The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (10 page)

Alistair answered as he and his sister double
checked their gear. “It comes from the caves in Dosvetyulia.”

Scar furrowed his brow and turned to Labolas;
the last word just sounded made up.

“I’ll give you a geography lesson later,” the
captain replied. “All you need to know is that Bollans are a
strange people, but we are not at war with them.”

“They are allies, then?” Scar posed. “The
people of Doz-whatever?”

“Dosvetyulia,” Eileen corrected. “To
Kulshedrans they are allies. We don’t care for them in Eltanrof,
but we have no anger towards them either. They sit in their caves
and grow their mushrooms, and that’s fine by me.”

Scar chuckled and gave a subtle fluttering of
the hands in confusion as he asked, “What? Mushrooms? Caves?”

“Yes, damnit,” Labolas answered feigning
anger. “They live in caves and grow mushrooms. From their
mushrooms, they make yuclid gas, and since we’re allies, we
purchase their gas.”

The sound of cartwheels running over a
cobbled road drew everyone’s attention. They glanced to the east
again. Two tall but slender obelisks of brown stone stood
conspicuously on either side of the cobbled street. At the base of
their capstone were square openings on all sides, and from within,
shone the gas fires; a bright yellow. More of the obelisks ran
throughout the whole of the town.

As the cart continued between the pylons, the
bright light contrasting with the night made black shadows under
the cart’s cloth cover. While they continued joking about mushrooms
and cave people, they made quick movements, which disturbed Scar.
Their jerky actions coupled with the black, fleeting shadows gave
everyone a hollow look, like they were devoid of life.

There was something so alien, yet so familiar
about the scene playing out before his eyes. The men around him
were like silent puppets whose limbs were made only to jolt about.
The more Scar lost himself in the bizarre vision the less he
noticed his surroundings.

“I’d tell you to pack your crap, but I guess
you’re all set, eh?” Labolas joked and smacked Scar’s shoulder.

Scar smiled. He hadn’t really heard his
friend, but the archer’s face, the tight lipped smile, the
half-closed eyes, and the smack to the shoulder, which had restored
his sobriety, was indicative of some stupid joke.

“Oros…this is some establishment,” Scar
muttered.

The further in they rode, the brighter it
was. His companions looked normal again, so the mercenary returned
his interests to sightseeing. The city was home to a great many
Kulshedrans. Guards wearing brown leathers and carrying spears
patrolled the streets beneath yellow fires. Late as it was, Scar
did not see any civilians, but the stone homes with flat rooves
were plenty.

Kulshedran architects had designed the homes
to be stacked on top of one another along both sides of the
streets. While the shape of the rectangular houses was similar in
design to the gray homes of Usaj, Kulshedrans saved space by
housing people above and below one another. Stairs were built all
over, allowing the citizenry to walk up and down with relative
ease, and they used full rooves not the rattan latticework rampant
in Usaj.

“Where do we stop?” Scar asked.

“The exporting warehouses nearer the river,”
Labolas answered.

Meandering down the cobbled streets and over
crossroads, the cart continued along. Soon the sloshing of water
became audible. Scar peeked to the south and saw the road was built
out a ways and butted up to the river.

The rainy season had not started yet, thus
the river was low and currently not visible from his position. He
did see a break in the road though, which led him to the conclusion
that the river was capable of cresting in town at a width of over a
hundred feet. Since the street was laid in a fashion that ended
abruptly against but well above the river Iles, townsfolk were able
to fish off the ledge quite comfortably.

A nudge from across the cart caught Scar’s
attention. Labolas pointed. To Scar’s left was a large building, a
rectangular monstrosity with a flat roof built from the native
brown stone. Before coming to it, they passed two guards sitting on
the edge of the road, their feet dangled over the unseen water.

“What do you store in that building?” Scar
asked.

The warehouse was built right over the street
and a huge opening allowed the cart to enter proper. Even before
pulling in, the lights from inside the warehouse revealed crates
and barrels.

“Everything the town needs, and more supplies
to be routed through all of Satrone or beyond,” Labolas started.
“Steel, wood, fish, herbs, grains, oils, plants, and gas. You name
it, we’ve got it.”

“Not pelts,” Alistair smiled.

“Some pelts,” Labolas countered jokingly.

“Not good pelts,” Eileen stressed.

The cart pulled directly into the warehouse
and Relthys gave a “whoa” to the horses. A few guards eyed the
carriage. Uneasy glances passed between guards and workers as they
observed Scar. He feasted his eyes on the crates stacked along the
walls like a child catching his first glimpse at the busy work life
of adults. The only other time he saw anything even remotely
similar in size and function was in Meshoptam, the capital of Usaj,
and even then it seemed that Zmajans were more concerned with
killing everyone around them than working.

“Ride’s over,” Relthys announced.

“For us, anyway,” Alistair conceded. “It was
a pleasure, captain, Future King.”

They all smiled politely for a moment then
the Dracos said their final farewells. They hopped off the cart,
called a few laborers over, and they all unloaded the pelts before
immersing themselves with merchant’s talk.

Shinji stirred, yawned, and heaved himself
deftly off his seat. Within seconds, he ran off to disappear behind
a wall separating the supplies to conduct whatever business he had
in mind. Chatter echoed throughout the lively building.

“See, Relthys?” Labolas asked. “We were no
trouble.”

“Bah,” the old man replied with a dismissive
wave of the hand.

Scar and Labolas chuckled. While they were
relaxing, and Scar observed the loading of crates onto other carts
at the far end of the warehouse, Shinji darted back to the rear
cart, his cloak whipping about due to his rapid movement. Not only
had Scar never seen anyone move so fast, Shinji’s hidden boots, or
whatever he wore on his feet, made a sound like hooves over the
stone floor.

Some guards and workers jogged over, too,
though seconds behind the Nagish wagoneer. They looked to Scar like
every other Kulshedran soldier. Upon their arrival, one of the
guards stopped short and stared wide-eyed at the mercenary.

“What the?” he asked in alarm and made to
grip to his short sword.

“Peace,” Shinji admonished quietly. “He is a
passenger on the way to the capitol.”

The guard glanced at Labolas, who tapped his
captain’s insignia. “It’ll be fine, soldier,” he said. “What is
your name?”

“Ranghol…what, what is
he
doing
here?”

Labolas smiled, answering, “Why, he’s
switching sides, of course.”

Ranghol and the other Kulshedrans laughed
uncomfortably. Shinji demanded their attention, and they started
loading and unloading their supplies.

“Fresh food from Seleborn,” the Nagishman
started. “Hand tools from Ulen, jugs, pots, and containers.”

As he enumerated the supplies to be stored in
the warehouse, one of the workers motioned for help. Two strange
looking men strode over. Scar had not noticed them as they had been
tending their duties behind piles of fresh fish. Their skin was
silvery with a subtle glisten that appeared gold under the gas
lights. They were both rather short and wiry with light eyes and
hair that appeared to be yellow.

“Grab the salt,” a Kulshedran worker
stated.

The two men obliged with a smile and a quick
bow of the head.

“What are they?” Scar asked.

Ranghol squinted at Scar’s question. He gave
the brute only a cursory glance. Labolas smiled.

“They are from Qing-Sho. Men of light are
followers of Bakunawa, allies of Dosvetyulia and so are tolerated
by Kulshedrans, usually…so long as they are productive,” the
captain replied.

Scar watched the two men. They did work
tirelessly.

“Then there is much tolerance in the world?”
Scar was incredulous.

“Certainly,” Labolas laughed. “Zoltek has no
doubt poisoned your mind. Usaj is the only nation with no allies
and Hell bent on obliterating everybody. It is the burden of
Satrone to rest along Usajan borders. We take that burden very
seriously as without us to belay the ceaseless attacks, the other
countries would be under constant siege.”

“It is the burden of Satrone to allow
blasphemers to run wild!” Relthys interrupted.

“Hush up, old man,” Labolas chastised. “If
more were tolerant we would not have a worldwide war.”

“Bah!”

Labolas winced and shook his head in
disapproval, saying, “That ram’s head mentality is part of the
problem. Make certain you pick allies as well as opponents,
Brandt.”

Scar continued to watch the workers and
guards. War was the farthest thing from the proceedings in Oros. He
was unsure as to how to comport himself.
I know only of battle,
or at least, that is all that has remained with me, yet I feel no
wrath against any of these men. Their looks and beliefs hold no
sway upon my emotions….

Once business was concluded, supplies to be
stored were removed and supplies to be traded were loaded, Shinji
thanked everyone and climbed back onto the cart.

“So, why do they call this an export
warehouse?” Scar asked.

Labolas quickly shook his head as though
affected by spasms, and his mouth curled in; the expression implied
that Scar had lost his marbles. “Because it’s where they store
goods before shipping them out!”

“But I see they also store imports.”

Labolas smacked his lips and heaved a sigh.
“You’re right. They should call it the import export warehouse,”
Labolas conceded in a tone of great exhaustion.

“On a more serious note, now that we are free
of Dracos, will you tell me more of the Gods?”

The archer yawned and stretched his arms over
his head before answering, “I suppose.”

“And the paladins?”

“And the paladins.”

Chapter Eight- Blessings revealed

The glow of morning was breaking through dark
clouds on the eastern horizon. With the conclusion of importing and
exporting in Oros, the men were ready to travel further east on a
road laid between the river Iles and Lake Aims. The safest path,
though longer, was to squeeze between the two bodies of water
rather than skirt the western side of the lake. Relthys made claims
bandits were too prevalent in that area.

“Kulshedran bandits?” Scar asked.

“Of course! Where else would they be from?”
Relthys grumbled.

“Why would Kulshedrans plunder their own
kind?”

“Are you certain he doesn’t follow Garnabus,
the Mad?” Shinji joked.

Labolas raised his hand in a placating manner
answering, “I’m teaching him the finer points in life…just keep
your eyes on the road.” He then turned to Scar and addressed the
situation. “Bandits are bandits. Every country has them. Every
tribe has them. Bandits are all men and women who prefer a life of
hiding in wait and capitalizing on opportunity. The funny thing is
that they are probably the most honest of all people.”

“How’s that?” Scar asked.

“They know what they’re after, and they go
for it. They don’t make excuses. They don’t discriminate. They
don’t pretend to be something they aren’t, and they certainly don’t
cause dissention amongst themselves for gain.”

“So, how would a king deal with bandits?”

Labolas rubbed his face, and looking out
towards the rising sun, gave his reply. “I think that a king acts
in a passive way towards bandits. When people complain, he sends in
troops to deal with them. When people complain about the troops,
and they will, the king calls them back, knowing that bandits will
return. There will always be bandits, and unless they somehow grow
out of proportion or cause international strife, there is no need
to try to obliterate them. Sporadic patrols usually do enough to
keep their movements a minimum.”

Scar nodded. It was a sound reply. He then
considered the fact that Shinji must be a formidable warrior to be
Relthys’s only companion if bandits were ever prevalent.

“Alright,” Scar suddenly announced. “Enough
of lessons in governing countries. Tell me about these
paladins.”

“Ah,” Labolas smiled. “Time for Sunday school
instead,” he trailed off for a moment and tried to gather his
thoughts. “Shouldn’t you grab a quill and parchment?”

Scar shrugged indifferently. Labolas
chuckled, cracked his knuckles, and leaned back in his seat. The
wind was blowing, but not as warmly as it had been recently.

“There are eight sects each comprised of two
sides of one of four Gods,” Labolas started. “We’ve discussed
Mekosh, the Severe and Mekosh, the Tolerant to some extent.
Severity is the principle of Mekosh, which demands that men live by
the fact that life is harsh and every living creature must die. As
such, those following that sect are prejudiced to any thoughts
outside that principle.

“Generally, Paladins of Severity preach that
our God is a Dragon and any who oppose this view are cut down
without mercy. Paladins of Tolerance, on the other hand, feel that
death is a drastic measure. The principle of tolerance states that
men must wait patiently as they are taught about how the Dragons
deceive men. These paladins are often found in towns or along
heavily trafficked roads where they attempt to teach through
patience the error of men, and they are usually called friars not
paladins, but whatever.”