The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (19 page)

“How long is this ride?” Scar asked to break
the monotony.

“Two days,” Poland answered with a smile.

“Do you often go on these missions for
Gilgamesh?”

“Not as often as I used to,” the old man
sighed, but kept his smile. “These old bones are worse for
wear.”

“You don’t say,” Scar chuckled. “And tell me
of the battles for Alduheim. Have they gone on long? Has any ground
been covered? I have come to understand that any kind of
advancement in its exploration has only been recent.”

“Oh certainly,” Poland answered. “In all my
years of service I have only seen any real effort in securing
Alduheim over the past two years.”

“Why?”

“It was thought to just be a ruined castle,
gone and buried, reclaimed by the land as though Kulshedra himself
was ashamed of its history,” Poland explained. “The only reason
Gilgamesh and Sahni fought over it before now was border
disputes.”

“If I may?” Marlayne interceded. “Only
Kulshedrans believe that Alduheim was rightly part of their
territory.”

Scar looked at her then at Poland, who made
an expression of mock exasperation by rolling his eyes and slightly
opening his mouth. The mercenary smiled to himself before returning
his attention to the Fafnirian.

She said, “While our own rich history does
agree that the Dragons were in fact routed to the area south of
Alduheim, we have evidence to support our claim that the people of
Alduheim were never allied with Kulshedrans. Now, Khmerans will
attest to that as well, but their claim is that those people, your
people, were their allies and had mistakenly destroyed themselves
with some great and mysterious power, and that their only reason
for warring now against Kulshedran forces is to prevent Gilgamesh
from acquiring that power; they are protecting life since Khmer is
the God of Life.”

“That’s hogwash,” Poland retorted. “Sahni has
been disputing territory with Gilgamesh for many years, and their
predecessors did the same, but I respect your opinion, my
Lady.”

“Ever the keeper of the peace, Poland,” she
replied with a smile. “Try to understand, Brandt, I’m not
supporting the Khmerans. The tragic tale as recounted by the
historians of Closicus is that the people of Alduheim did destroy
themselves with their power, but only because they wanted to seal
it away. Whatever that power was, they used it to vanquish the
Dragons. Now whom was allied with whom will never truly be
discerned.”

“Hold a moment. I thought people prayed to
the Gods, or in your case, to Fafnir, to destroy the Dragons,” Scar
interrupted.

“And just how do you think that Fafnir
answered their prayers? Obviously with deific power,” she
argued.

Scar pursed his lips. It was a logical
explanation.

“You must be opposed to this mission then. Do
you think it wise to find this power?” Scar asked.

Marlayne frowned and furrowed her brow. Her
eyes quickly moved from side-to-side for a moment. She twice opened
her mouth to answer, but took and exhaled breaths instead. Finally,
she offered her take on the matter.

“I am not opposed to this mission, but I am
reticent,” she started. “I think that is why Gilgamesh picked me to
assist you. Of all of us, I am the only one who does not wish to
see this power used. For better or worse, Gilgamesh will want to
wield it in the name of peace. Sahni makes the same claim. Those
two leaders are, or were, the only ones bidding for that power and
only since two years ago.

“Now Jagongo is also seeking it, which
troubles me as she and her people have only ever wanted to keep
their country out of war’s way. Zoltek, too, is bidding for it I am
told, and likely just to vanquish his opponents. My part in all
this is to try and make certain that if that power does exist, and
it is accessible, that it either never be used, or at the very
least, that it does not fall into the wrong hands.”

“So your ties are not to Gilgamesh?”

“Certainly I am loyal to him for the duration
of this mission, but I am first and foremost Fafnirian. My loyalty
is to the people of Closicus, and my work on the history of
Alduheim both earned me a place at the side of my emperor,
Longinus, and previously to his father, Linus. It is because of my
honesty, experience, and expertise that Gilgamesh personally
requested my assistance. However, had not Longinus saw fit to agree
to his request, I would not be here with you all now,” Marlayne
explained.

Silence prevailed for a moment. It seemed
that either tensions were growing and the riders did not wish to
argue with one another, or there simply was no more to say on the
matter, so Scar returned to thought.
Gilgamesh had not mentioned
that there was some kind of power hidden in Alduheim…he called it
knowledge, and he certainly had made no claims that it was the
power of a deity.

Scar scrutinized the riders. The warriors had
returned to idle chatter of family and home. Borta stared at the
mercenary. His purple eyes almost sparkled, but his visage was
fierce. Scar kept his eye on the man. It was evident to both that
neither were convinced by Marlayne’s claims.

“Borta,” Scar called.

“Yes?” the man hissed after a moment.

More lightning flashed. They had ridden into
the storm proper. The wind and rain picked up and the thunder
boomed onto them after only a second.

“You are also a historian, but from Balroa,”
the prospective king said. Borta took an inordinately long
inhalation as he looked away. “I am wondering what your people
believe,” Scar added.

The Scultonian lowered his eyes and pulled
his cowl down over them before answering with his gritty voice,
“That is irrelevant. I am not here to share opinions.”

Scar was slightly taken aback, but not
irritated.
I suppose that is just his way.
Yet Scar wanted
to hear a new outlook in order to support his theory about the Gods
being Dragons. More than ever, he felt it in his bones that such a
thing must be the case. Unfortunately, conversing openly of such
beliefs had proven useless time and again, and he did not have the
relationship with them that he had built with Labolas.

He sniffed once, rubbed the water from his
face, and stretched his arms out to the sides. After yawning and
popping his knuckles, the mercenary leaned forward on his mount.
Curious that only over the past two years people have started
vying for this ruined castle. Marlayne says the historians of
Closicus believe there is a magic power sealed away inside. If
other countries thought as much, they certainly would have tried to
obtain this power long ago. I wonder how and when Gilgamesh came to
learn of it…and I certainly wonder why they all believe my people
were instrumental in defeating the Dragons. Come to think of it, I
wonder what Zoltek knows about Alduheim. He had never even
mentioned it to me….

As Scar let his mind meander, the lightning
passed, and the rain slackened to a drizzle. By then, everyone was
well soaked through. Some of the riders produced food or drink. The
horses had also grown sluggish. Amidst the clusters of trees, water
ran over ruts between the grasses and hurried downhill.

“We should come across a pond or something
around here soon,” Poland said, breaking the silence.

“Good,” Scar replied. “I think the horses
need a drink and some rest.”

“Aye,” the strategist agreed.

“I’d like to stretch my legs as it is,” one
of the riders added.

“An’ I’d like to stretch the hole of my
arse,” another joked. They all shared a laugh. “Seriously,” the man
stressed. “I been bouncin’ up an’ down on this damned horse for
half a day.”

“Peace, Rauls,” an archer begged. “You’ve got
to learn to keep that kind of stuff to yourself.”

“Just sayin’ my arse hurts, is all,” the
joker replied.

The one called Rauls was middle aged with
short hair, and one long, thin braid dangling behind his left ear.
He fidgeted in his saddle for a moment then muttered under his
breath. One of the others laughed and threw a piece of bread at
him. During their journey, the land had slowly morphed from a rocky
chaparral to woods.

Under the cover of trees visibility was
limited due in part to the thickness of the growth, but also the
time of evening. Insects started chirping, and bats fluttered
between branches to feast. Poland pulled a torch from his travel
pack and lit it. The flickering, orange light helped to reveal
their surroundings.

Though tiny droplets still fell upon the
riders, the rain had ceased. Water was only dripping from leaves
above them, occasionally sizzling after striking torch flames. Each
gust of wind rustled the foliage, forcing a barrage of drops to
careen onto the ground.

“There is water ahead,” Poland announced.

“How do you know?” Marlayne asked.

“See there, those willows,” Poland answered
and pointed. “They grow near water. Won’t be long before we run
across it.”

Scar was impressed with the old man’s
knowledge. Only moments later, they did come across a pond, though
it looked as if the shallow water had only gathered that day. The
area was a small clearing where peat had accumulated. A few willows
lined the surroundings. Apparently the ground held too much water
for hardwoods and since the whole area was lower than the
surroundings, rains always gathered there first.

“We should stay close and rest only for as
long as the horses need it,” Poland suggested.

“Nuts to that, old man,” one of the archers
exclaimed. “There’s deer in this region. I’m off to hunt.”

“Johan,” one of the sword maidens called.

“What?” the archer griped.

“Can’t let you go alone,” she claimed.

“Well you’re not coming with, not with that
loud armor you’ve got on ya’!”

“Take Leera,” the woman suggested.

Leera, a female archer, had only just sat
down cross-legged. When Johan ran knobby fingers through his short
locks giving her an imploring stare, she rolled her almond eyes and
returned to her feet.

“The two of you best be careful out there.
Don’t tread too far,” Poland warned.

“You think someone will attack?” Scar
asked.

Poland let out a belly laugh then coughed as
he caught his breath, saying, “Oh my, no, Brandt. There will not be
anyone around here, but there could be all manner of wild animals.
Forest cats are quite dangerous and are the only cats to attack in
packs.”

“Glarings,” Johan hollered over his shoulder
as he and Leera skulked off into the darkness.

“Glarings?” Scar asked.

“Eh, a pack of cats is called a glaring,
apparently” Poland remarked with an overly exhausted demeanor.

“I see,” Scar whispered. “How long are we
going to stop here?”

“Not too long, I think,” the old man
said.

“Have we time to camp?” one of the burly
shieldmen asked

“No…no time to set up a full camp, but light
a fire if you wish, if you can. Nap against your travel pack,” the
strategist suggested.

The big man covered in armor removed his
plate helmet to reveal a young and round, bronzed face. He smiled
widely. Scar saw he was missing a tooth.

“What is your name?” Scar asked.

“Lortho, shieldman of Kulshedra,” he answered
with a swelling of the chest.

“What is a shieldman?”

“We have been blessed by Kulshedra with a
special power. We not only control power over our armor, but our
shields as well. They are our weapons.”

“Yet you carry axes?”

“Yes…those damned Khmerans don’t die unless
their heads come off…so,” the man frowned and made mock hacking
motions with his hand.

Scar nodded and Lortho turned to his
supplies. Marlayne had relaxed against her horse, as it had kneeled
from stress, and she opened a book, which she perused under
torchlight. Poland sat on a log, then stood up and pulled at the
rear of his robe before performing an overly dramatic roll of his
eyes; the log was soaked and muddy. He plopped back down in
resignation and started to eat. While everyone made themselves as
comfortable as possible, Scar also tried to relax.

The mercenary pulled a blanket from his
travel pack, which had been given to him by Poland at the outset of
their trip. After spreading the blanket on the ground, Scar placed
his sword beside him then laid his head on his pack. No sooner had
he exhaled and closed his eyes that someone let out a horrific
scream.

“What is it?! What’s happened?” Scar asked,
coming to his feet and grabbing his sword from the ground.

Two of the Kulshedrans were laughing at
another who was sort of running in place and rubbing at his legs.
His rapid lifting of the knees while batting at his shins was a
hilarious sight.

“It’s nothing,” Poland laughed.

“A s-s-spider was on m-my l-l-leg,” the
archer stammered.

Still everyone was laughing. Even Borta and
Marlayne were sprawled out holding their sides.

“It’s-ss, not f-funny,” the man
stuttered.

He walked around to calm himself before
lighting his own torch and working the burning staff into the
branches of a tree, but away from the leaves. He shook his head and
took some calming breaths.

“Heh,” Scar chuckled. “Perhaps you’ll want to
sleep atop your horse, mate.”

“Wh-why?”

“There are certainly more spiders all along
the ground and even in that tree. You don’t want one descending
from the branches and crawling onto your face, do you?” Scar
joked.

Everyone shared a hearty laugh at the poor
archer’s expense, who looked around and up into the foliage before
deciding that sleeping on his horse was probably the best way to
go. He walked off a ways from the group to do so.

“Tarvin certainly does not like spiders,”
Lortho laughed.

“He must be really spooked to stutter like
that,” Scar commented.