LORE'S PRIZED TREASURE

LORE’S PRIZED TREASURE: A SHORT STORY BY: NICOLE TORINO WAGNER

Noa’s parents, King Archer and Queen Deann, weren’t like most. While other young were red in the cheeks from love pinches, or raspberry stains from their mothers lips, her’s spent lengthy time away in foreign lands or holding council. Noa didn’t understand any of those words, but she did know it was unfair. Why didn’t her mommy and daddy want to be with her? All she had was Lou, her nurse maid, who would often put Noa in solitude. 

Solitude wasn’t really a punishment Noa knew; even though Lou used it as an excuse when her parents did come ‘round. It was actually her favorite place in the palace. Maybe even her favorite place in all the land. It was a large room filled with books that everyone else called the library. She was too young to read of-course, but her eyes worked just fine to look at the ones with pictures. No, she figured it had to do with the stable lad Finn. If he showed up Lou’d turn red all on her own. “Noa,” she say, “go on now to solitude.” 

Today was different. They weren’t at the palace. Instead they sat on a blanket right outside the forest where wildflowers grew. Noa was eating chocolates that were melting in her hands and stuck to her face when a horse carrying Finn approached. Lou looked up from the book she had been reading. If she was startled she didn’t show it. That blush arose as he dismounted. “Noa, go on now to solitude.” 

“Ou,” Noa tried. She still couldn’t speak clearly, but thought when she turned four that would change. “No here,” she declared, but Lou didn’t hear her as she already had Finn’s lips whispering in her ear. So she tried tugging on Lou’s hand with her pudgy sticky fingers to no avail. Finn swatted her hand away then peered down at her, “be a good girl now and pick Miss Lou some flowers.” He fell back onto the blanket and beckoned Lou to lay beside him. 

Noa turned away from them to begin her task. There were so many differences she noticed. Some were white that easily blew away, others were tall facing proud toward the sun, and so many colors. 

There were too many to count even if she could count past five. She didn’t know the names of the flowers but she knew her colors, and none of the wildflowers had the color red. That was Lou’s and her favorite. She had to get it to complete her bouquet. That would be her next task she decided, but the longer she searched for the red flower the farther out of the field she went.

Noa had never been permitted this close to the forest before. No one had ever told her it was off-limits; they just never went close enough for them to say “no”. Now she stood at it’s threshold. Little light shone through the break between field and forest. She stood tentatively looking over her shoulder waiting for Lou or Finn to come scold her. When what felt like minutes went by she made up her mind and went into the forest. 

Noa gasped as she entered. Trees reaching to Gods and Goddesses held bright rainbow shaded birds and owl eyes shifting in their holes. Squirrels chased after each other, scampering to hide in bushes and spy on the intruder. Butterflies flew lightly by her head. She could hear a babbling of water with occasional splashes. “Toads,” she thought when croaks began. 

Up ahead a dash of red sparkled. Before she could think her feet had decided. Her tiny legs pumped forward as she let out a “whoop!” It was then, deeper into the forest, sleeping on a pile of coins in his lair, that the dragon arose. 

It was the squeal of excitement that roused the creature, but it was the scent that propelled his weighted body to alert. 

Lore took one long sniff then to be sure several quick ones. “Oh yes,” he thought. It was there under the fragrant blossoms and chocolate. Faint, and not at all of the adult who tricked and stole from him, but the blood he knew still belonged to that crooked fellow Archer. “King Archer now,” he supposed. His nostrils flared causing him to cough on a puff of his smoke. It had been ages since his flame left his belly. His mouth turned into a wicked smile. Today that would change. Today he would get his revenge. 

Noa was out of breath more from anticipation than the run by the time she tracked the red sparkle. It wasn’t a flower she had guessed when she first spotted it. It was the shade that had made her sprint, and now up close she could see it wasn’t just one object it was several. They weren’t really sparkling either. It was the fluttering translucent red wings overlapping that gave the illusion.  No bigger than her hand they buzzed over a toad’s stool. “Pixies” she recalled. They had been in one of her favorite books

A whole colony of them! She stood in curious silence straining her ears to hear what the teeny voices were whispering. Occasionally one would glance over at her. They didn’t have particularly nice faces, but they weren’t ugly either. It was the expression her father wore often. She had heard Lou describe it to Finn once as “cunning”. She was picturing him when she realized it really had gone silent. 

Popping in front of her eyes hovered one. “Leave this place wee one. You don’t belong and he moves,” it whispered. “Leave her be Bitty,” interrupted another suddenly at her side. “Lore just wants to play with her. You like to explore don’t you child? Yes, I can tell she likes adventure.” More pixies chimed in with their opinions. She couldn’t make sense of any of it. Who wanted to play with her? Why was it a debate? 

The pixies were no longer whispering. Their voices rose as they all fought to be heard. “Sshhh you fools,” the one named Bitty commanded. “He moves. Quick little one, run and hide.” Noa had something nettle in her mind. A picture from her favorite story. The one Lou had explained, when she asked, was the true nature of a pixie; a trickster.  

It was all a prank to frighten her she suspected. Whoever he was wanted to be her friend. They were just jealous. She planted her feet instead and stuck out her tongue at the bunch. “Suit yourself,” Bitty mumbled. “Most excellent,” said another. “Its been far too long since he’s hunted. Quick lets watch from the branches.” As if fused they, shot up as one to the highest limb, of the closest tree.

Lore watched the pixies from a distance. They had been speaking with someone, the same one he had been tracking. Something was still off about the scent. Too sweet. Too new. Maybe he was misremembering. It had been awhile. He continued his pursuit.

Noa felt the earth rumble before she heard the snapping of twigs. Deer, rabbits, mice and other critters scampered in various directions. Even the owl eyes went out. A prickling of barely-there hairs stood at attention on her arms. With no warning the last bit of light winked out. A chill went down her spine. “Spooky,” she whimpered.

In the darkness where the light had been was a figure with glowing eyes. She couldn’t make out what or who it was, but it was taller than most of the trees and wide enough to knock them down. It sniffed the air coming closer to her. She froze in awe as its features came into focus. Scales tougher than the armor her daddy’s army wore and a tail that swished aggressively. One eye had a jagged scar right down the middle and a series of others marked the side of his thick neck. 

Her eyes widened as his massive feet with sharp claws clomped nearer. He was a couple paces from her now when he loosened a purr, or maybe it was a growl. It was the noise her cat Maribelle made when something satisfied and agitated her simultaneously.  

Lore stopped in befuddlement. Fire boiled in his belly threatening to erupt. It wasn’t the sly King that fancied himself a fox at all. There stood a trembling human child, not even of school age. She looked unkempt with dried fudge, and a tangle of deep brown, almost black, baby curls clinging to her forehead from sweat. Her eyes were popping out in alarm followed by a new scent wafting into his nose; fear. This was the best part of the hunt. Humans always tasted the best when scared. 

Her’s wasn’t the blood he wanted to taste. She would do of course, but where was his real prize? He’d save her for dessert, but first to locate his meal. Where was that devil Archer? He must be planning an ambush Lore imagined. Clever, Archer was clever, to use a pawn to entice him. But Lore had spent the last twenty or so years fantasizing every scenario in which he tortured then ate Archer. Revenge was finally here. He’d get what was owed and his pride back. He was Lore, the first dragon, the oldest dragon, the dragon that began the myths. He would not be bested again. 

He inhaled inching his long snout to her mouth. As she shook the recognition fell into place, “his kin.” He licked his lips with satisfaction. Archer was a damned fool! “Oh the Fox thought he could use his own babe as a pawn? How funny”, Lore chuckled to himself. “And reckless,” he added. 

“Hello babe,” grumbled Lore. 

Noa’s lip quivered and fat drops broke like a dam from her eyes. “Mun. Mun. Munster,” she wailed. “You mean monster dear, but nay, I am a dragon,” he answered.  Her bottom lip pouted and hot liquid trailed down her legs. The dragons nostrils widened. The stench of her fright intensifying his hunger. 

“Babe tell me where is your father” he questioned. Noa’s shoulders shrugged, “me no know,” she replied in a cry. “Come now, tell Lore where he hides.” This time she shook her head. He took her gesture as a “‘no’”, she wouldn’t tell, which angered him enough that a small flame huffed out. 

Noa felt the heat of it as it blew by her igniting the urgency to run! Before she could turn the dragon’s claw scooped her unto his palm. “Oh no babe, you and I shall play a game.” 

Games, were meant for friends and fun she knew, and only the good could do that. “He must be like Dodge”, she bemused. Her households cook was grumpy and had a stern face. He yelled at the staff and liked to kick the oven, the low cabinets, the crates of food, anything within a foots length. Yet, he was Noa’s friend. When Lou wasn’t paying attention he would pass her a cookie, brownie, or any of the sugar pasties she wasn’t supposed to have. 

“Otay,” she answered. Never, ever, talk to a stranger was a rule, so she asked, “What name?” 

A rumble came from the dragon. He wanted to stop wasting time and find Archer. Answering the youngling wasn’t something he was keen on. Still he found himself responding, “Lore.” 

“Oar,” she tried. “Lore,” he corrected. “Oar,” she tried again. The exchange cycled a few times leaving him growing exacerbated. “LOOOOORE,” his voice boomed. “OOOOOOAR,” Noa’s tenor mimicked. A noise escaped from his chest that sounded surprisingly, like a chuckle. Her eyes shone at his amusement. “OOOOOOAR,” she bellowed again. “OOOOOOAR!” She stamped her feet and wiggled her bottom like an imaginary tail. “Good enough,” he conceded. 

He tried to turn back to his plans as the tot continued her performance. It had become clear to him that Archer’s kin wasn’t here by some plot. Nay, it was coincidence, a lucky one, that she found and lost herself in his forest. It was of no importance of the how she came to be here. It was how he could, and would, use her against his foe. 

The babe's performance was now growing irksome. “Enough of that,” he snapped. “I can’t think with all your ruckus.” She paused, then growled, “‘nuff that! Rwar!” He sent an ember of flame to flicker right above her head and huffed, “ENOUGH!” All the creatures who had been eavesdropping abruptly flew, hopped, or sprinted away leaving the young one with the dragon. 


Again her lower lip downturned. Her eyes welled up and a hiccuping overtook her. She no longer smelt of fear. Instead it was the repugnance of sadness. An unappetizing emotion. Almost as repulsive as happiness, because to be sad one must have had been happy once. “Gah,” he realized “I made this wee Archer happy.” That was preposterous and nearly made him chuckle before he reminded himself who he was. “I am Lore. The First Dragon. The Oldest Dragon. The Dragon of Myths.” 

The sun had already began to set while the moon slowly made her way in the sky. The wee one had gone quiet and was curling into his palm with drooping eyelids. He still had no plan, and in the dark there wasn’t much hunting he could do anyway, nor would it be fun. Revenge would have to wait until morning. He set-off to his lair with the now sleeping babe. 

Snow began to fall as he made his way back to his den. The babe began to shiver, so he closed his fist to keep the cold at bay. If she were to fall ill he’d have to boil her first before eating her. Boiled meat lost most of its flavor that way. Worse than happiness or fear. 

The youngling was still asleep when they arrived. Lore swiped his free paw at a wing-backed settee sending sapphire jewels flying. He was gentle when putting her down, because broken bones fell apart and he liked them crunchy. She still shivered, and he didn’t own any coverings or clothing, so he blew a small fire. He tried to think more on Archer but found he was tired too. To ensure she didn’t runaway he settled on the treasure in front of her. 

Noa dreamt that night of flying through the clouds and above the lands and seas on top of a red dragon. Not just any red dragon. Her dragon. “Oar,” she squealed as they dipped low to watch a ship following a siren’s song. 

The same song played in Lore’s nightmare. He was on a hunt for Archer when he heard it. He turned from the scent he followed not able to resist the melody. It led him to the sea where a ship rocked with Archer at the helm. Before he could step into the water he heard a wail, “OOOOOOAR!” He turned in the direction spotting the tot being dragged by the sirens. Again he gave up his pursuit in favor of saving her. 

Lore woke then. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the uneasy feeling. The wee one was staring at him, head cocked, and crusted eyelashes. “Hungee,” she told him. “Hungry. Yes, I am hungry,” he agreed. It was supposed to come out menacing but wasn’t convincing at all. He would have to feed her. Keep her plump, there’s more to eat, he reasoned. 

He lifted himself which was easier than yesterday. All the time he spent alone sulking had taken some of his muscle. It felt nice to move his limbs again. He had a few robin eggs that he threw on a plank to sit on a small flame. There was cache of oranges he saved before the first frost, so he squeezed two into juice then found a gold trimmed goblet, he’d won from an elf, to pour it into. 

Lore’s back was turned to Noa as she slid off her sleeping spot. There was a lot of exploring to be done at his house. Shiny things were over every surface. Pretty jewelry with ornate fastenings, crowns in varying sizes, swords, shields, and more coins than she’d seen in her daddy’s storages. Close to where she had slept were red jewels scattered on the ground. “Pwetty,” she whispered to herself  trotting over to pick one up. 

Lore had seen from the corner of his eye the tot lift the sapphire. Whipping around he barked, “what are you doing? Drop that!” She gawked at him. “Pwetty,” she gestured to the jewel in her hand. “Noa like pwetty.” She smiled at him then waddled over to him holding her hand out. She pet his paw. “Oar pwetty.” 

He was not “pretty” he mused. He was Lore. The First Dragon. The Oldest Dragon. The Dragon of Myths. He needed to be rid of the little Archer soon. He straightened. 

“Tot,” he said, then acknowledging he now knew her name, corrected, “Noa, Eat up. We have a journey, and we shall not be stopping.” He pushed her into a seating position and plopped a silver tray with the eggs and juice in front of her. She wasted no time shoveling the eggs into her mouth, and when about half was eaten she stopped suddenly. “Oar eat,” she demanded wagging the plate at him. “No,” he replied. “Later I shall eat.” She kept on, “Eat. Oar Eat.” He huffed, grabbed the plate with the leftovers and swallowed all of it whole. She crinkled her nose. “There,” he grumbled. “Happy?”

Noa was happy. He had smelled the happiness turning his stomach. He really needed to get rid of her. “Now,” he asserted. Before they started their search for the King he packed the remaining oranges and a canteen he found amongst his treasures. On a last thought he attached a saddle to his neck and secured her to it with nautical ropes. They could cover more ground if he didn’t have to hold her.

Around midmorn they left the lair. The sun was beating down warmly with no indication it had snowed the night before. Not too far into their trip Noa began to whine. Twigs were tangled in her curls and she had a long scratch across her cheek. Lore stopped to loosen her from her mount then rubbed some leaves from a healing plant onto her scrape. Infected meat wouldn’t make for a good meal. 

Lore pondered while Noa played amongst the gnomes during their break. He didn’t want to delay any longer and knew they would have to keep stopping if they continued on foot. They would fly he decided. After he refilled her canteen they took to the sky. 

Noa squalled as they lifted higher, higher, higher. She clamped her eyes shut against the wind. Lore wasn’t gliding he was rapidly soaring. He could smell the thrill of danger floating from her. He recalled his first flight. He had felt the same. There was so much magic and wonder below, so he slowed so she wouldn’t miss it. His long neck careened to look back at her. “Noa,” he called her softly. “Look.”

Noa slowly opened one eye and then the other. She gripped the saddle as she allowed her head to peek down. She could see the tree canopies lush with green leaves and cherry blossoms twinning through vines. Fairies flitted from top to top visiting and gossiping with one another. The same rainbow patterned birds from yesterday flew by their side. Her picture books would never compare to real life. 

Lore couldn’t remember the last time he had flown. Just like his muscles it felt nice to stretch his wings again. They had been so stiff before now it was comforting to have them flapping. Up here he could empty his mind. There was freedom to just be himself. He didn’t have to be the First, Oldest, or Dragon of Myth when flying. He was entranced in the land’s beauty when the song of a siren broke him out of it. Along with the song carried the odor of Archer. It wasn’t their spell that guided him to the sea. He followed the stench of his foe who stood, dressed in chain mail and holding the trident he had stolen, at the head of the ship. He looked much the same although his hair had greyed some and his expression had become more wicked. 

Lore hovered out of cannon range and shouted down to Archer, “be wise King. Call off your army and stand-down. I have your babe, and she will surely be hurt if you don’t surrender.” 

Archer’s lip arched, “I do not take orders from dragons.” 

“Then how about a trade,” asked Lore. “My trident for Noa.” 

The king pretended to think on it then retorted, “I do not negotiate with dragons.” He signaled his second-in-command then a volley of arrows traveled toward Lore and Noa. 

Lore dodged and dipped as the soldiers continued their attack. His stomach bubbled with lava warning to erupt. He opened his mouth and blew at the closest threat. Fire was spreading from battalion to battalion. Archers men were burning, and enough of them had thinned that he had a direct target on the King. 

Noa had remained quietly curious for the battle. It was dangerous with all the weapons, but her father was here and angry at Lore for some reason. “Big mad,” she thought, “not nice.” It confused her that his men were attacking him, and by proxy her too. It made her not like her daddy. He was a bully like Finn had told Lou. 

“Stwap,” she yelled at the king. “Leave Oar lone!” He ignored her, commanding, “ready the cannon. Keep shooting!” 

A solider loaded a quill then released it from his bow. It nicked Noa’s ear as it whizzed passed. Another sliced through the ropes that had been securing her. 

Lore was readying himself for combat when he saw Noa tumbling toward the icy depth. Instinctually he darted headfirst to catch her. A ball shot from the cannon narrowly missing him. She was somersaulting aimlessly down gaining speed. His wings were still weak from not being used regularly. Sill he beat them vigorously. Arrows continued their assault sticking to his skin in a few places. He couldn’t feel the pain with her screams for “Oooooooar” urging him to help. 

There was a group of sirens with elongated teeth outstretching their arms. The look of hunger hooded their eyes. With one giant push of his wings he just reached Noa grabbing her by her leg. He righted her then grasped her in his paw. He was immersed in relief forgetting the fight. He didn’t anticipate the slam of boots on his backside. 

A great pain seared as the trident lodged at the top of Lore’s spine. His body jerked causing his fist to loosen enough for Noa to wiggle free. She scaled her way up his neck on her way to his back. First she saw the deep cut welling with red liquid. Lore was hurt. Her daddy had done it. He was right there.

Archer was snickering, wrenching the trident free, so he could stab Lore again. He taunted, “the First Dragon. The Oldest Dragon. The Dragon of Myth. Now to be the Slain Dragon.” His eyes glinted with triumph. 

Noa ran at Archer punching her little fists at his shins. Her father shook her off his leg then shoved her roughly after she tried again. “Off me you heathen,” he scolded her. She wasn’t deterred. She ran shouting,“Eve Oar lone,” then kicked the king. 

Archer maddened with rage. His hand wheeled back. Noa’s neck snapped back as the full force of his slap hit her. “Stupid little,” he started, but then fell back as Lore seesawed. 

“Stop this,” Lore ordered. “You’re risking Noa. Give me back my trident king then this can be done.”

Archer cackled. “The child,” he seethed, “will become a legend. A story my subjects will tell over campfires at battle camps. The tale of the how the Mighty Fox King slayed the First Dragon after he ate his only daughter. There will be questions as to why I couldn’t save her, but they’ll be forgotten soon enough when they remember I am their savior.”

“Pathetic,” boomed Lore. “You would sacrifice the princess? Is she not your most prized treasure,” he demanded. 

“Glory is my treasure dragon,” Archer grabbed Noa by her neck then pushed her from Lore’s back. 

Lore spiraled after Noa plucking her by her blouse. His claw was sharp though, the garments material too thin, she started to fall from his clutches. He scrambled to keep hold while Archer was squeezing his thighs working his way back to the trident. The seashore was up ahead. If he could get there and land he could get her to safety. 

Archer was still fighting to dislodge the trident; he didn’t realize Lore had slowed and descended. They were close enough so he let her slide from his claw into the soft sand. He looped back over the ocean where the sirens were in frenzy. 

“You want your treasure Archer?” Lore plucked the weapon from his spine then threw it into the water. “Go get it!” He flung his body violently sending the king to the sirens. They rushed, enveloping the fox, with their slimy bodies. 

Lore watched as they dragged Archer underneath the brine. The trident had sunk. Lost, probably forever, in the depths. He discovered, joyfully, he didn’t care. His treasure was waiting for him on the beach. Bloodied and sore he made his way back to Noa. She was pacing the shore and looking up when she saw him flying toward her. “Oar,” she exclaimed waving her arms excitedly. “My treasure,” he breathed. “Let’s go play Noa.” He fastened her back unto the saddle using seaweed then they set off into heavens for a new adventure.