and silver basswoods. Feril pointed to tamarinds thick with bellbird vines, and to clumps of pink ash growing amid red muttonwoods. She slowed her pace when they passed an exotic acacia with huge silver-blue feathery leaves and orange flowers in foot-long spikes. The bark had a scent similar to raspberries, and it cut the sulfur odor of the sivak and the smells of the swamp that still clung heavily to Dhamon.

Feril noticed Dhamon admiring some of the trees, in particular a dome-like giant with heart-shaped leaves and copious clusters of vivid scarlet blooms.

“That one and some of these other trees shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Like I shouldn’t be here,” Dhamon whispered. His soft voice was nonetheless loud enough to be felt by all as it resonated through the ground.

Feril tilted her head back and stretched an arm up so her fingers could tease the soft flowers of the exotic acacia.

“Dhamon, what I mean is that these trees were meant for warmer lands. I know it is hot now this summer, but come winter the snow could lay thick in these woods. They weren’t meant to stand such cold, these beautiful trees.”

Feril explained that when Beryl ruled this forest, the dragon must have done something to the earth or perhaps to the trees themselves so they could thrive here, but would the dragon’s magic eventually fade without her around to nurture it? Did the Kagonesti even want to be in these woods come winter to find out?

Dhamon had offered to fly Feril and Ragh to the Nalis Aren, and at first the sivak had championed the idea.

“What is it about Nalis Aren that might help you become human again?” Feril asked.

It wasn’t the lake itself, but what was in the lake, Dhamon explained. Feril wanted to know more, but he dismissed her questions with a shake of his massive head.

“Later, Feril. When we reach the lake.”

“Why do you need my help so badly?”

“Later, Feril.”

Feril refused to fly with him to Nalis Aren. Dhamon suspected she was just being stubborn; she would insist on taking her time traveling to Nalis Aren, just as he insisted on taking his time revealing everything that had to be done.

“It is not terribly far from here, the Lake of Death.” Feril shook her head vehemently when he noted that they could avoid all these trees and fly there directly. “We can walk. It’ll take three days at the most if we keep up this pace. We’ll follow the river. I want to see if there are any more bandits or knights along the way, and I want to see if there are more burnt places, things we might not be able to see from the sky.”

They all knew the land had been scorched by fire and magic, and that here and there were mass graves of Qualinesti elves. Indeed, they ran across a small group of marauders that they dealt with summarily. They had come upon the raggedy men skulking near a long, deep rut that ran parallel to the river. Perhaps the rut had been dug for a reason, but Feril couldn’t fathom why. Perhaps it was made by a dragon, Dhamon speculated as he smoothed it over with his claws—after burying the bodies of the bandits they had killed deep in the trench.

They continued on without sleep and so reached Nalis Aren after two days. It was afternoon and the sun, though high and intense, was not enough to burn off the thin mist that hung above the massive crater-lake. It was roughly shaped like a triangle and filled the entire valley. The south end touched the foothills of the Kharolis Mountains, and the center of it was more than two miles across.

“Lovely,” Feril said.

It was more than lovely, she thought, it was also unnatural—the color of the water was murky, yet the surface lay as smooth as polished glass despite the White Rage River surging into it. Where the brown foamy river met the lake’s edge was where the water changed color and grew still. The sand around the shore was the shade of eggshells and sparkled in places from what Feril guessed were grains of quartz. No trees grew within a hundred yards of the sand and the nearest were old oaks that reached eighty or more feet into the sky.

They stood just inside the treeline staring straight ahead at the strange lake.

There were traces of old roads leading to the water from all directions, though they were now overgrown with milkweed and fennel and a scattering of seedlings. Feril noticed bootprints on the path they’d traveled to get here, and she suspected the tracks were made by either Knights of Neraka or bandits, but in no significant number and not within recent days. There were odd prints, too, goblins most likely, though it looked like they had tried to cover up their tracks. Feril could study the tracks more closely to make sure what creatures left them, or she could ask Dhamon, who was an expert woodsman. These prints, too, were weeks old.

“This lake,” Feril said in a hushed voice, “is where Qualinost used to be.”

Ragh staggered forward. “Qualinost, the elf capital…”

“Yes, the city was right out there…somewhere out there. Dhamon, I know you and the sivak have been living in a cave, but don’t you know about the elves? Even on the Isle of Cristyne we heard about the demise of Qualinost.”

“There’s a lot about what’s going on in the world that we don’t know,” Ragh said tersely. “It’s not easy for…such as Dhamon and I…to walk into a city and hear the latest news and gossip. Hard enough finding you, elf. That took a big satchel of steel and lots of threats.” He made a tsk-tsking sound and shook his head. “The whole city. Gone? I’d seen it almost seventy, eighty years ago…from high above. I thought it impressive for something of elven construction.”

Feril’s eyes narrowed at the insult as she approached the lake reverently. Her gaze drifted warily between the water and the sand. She glanced down at her feet. The grass was thick and mixed with stunted fennel and felt good between her toes. It reached no taller than her ankles, as if it had been regularly grazed upon. She smelled sulfur and swamp rot and knew Dhamon and Ragh were close behind her.

“You move quietly,” she flung over her shoulder.

“No animal prints, Feril.” Dhamon had been intently studying the ground. “You’d think there would be creature tracks in the sand, but there are none. Something is cropping the grass around here, though.”

“Nothing drinks from the lake,” Ragh cut in, “and here I am thirsty. Wonderful.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean the water’s bad,” Feril said. “Let’s see.” She bent to her knees and took a deep breath. “It does not smell tainted, yet I agree it is unnaturally dark. Perhaps animals are scarce here or do not drink from the lake along this section of shore, but they might drink from it elsewhere.”

“Perhaps.” The sivak’s tone was skeptical. “Dhamon, enough with the suspense. Tell us, how is this lake going to help you become human again?”

Feril raised her shoulders in a half-shrug and tentatively touched the water with her toes. “The lake can’t help him, sivak.”

Ragh growled. “Of course it can. Otherwise, why by the number of the Dark Queen’s heads did we come here? Don’t tell me it was a wasted, worthless…”

“It’s what’s in the lake that could make all the difference, right, Dhamon?” Feril stepped forward until the water came up to her knees. She’d caused only the faintest ripples when she entered, and the water was still smooth like glass behind her, where she’d already passed. “They say the city of Qualinost still exists here, but it’s beneath the water. They say that when Beryl…they called her the Green Peril…succumbed to the elven army led by Laurana and Marshall Medan, that she destroyed Qualinost in her final moments. They say the dragon thrashed so hard a crater was created, and the White Rage River filled it up. Nalis Aren was born.”

Ragh continued to growl softly, looking up at Dhamon. “Great. A dead city. What exactly do you think is in the lake? You saw something in that crystal ball, didn’t you? That’s why we’re here.” The sivak ground the ball of his foot into the sand. “Coarse stuff,” he muttered to himself, “much coarser than sand should feel. You’d think there’d be dirt here instead of sand this far inland.”

Feril thought the water was warm, though not so warm as the summer air. Perhaps the breeze blowing from the south had cooled it a little. It was comfortable, relaxing, and she found herself suddenly looking forward to a swim. It was odd, however, that there was a slight mist above the water carrying a chill.

“Qualinost was in the crystal ball, Ragh,” Dhamon rumbled finally, catching Feril’s eye with his intense gaze. “The crystal revealed that Qualinost is indeed still here, at the bottom of this lake, relatively intact. The crystal told me there’s something down there that can make me human again.”

“The city’s intact?” Ragh kept grinding his foot, curious to see how deep the sand was. “And there’s something hidden in it that will help?” His tone seemed incredulous.

“So the crystal says. Unfortunately, the crystal did not reveal just what that ‘something’ was.”

“I suspect there’s plenty of magic left in the city,” Feril volunteered. “A few Qualinesti refugees I helped on Cristyne told me stories.”

Dhamon nodded. “I need you both to help me find the magic.”

Feril turned and looked at him as her fingers drew circles in the water. She shivered from the cold mist, and suddenly there was something cold in her eyes. “Dhamon, I would like to help you be human again, but…this lake is very big. The city was immense. This would be like looking for one perfect hair on a shaggy dog.”

She took a few steps closer to the shore, anger now flitting on her face. The water lapped around her calves, and she stared at Dhamon with an odd expression before speaking again. “As curious as I am about this lake, I get a feeling of dread. This is a dangerous place, and what you’re looking for…you don’t know what you’re looking for…could well be impossible to find. I don’t think…”

Dhamon cleared his throat, the sound rough and loud, giving both Feril and Ragh a start. “I realize it’s dangerous, but I will make it worth your while, Feril.”

The Kagonesti arched a dubious eyebrow.

“You know I have treasure in my lair. It’s a fortune on your terms, and you could use it to help your refugees. You can have all of it, Feril. You know you have power to survive underwater longer than my kind. If you explore the lake and discover what is down there that can make me human again, you can have all my treasure.”

“Hey!” Ragh protested, before Dhamon swiveled his head and cut him off with a glare.

“A fortune?” Feril wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to ward off the chill of the mist.

“Gold, gems, and magical baubles…all of it yours and all of it certainly worth the risks of Nalis Aren. Think how many refugees you could help.”

She stood silent for several moments, weighing the offer. “This is absurd,” she said at last, “and too dangerous.” She turned and faced the center of the lake and glided farther out from the shore, testing the waters up to her waist. “The refugees do need help, and if the city is indeed at the bottom of this lake, there might be wisdom and magic in it, no doubt many things precious and arcane. When the elves fled, they could take only a handful of possessions with them. They had to leave practically everything behind.”

“So the crystal ball might be right,” Ragh, excited despite himself, interjected. “There could be a cure down there for Dhamon.”

“There were many sorcerers and scholars in Qualinost, the finest elf minds in all of this land.” She stirred the water with her fingers, noticing that the swirls were small and the surface was disturbed only briefly before returning to placidity. “Perhaps the finest minds in all of Ansalon.” She tried to flick a ripple away from her, but that stopped rippling within a few inches. “Odd.”

“Odd that elves had fine minds?” Ragh mused. Much, much softer, “I’ve respect for elves, Feril. More than they’ve respect for me and my kind.”

“Feril…” Dhamon edged forward, his front claws reaching into the shallows of the lake. “Do you really think the Qualinesti’s magic could hold the key?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “They were shrewd in many ways and they defeated an overlord, didn’t they? What harm could there be in my looking for things they left behind?” She glanced over her shoulder and up into Dhamon’s eyes. “I admit, I wanted to come here anyway, Dhamon. I would have come here alone, eventually, had we not met again. I am a curious soul, and this place, with its unimaginable history of sadness and tragedy, draws me.”

“You wanted to see if the tales were true about a sunken city?” Dhamon asked, shaking his head ruefully, the gesture stirring the air and blowing the scent of the swamp in her direction.

She frowned. “No. I doubt I would have thought to enter the water, were it not for your coaxing. I wanted to see the lake. It is said that no elf comes here.”

“It may be dangerous, as you say.”

“Our world is dangerous.” She edged out until the water was above her waist and then nearing her shoulders. “One of the Qualinesti refugees I spoke to mentioned working for a sage who had studied dragons and their magic—said the sage and his students, like so many others, refused to leave Qualinost so likely died there. Perhaps if I could find that sage’s workshop, or another’s of equal importance, it might help you. I agree with you that it is worth the trying.”

Dhamon watched in quiet admiration as the Kagonesti bravely tipped her head back and let the water play around her neck. She closed her eyes.

“Yet I see what you see, Feril. The water behaves oddly. There are no animal prints nearby. I sense, if not danger, then caution signs,” he said. “Watch yourself.”

“You and the sivak can wait for me in the shade of the oaks. I might be gone a while.” With that comment and a last look over her shoulder, Feril abruptly disappeared beneath the surface. Ragh gasped expectantly, meeting Dhamon’s gaze.

“The sivak,” Ragh said with some irritation, after he was certain she was not going to pop right back into view. “My name is Ragh, elf.” He left the sand and walked onto the grass and scowled when he couldn’t find the depression he’d made with his foot near the lake’s edge. “Damnedest place this lake is.”

Dhamon came close to him on the shore, saying nothing.

“Your elf-friend can breathe water?” Ragh asked, in a milder tone.

“When she wants to. I’ve seen her slip inside the minds of sea creatures, and I’ve seen her grow gills. She can run with any animal too.”

Ragh started heading back toward the trees. “I’m not sure I’d want to breathe that water even if I could. Hmm, no animal tracks near the lake.” Then he remembered he couldn’t find his own tracks in the sand. “Damnedest place, and damn you for not telling me about this plan of yours, for not telling me what you learned from that crystal ball. I deserve to know these things. You’re risking the life of your elf-friend, but you’re risking mine too. My half of the treasure also, if you don’t mind my mentioning it.”

“Half?!” Dhamon snorted contemptuously. “Feril doesn’t know how much treasure we actually have now, does she?” Dhamon said in an amused tone. Ragh’s jaw dropped. “Anyway,” Dhamon continued, “she’s a formidable character, you’ve already seen that. She can well take care of herself.”

“What else did your crystal ball say? Think she’ll run into trouble down there?”

Dhamon’s eyes glazed over. “Oh, she’ll run into trouble all right, but like I say, she can take care of herself. I didn’t send her down there to be sacrificed. I still have some…feelings, you know, but I want to be cured, to be human again, and then, my friend, the bulk of our treasure will let us live like kings.”

The water was pleasantly warm and relaxing, colored a brilliant blue below the murkier-looking surface, as if some inner light that made it practically shine and glow. As Feril held her breath she felt the water press gently against her ears. She was uncertain how far she was seeing under the water, perhaps only as far as one hundred feet—all intense blue. A minute passed and nothing intruded; after two minutes she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

Turning, Feril spotted a fish with silvery sides and a rosy stripe. A variety of lake trout, she decided, and beyond the first one another fish as long as her forearm. This second was green and brown, its jaw extending just under and beyond its fat eye. Likely a bass, she thought at first, but it swam closer, revealing itself as more colorful and quick, a new species she did not know. Shortly she saw a pair of small, black bullheads with snow-white underbellies.

Then a school of silverfins twisted into view, before darting and disappearing away. Other fish appeared, and with them a soft surrating sound, like a gentle scraping, as if from the larger fish brushing against each other.

The presence of so many fish calmed her. She hadn’t told Dhamon, but she feared the water actually might be poisoned to an extent, since she’d not noticed any animal tracks nearby and since it was unnaturally still and so murky on the surface.

She swam forward, still holding her breath, discovering many underwater plants now, which further improved her mood. Dodders, reeds, and delicate looking lake oats reached just inches below the surface. There was the greatest variety of fish where the plants were the most dense. She spied deep-bodied drum fish that were making grunting sounds that carried hauntingly through the water. There were bony-jawed pike hunting smaller fish, and spoonbills and guapotes.

She dived deeper down and struck out toward the center of the lake, finding plenty of bowfin, one nearly as long as she was tall. The mottled green fish had a large, scaleless head and a tooth-filled mouth, and though it could have troubled her, it came close enough only to satisfy its curiosity, then fluttered away.

Feril was starting to get lightheaded as she swam through a bed of plants resembling cattails. She closed her eyes and pictured the silvery trout. For an instant she considered taking that form, but hands might be useful, she decided, so she modified her nature magic. As her chest grew tighter and she felt the first wave of dizziness, she focused her energies on her neck, just below her jaw—still picturing the trout, the way it moved, the flash of its scales—its gills.

The water that flowed into Feril’s lungs through the gills she’d grown was tepid in temperature but nonetheless sustaining. Amazing, she thought. Each time she called upon her nature magic to fly, breathe water, or perform some other miracle that was beyond an ordinary elf, she was astounded. She would never grow tired of her abilities, never fail to appreciate the gift of her experience.

For several minutes she pushed aside unsettling thoughts about Dhamon and the sivak, the mass graves and the dark forces hunting the struggling Qualinesti. She focused only on herself and this incredible lake. She concentrated on the feel of the water that cocooned her, and how her short hair fluttered as she continued her diving and swimming. She could smell everything below, the fish and the plants, perhaps the very essence of the water, all of it very pleasant and distracting. She savored the sensation of the water flowing through her gills, and she listened attentively to the faint, musical sound of the drum fish. A school of sunfish darted toward her, all shimmering orange and yellow-gold. A lone catfish swam lazily behind. Later, there were more trout, pike, and basslike fish.

Farther out and deeper down, there was only the intense blue and eerie silence. She reached out with her senses, searching for the sounds of the drum fish she had come to rely on, hearing only the beating of her heart and a rush in her ears. She strained her eyes looking for something that might have spooked the fish, but she saw no trace of a predator. The plant life had vanished. She considered returning to the surface just to get her bearings. Instead she plunged even deeper. Feril guessed she was twenty or thirty feet down. There should be some kind of undergrowth here, at least reed thin plants looking like strands of yarn. Perhaps she was deeper than she thought, forty or fifty feet—too deep for plants to grow. The water was becoming a dark blue. Perhaps the light didn’t reach far enough for any plant life. How deep could the lake be?

“Just a little farther,” she urged herself, “for Dhamon and for the treasure that will help the refugees.” It was equally for her own curiosity. If truth be told, she had been headed in the direction of the lake when Dhamon and the sivak crossed her path. She’d intended to visit this place when she’d first learned of it last year, though she’d been taking her time getting here. She’d never been to Qualinost when it was teeming with elves—she had no desire then. There would have been crowds, elves asking the Kagonesti stranger questions, pressing against her on the street. She preferred her blessed solitude—she relished her solitude even here in the lake. “There must be a bottom. Broken homes, shattered towers, and…”

The lake changed abruptly, startling the Kagonesti. It had grown darker still, the dark blue giving way to a dusky green, the pleasant warmth becoming instantly, numbingly cold. It was as if she’d jumped into a glacier lake in Southern Ergoth. She blinked furiously as her eyes tried to adjust. There was something below her, just outside her vision—a stark angular shape. A tower?

She pointed herself straight down like an arrow and kicked her feet violently. At the same time she fought to separate the dark colors and shadows and to keep her imagination in reign. Was this the outskirts of the city? Was Qualinost truly at the bottom of this lake, as the tales claimed? Or was she seeing the husk of a dead tree? Perhaps she wasn’t seeing anything, her mind was playing tricks.

No, she told herself. There is definitely something there.

She kicked even more furiously, trying to fight off the cold, which was becoming hurtful, streaming through the water and locking her gaze on the angular object. Her heart beat faster in anticipation as she drove herself harder.

No! Only a tree, she realized, one that had been large and wide in life loomed like an obelisk now, but a tree nonetheless. Though disappointed, Feril still had no intention of retreating to the warmth of the surface. If there was a giant of a tree such as this deep down in this lake, there could well be other surprises.

“Qualinost,” she whispered, the word carrying through the water not intelligibly, but as bubbles flowing around her ears. Qualinost must be here, she repeated to herself. It has to be here somewhere—the tales can’t be wrong.

“It is here,” came an unbidden reply. “Just a little farther. I’ll show you the way.”

Something gripped the Kagonesti’s wrists and pulled her. The touch was impossibly cold and impressively strong. Feril struggled against it, but the force tugged her inexorably down, down, down—where the cold was all around.