The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (23 page)

“I see…you know…there was a Bakunawan here
not long ago, but no Kulshedran by the name of Sulas, and certainly
no Kulshedran that did not brandish a weapon.”

“Bakunawan?” Scar suddenly exclaimed.

“Yes, said he was fleeing from Kulshedrans
and begged to rest a moment.”

“When?”

“Two nights ago. He left as mysteriously as
he appeared.”

“What was his name?”

“He didn’t say. Why?”

“There was a Bakunawan traveling with Captain
Sulas.”

“I am sorry I don’t have better news about
your friend, but anyway, back to the paladins. A week ago, we found
a moveable wall inside the castle, one that raised to reveal an
opening into more corridors. Before fully moving into the new area,
we met more opposition.

“On our way out to gather supplies for a stay
inside the keep, Khmerans were running towards us. We drew our
weapons, but they were not attacking, they were in flight for their
lives. A paladin had wandered in and cut them down with such
ease…these damned paladins claim they fight in the name of the real
Gods…what if they are right?”

Scar’s heart skipped a beat. He eyed the dark
warrior curiously and nodded slowly. His breathing accelerated with
excitement. Scar decided to choose his words carefully.

“You think that’s possible even though you
have powers granted by Tiamat?”

Relaxing back in his seat, N’Giwah asked,
“Why not?” Scar’s jaw started clenching rhythmically. N’Giwah wet
his ample lips. Neither said a thing for a moment. They were
gauging each other’s religious proclivities. N’Giwah then returned
to his implications. “A Dragon can grant powers, I think. His voice
then trembled a bit. “I have seen statues of them in the castle and
tapestries of men warring against the beasts. In those woven tales
there are images of deities…eight of them.”

“Why do you tell me?”

“Because you are not like the others. I have
heard of you, Ghost of Zmaj, the one not blessed by any God, and
here you are before me; a man who appeared from nowhere, knows not
who he is, and yet has found his way to Alduheim.”

“What do the others think?”

“Others?” N’Giwah shook his head. “I could
not have discussed the tapestries’ complex meanings with the others
without risking bloodshed. The Tiamatish are only peaceful when
they are not threatened and Dragons would most certainly seem a
threat…and yet I think Shamara, the oldest woman, suspects
something. With age comes wisdom, or so they say.”

“Who is Shamara?”

“My trusted advisor, and my great aunt. She
is cousin to Jagongo,” N’Giwah then paused for a moment before
sipping his water. “Listen, Brandt, that paladin, the one killing
Khmerans, is not actually after them. He is after anyone who is
venturing into that newly discovered corridor. We have not been
able to make any more headway. He has killed Khmerans, Kulshedrans,
and Tiamatish without discrimination.”

“Why?”

N’Giwah only shook his head, but then said,
“I have heard that you cannot be defeated…if you help us remove
this menace, you and your people are more than welcome to help in
exploring, and we may yet work side-by-side, Kulshedrans and
Tiamatish, to seek an end to these wars, but understand that most
will never believe that they are fighting in the name of a
Dragon….” N’Giwah sighed and closed his eyes. “This is going to be
the beginning of a most trying period.”

Scar was awed by N’Giwah’s claims and his
trust. “Well…I am most grateful for your candor, N’Giwah. I will
lend you my blade. I should see this paladin, too.” He trailed off
for a moment before deciding to repay the leader’s frankness with
his own secret. “You know, the Goddess Silwen, the Lover, appeared
before me during our journey. I suspect the Scultonian among my men
may have also witnessed her, but he has not mentioned such to
me.”

“You saw Silwen?” N’Giwah was nonplussed.

“I did, a beauteous sight, she was, and she
told me I would come here to fight a paladin called Ylithia, a
woman, but you say there is a man here.”

N’Giwah, who appeared to have just been
rattled by Scar’s proclamation, rubbed his eyes profusely before
blinking rapidly. He had the look of having just awakened.

“Yes, but I cannot be certain it is a man;
that dark armor, full helmet. Whoever this one is has never uttered
a word, not once, but the strangest thing is he, or she, or
whatever, does not have any food or water…and that worries me the
most. What manner of person can live without food or water or
rest?” He then added reverently, “Surely it must be the blessing of
a God!”

Scar smiled and nodded. He, too, never seemed
to need food or water.

“Tell me more of Silwen,” N’Giwah
demanded.

“Where do I start?” he looked off and tried
to remember her as clearly as possible. “She was a flawless woman,
who appeared from the darkness as a whorl of light. She told me
that the Dragons are stealing men’s souls, and that Gods are trying
to help, but that most people are so overly burdened with fighting
for their Dragon Lords that they are blind to their pleas…she also
said that my encounter with a paladin called Ylithia would be
instrumental in defeating the Dragons.”

“Is that why you are among us? To kill
Dragons?” N’Giwah asked with wide eyes.

“I don’t know…but I intend to find out.”

“And your men, you have not told them
this?”

“How could I?”

“They will not understand,” N’Giwah
agreed.

An interminable pause in the conversation
allowed the sound of chatter from the men outside to bleed into the
shack. Scar looked down at the table. N’Giwah kept his eyes on the
mercenary.

“You are uneasy?” the Tiamatish warrior
asked.

“You are the only person I have ever met that
is open to the possibility of Dragons, and Dragons posing as Gods
at that.”

“It seems impossible, doesn’t it…yet…I cannot
flee from this feeling,” he heaved.

“There are answers somewhere in that castle,
aren’t there,” Scar attested.

“One way or another, we are going to find
out.”

Chapter Seventeen- The paladin

It had taken some persuasion, but the
explorers of Tiamat, following their leader’s orders, had provided
Scar’s troop with some much needed down time. The two days spent in
practically constant travel had left butts and backs rather
sore.

Though the Kulshedrans among them were
skeptical that their own kind could have ever wantonly attacked the
Tiamatish people, they certainly believed that fighting back was
the right course of action. Still, they made a true effort to
overcome feelings of resentment, and likewise, the Tiamatish
explorers made a supreme effort to treat foreigners as guests.

That hospitality was little more than scraps
of food, a fire, some water, and idle conversations about the land
or weather. Regardless of the trivial nature of breaking bread, the
dark skinned warriors were genuine, so too were Scar’s men, though
moments of reticence may have initially hindered their
conversational skills, with the exception of Marlayne, who was only
ever a brilliant conversationalist.

Since N’Giwah and Scar had returned from
their meeting to join the rest, the two leaders started to explain
what was at stake; taking down a paladin in order to gain access to
the newly discovered corridors deep under Alduheim. On logs and
stumps surrounding a spit over dying flames, Scar said that both he
and N’Giwah believed whatever might be within the corridor’s walls
was of supreme importance if a paladin had suddenly appeared and
taken over. While sharing strips of warmed meat with one another,
the peoples of Tiamhaal aired their concerns.

“Those paladins are mad,” Rauls remarked.

“Indeed they are,” one Tiamatish woman
agreed. “But this one is the fiercest fighter I have ever seen.
Among those she felled was my own brother. May Tiamat let him sleep
in Thalatte.”

The woman then kissed her fingers and gently
touched the ground.

“We should plan to move in with only a few
fighters,” Poland suggested.

“You will need more than a few!” the woman
who had accosted them earlier yelled.

“Peace, Hija,” N’Giwah said to her. “Let him
explain why he feels this way first.”

“Yes, thank you, N’Giwah,” Poland said with a
nod. “These are castle corridors. They will be dark and cramped. It
will not do well to rush in especially if this man is as dangerous
as any of the paladins I have heard of. It would be best to let
Brandt take the lead. He can choose whomever he wishes to accompany
him, but archers and other long ranged fighters should stay out
here.”

Those with javelins and the archers glanced
at each other. Though they whispered their grievances, they did not
argue.

“Truth,” Scar said to Poland. “Besides, we
should have the entrance guarded in the event that more opposition
rears its head.”

“We never know when Khmerans or Kulshedrans
will show,” N’Giwah agreed. “I will go with you for I know the way,
and I must have Shamara and Hija with me. The rest will stay
here.”

“Good,” Scar said. “I will bring the
shieldmen and four swordsmen. Poland, Marlayne, Borta, you will
remain where it is safe.”

Marlayne glared at him with her cold, blue
eyes. Her chin trembled slightly.

“You are not leaving me behind,” she said
with barely contained anger. Poland reached out to touch her hand,
but she pulled it back before contact was made. “Damn you, old man,
don’t even try to placate me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of arguing with a Fafnirian,
my dear,” he apologized.

“I can’t guarantee your safety,” Scar warned
with a furrowed brow.

“Safety be damned,” she spewed. “I have not
spent my entire life and come this close to uncovering new meaning
from Alduheim only to hide away like a frightened rabbit.”

Scar took a deep inhalation and looked to
Borta, who was only smiling peacefully. “You will need me in
there,” the Scultonian breathed.

Scar then turned to Poland, his arched brow
implying an unasked question.

The old strategist smiled before saying,
“Rest easy. My old bones would only slow you all down. I will
gladly remain behind…so apart from Delton and Lortho, who is
coming?”

All of the sword wielders hooped and hollered
claiming they hadn’t seen action in a long time. Scar chuckled to
himself; they were real warriors.

“Draw straws if you have to, but I’m only
taking four,” he asserted. Again they bickered amongst one another.
N’Giwah glanced at Scar with a tired wince indicating he needed to
get a hold of his squabbling crew. “Fine,” the pale warrior barked.
“Jayna, Ezlo, Bosen, and Pater. You will come.”

“Now, hey! Wait a dang blasted moment,” Rauls
exclaimed.

“You are certainly not coming,” Scar laughed.
“You never keep your mouth shut and will likely have us announcing
our presence to the enemy by way of laughter.”

The rest laughed at his expense. Rauls sank
back in his seat and pouted.

“Wh-wh-whooo’s laughing now?” Tarvin
joked.

Once more they laughed and Rauls acquiesced
begrudgingly with an exasperated, overly dramatic shrug.

“It is settled then,” N’Giwah said. “I will
lead us there now. Grab what little you need. I do not think we
will be gone long, but if we are not back by nightfall do not come
looking for us. Gondala,”

“Sir?” a broad-shouldered Tiamatish man
covered in green stripes asked.

“You will retreat to Ch’nako and send word to
Jagongo in that event.”

“Understood.”

“Likewise,” Poland started. “We will make our
way back to the outpost and send word to Gilgamesh should anything
happen.”

Scar and N’Giwah nodded then rose from their
log simultaneously. The explorers’ leader acquired an axe carved
from the jaw of an animal from a scowling warrior. It was a toothy,
flesh cutter with feathers and leather lacing. With no more
hesitation, they started their march out of the camp beyond immense
stones, and rounded the largest one yet a few hundred yards from
the camp. At the base of the rear of the stone was an opening large
enough for even the thickest shieldman to squirm through if he laid
on his belly.

“This should be easy for you,” Delton said to
Lortho. “You like writhing around on your belly anyway, don’t
you?”

“No, I like being on top,” Delton corrected
and waited for his turn to enter.

“I will go first,” N’Giwah said while Ezlo
lit a torch and made to hand it to the Tiamatish leader. He waved
it off replying, “I am a warrior of Tiamat. I can see in the
dark.”

Ezlo crinkled his pointy nose.

“Well, we’re Kulshedrans, and we can’t,”
Lortho argued.

By then N’Giwah was out of site, swallowed by
the earth. Shamara, an ancient looking woman with gray braids down
to her ankles, and a long stemmed pipe between her teeth, scrunched
her faded, red dress about her knees before painstakingly making
her way through the hole. Hija double checked the jawbone knives
she laced to her skirt then dove in like a mole. The rest, Scar and
his men, looked at each other for a moment.

“Today!” N’Giwah’s voice came echoing from
the hole.

So the rest forced their way inside. Scar was
first, followed by Ezlo then Lortho, Delton, Bosen, Jayna, Pater,
and finally Marlayne and Borta. To their surprise, it was only the
very entrance that was tiny. A dozen feet in, the cavern opened up
with a steep descent into darkness. The blackness around them was
quickly thwarted by Ezlo’s torch. The orange illumination revealed
gray, craggy walls.

N’Giwah and his women were already two or
three dozen paces in. They walked briskly, making little sound. The
clunking, clanking, and clattering of Kulshedrans was deafening
against those stone walls, but that was just the way it had to be,
so Scar maneuvered Marlayne and Borta behind himself and in front
of the shieldmen in an effort to protect the scholars’ rears. The
sword fighters took the flanks as best as they could within the
constricting walls, and all of Scar’s crew moved at his pace, which
was as close to a crawl as a seven-foot giant can manage.