The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (21 page)

Poland almost lost his balance he was
laughing so hard. Marlayne was clapping and in tears. Lortho rode
by his friend and patted him on the back, although he was also
laughing. The archer shook his head and shrugged.

“Well, if you’ve all finished tomfooling,”
Scar started. He had to stop and chuckle for a second then
continued. “I’d like to know where we’re headed next. We won’t
reach Alduheim today, will we?”

“No,” Poland answered in the midst of a
coughing laughter. “We make for an outpost near the Malababwen
border, rest there a moment, and then proceed into the Malababwen
countryside. We’ll try to find somewhere safe to spend the night
and then reach Alduheim tomorrow morning.” Scar rolled his
shoulders to loosen his neck. He frowned to himself. “Something
troubling you?”

A smile flickered across the mercenary’s
face, and he said, “No, just didn’t sleep well.”

“Have some of this venison. It is truly quite
delicious,” Poland remarked. “Leera, sweetheart, bring the King a
haunch.”

“Not, your sweetheart, old man,” she joked in
mock offense.

She rode up to Scar, her dark brown locks
gallivanting in the wind, and pulled out a bundle wrapped in large
banana leaves. Unlike most Kulshedrans, her hair was not black, but
still dark. Her eyes were blue and seemed to smile as she playfully
unwrapped the deer leg in a manner overly emphasizing extreme care.
Once it was fully unwrapped, she held it across both open palms as
though offering her sword.

She even bowed her head saying, “Please, my
Liege, take my haunch to use as you see fit.”

“Careful what you say, Leera,” Scar quipped.
“I might just take both of your haunches.”

That comment was sufficient to send the group
into another fit of roaring laughter. Leera looked away coyly with
a smiling but slacked jaw. Scar took the deer leg, sneered, and
shook his head before joining in the laughter. Leera had not
laughed, and wondered if the future king might really take her
haunches. She searched his gray eyes for a sign that he was only
kidding, but in the end remained uncertain. The lady archer made to
say something, but Marlayne tugged the sleeve of her shirt, which
protruded from her studded armor. The two women whispered and
giggled.

While they trotted on, the horses kicking up
leafy debris that showed in the rays of sun, the scent of moist
dirt rose to their nostrils. Several ruts in the ground indicated
hogs had feasted on roots during the night or predawn hours. The
horses marched carefully. A light gust of wind passed around the
riders, and from the rustling foliage came the fall of brown
leaves. They slowly spiraled and landed indistinguishably onto the
ground.

Scar squinted his eyes and took a deep
breath. He did not recall having ever seen such a wondrous sight;
rows and rows of trees created something like a cavern of leaves;
gold, red, brown, and green specks far as he was able to see. A
smile worked over his face. He listened to the orchestra of wind,
leaves, warbling birds, and stamping hooves.

“Are we still in Satrone?” he asked with a
mouthful of venison.

“Yes,” Poland replied. “And we will be until
after we rest at the outpost.”

“Yes, of course,” Scar apologized. “Silly of
me to ask such a question.”

“No, not at all,” the strategist comforted.
“It definitely does not look the same as the southern border, much
rockier there, and close to Eltanrof, too. Of course, it gets sandy
by Sudai.”

“Yes, I spent time in Eresh,” Scar
interrupted.

“Oh,” Poland smiled. “Bit of a stiff town,
but full of good men.”

“Does Satrone border other countries?”

“Zetsuru, Eltanrof, Usaj, and Nabalhi, but
the Nabalhian border is really Alduheim and does not really reflect
the landscape of Nabalhi.”

“Yes it does,” one of the riders interrupted.
“Doesn’t rain as much and it’s a bit rockier, but that’s just from
the actual castle rubble.”

“Well, I’m not a geologist,” Poland
grumbled.

“I’m not sure you mean geologist, old man,”
Rauls chimed in. “I think you mean climatologist.”

“No, that’s not right,” the other shieldman
stated. “Climatologists study the climate, not the lay of the
land…I think he means cartographer.”

“They make maps, Delton,” Johan sighed.

“And how are you going to make a map if you
don’t know what the land looks like?” Delton countered.

“I, just, forget it,” the archer laughed.

“It w-would beee a n-naturologist,” Tarvin
joked.

“Ya, I don’t think that’s a thing,” Leera
huffed.

“I d-don’t hear you
heh-heh-hehlll…p-p-providing a sssuggestion!”

Once more the crowd of riders roared with
laughter. The slow but steady journey persisted until they came
upon a well-traveled path in the woods. Poland oriented himself and
veered left on the hard packed trail claiming it would lead them
northwest and directly to the outpost.

“This is the road adjoining all the
battlements?” Scar asked.

“That’s right,” the old man said. “You know
at least one of many supply carts is always running goods between
the outposts.”

“You don’t say,” Scar smiled.

Poland smiled back, but Scar knew the old man
wasn’t privy to what he was smiling about. It was less than an hour
later that the Kulshedran tower became visible through the canopy.
The road snaked by a handful of large trees, and a few miles down,
they spotted the large base of the entryway.

“Ho!” a group of Kulshedran soldiers called
out. One of them squinted and made an exaggerated notion of
disbelief. “Why, I think it’s old man Poland!”

“Don’t you old man, me!” Poland grumbled and
laughed.

The soldier motioned to his comrades to
assist everyone, and the group of Kulshedrans started off to take
the horses by the reins when they noticed Scar.

“Hey, now! What the Hell is the Ghost of Zmaj
doing here?” one howled.

“Watch your mouth!” Lortho barked.

“Who are you supposed to be?” another
Kulshedran soldier demanded. “Just what in blazes is going on
here?”

“Poland,” the man who had initiated contact
began, “What is all this?”

“Now calm down, everyone, just calm down,”
Poland sighed with a bobbing of both palms down toward the ground.
“Enis, have us inside to rest a moment, and I’ll explain.”

“Sure thing, Uncle Poland,” the young
Kulshedran replied, but his brethren took their spears and used
them to pull their compatriot back.

The soldiers then pointed sharp weapons and
fierce gazes at Scar and his group. Enis looked to his uncle with a
silent plea. Poland returned a soft smile, but Lortho hopped from
his mount, took his tower shield from the side of his saddle, and
squarely took a battle stance. As the Kulshedran soldiers cried out
and charged, the ground started to vibrate beneath their feet, and
the whole form of Lortho turned blurry. A sudden burst of energy
that rippled through the air, like waves of heat off a fire, shot
from his shield, and bowled the men over.

“Now listen up, meatheads!” Lortho started.
“I am Lortho Comish the third and have been named shieldman to our
Lord Gilgamesh. I say this to you only once: this is not the Ghost
of Zmaj, this is King Brandt of Alduheim and a personal friend to
your liege. Now, welcome us as guests or so help me, I will lay you
out again!”

Scar glanced at everyone; Poland, Lortho, the
soldiers, his crew. He was in shock over the entire display.

“Lortho,” he called out. “Isn’t all that a
bit much?”

The shieldman turned to look at Scar then
relaxed his stance before looking back at his brethren. Some of
them were still on the ground, not injured, but frightened and
awestruck.

“Sorry, sorry, got a little bored during our
trip,” he claimed. “I tend to get carried away. Sorry, everyone.
Sorry.”

“Good God, man,” Delton laughed while Lortho
sauntered back to his horse.

“Unc-Uncle Poland,” Enis pleaded.

The old man chuckled saying, “My apologies
for all this, really. Some of these men are…overly, eh, um, bah!
Some of them are crazy, but we are all here for the moment to rest
before riding into Malababwe to meet with Jagongo’s men. So,
please, have us inside, won’t you?”

After having been so rattled, they were all a
bit leery of the riders, yet they still managed to take the horses’
reins and lead them all into the tower’s base.

“So, you are not the Ghost of Zmaj,” one man
whispered to Scar.

Scar leaned in, locked eyes, and said, “I
was.”

“Well…what are you doing here?”

Once introductions were made, they all ate,
drank, joked, and relayed trivial bits of information between one
another. An hour or so passed by with ease. As conversations died
down, the Kulshedran guards returned to their duties. Only Poland
and Enis remained chatting.

“Tell me, Enis, what news do you have of the
battle in Alduheim?”

The young man wiped his mouth of greasy meat,
saying, “Often the skirmishes spill into the nearby woods, and
scattered groups of Khmerans or some of our own soldiers end up
here. We helped slay a few Khmerans just the other day.”

“Then we should be careful while we ride,”
Poland addressed Scar’s riders. “We’ve little time for fighting…I
think it will be best to move northeast off the road from here and
only travel back to the north while in Malababwe.”

“You’ll probably see some action there, too,”
Enis interrupted.

“Mmm…the Khmerans are moving into Jagongo’s
territory?”

“I don’t know for sure, but the battles in
Alduheim have been going on for a long time. I wouldn’t be
surprised if either group has tried to retreat into the
jungle.”

“I see. Well, on a lighter note, how is your
mother?”

“I just received a letter,” Enis smiled.
“Mother is doing fine. She is proud that my brother has enrolled in
the university in Tironis.”

“Oh, that is splendid news,” Poland clapped
his nephew on the back. “Anis was terrible with a sword. Remember
the time he nearly cut off his own foot?”

The old man laughed uproariously and nearly
choked. Enis shook his head at the histrionics. Scar observed them
for a moment with a smile. He wondered what having family was like,
but his concern over hidden secrets at Alduheim was prevalent. He
patted Poland’s shoulder. The strategist nodded effusively. Soon
after, Poland and his nephew finished catching up. They bid each
other good luck, and Scar’s troop hurriedly got back on their
horses to ride out into the cooling evening.

“Well that was too bad, really,” Marlayne
said.

“What was?” one of the swordsmen asked.

“It would have been nice to stay and chat a
bit longer. All this riding is beginning to give me headaches.”

They were mostly in accordance, but such was
the way of travel on horseback. Besides, there was still a great
deal of ground to cover, and everyone was just as excited to search
Alduheim for secrets as they were to stay off their horses.

Chapter Sixteen- Tribal tensions

The journey from the Kulshedran outpost into
Malababwe was a quiet one. At that point, every man and woman kept
their eyes and ears open for a sign of battle. The news that
skirmishes spilled so far from Alduheim was unsettling, and no one
wanted to be caught with their pants down. For hours, they rode on
in silence with only the sound of leaves and twigs cracking
underneath hooves.

As they continued downhill and through
stagnant ponds with mosquitoes pricking their exposed skin, the
land turned soft and muddy. Leaving the hardwoods behind them, the
Malababwen countryside was filled with fruit trees or other softer
woods. An abundance of vines entwined leafy branches. The riders
often had to stop in order to cut their way forward. The evening
soon turned into night, and traveling by torchlight became quite a
stressful feat.

“Enemies will spot us for sure,” Johan
griped.

“It isn’t like there’s any way to prevent
that now,” Marlayne chastised.

“Still,” Johan complained.

Bats squeaked overhead. The occasional night
bird chirped then took flight. Under the glow of torches they
continued hacking away at vines. Some of them bore water. Ezlo, one
of the swordsmen, held his canteen under the severed portion to
fill it.

“It is consumable?” Scar asked.

“Aye, this
is
just water,” the squat
Kulshedran replied.

“How much of this terrain must we cover,
Poland?” Scar asked.

“At this rate, we’ll still make the outskirts
of Alduheim before daybreak.”

The old man then puffed a bit while working
himself painfully from his horse. The riders found themselves
thwarted by the growth. Scar shook his head in dismay before
cutting down a group of banana trees. They continued by foot while
leading their mounts by the reins for another hour.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if these bugs weren’t
everywhere,” Marlayne said and slapped her arm. “We don’t have
anything like this in Closicus.”

“Nor Satrone,” Gelrim, a gaunt swordsman
added.

“Nor Usaj,” Scar chimed in.

“Nor Eltanrof,” Delton said.

“Nor Balroa,” Borta smiled.

“Idiots,” Rauls joked.

They chuckled. Making silly conversation
eased the passage of time, but they soon grew weary of the thick
growth and prevalent insects. Moments later, and after much
grumbling, they came upon a tributary.

“This should be the southernmost leg of the
Undalayan, a rushing river that tears through Malababwe,” Poland
informed them. “We can cross it here where it is little more than a
brook and follow it northeast.”

The terrain, though sloppy, was far freer of
vines. So they continued walking, stopping only to water their
horses a few times along the way. During that portion of the trek,
the tributary grew wider and wider. The melody of water rushing
over sediment was relaxing. A frog or two croaked before scampering
into the water to avoid booted feet.