The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (3 page)

“That and more.”

After a moment of dancing, she climbed his
form. They gave into each other while cool winds caressed their
skin.

Chapter Two- The second assault

Scar gazed over every inch of dark horizon.
With his hands on the railing, he leaned his weight forward. The
sun was soon to rise, and though he had not slept yet, he was not
tired.
Even after pleasing sweet Kaviri, I am restless.
He
rubbed his head in wonder.

A warm wind circulated beneath the whipping
canopy. With clenching jaw, Scar took in the expansive scenery. It
was little more than dissipating clouds over dusty hills; squat
plants of little color grew sparsely. A subtle setting, yet it was
beautiful if contradictory to the war at hand. After the moment of
reverie, Scar looked at his body.

An overabundance of scars were his only means
of self-identification. All he knew about himself was that a few
months prior, he was set upon by a squadron of Dracos.

“Scar?” a sweet voice called. He turned to
see Kaviri coming up the steps. “How does the morning fare
you?”

A smile flickered over his face before he
returned to gazing at the landscape. “I, I was just
recollecting.”

“Yes?” she asked and embraced him from
behind. Her fingers gently scratched his abdominals. “Tell Kaviri
all about it.”

“I was thinking about my first memory,” he
heaved. “Worshipers of Drac, the so called God of Fire, they were
certainly fierce warriors. I’ll never forget those bright, orange
eyes.”

“Argh, I dislike the Dracos more than the
Kulshedrans!”

“Heh, yes…well, it was then I learned I was a
magnificent bladesman.”

Echoes of shouts erupted into his mind. He
allowed the full scenario of that strange event, his first memory,
to coalesce.

****

Scar simply realized he was in existence. The
first thoughts came to his mind as a jumbled mess. Then, the sound
of chatter came on the wind. Whooping and hollering resounded.
Frightened, he came to his feet, and whipping his head around to
take in the bewildering environment, he spotted the large, burly
men in kilts. They held big, heavy weapons. Behind the approaching
masses were sandy expanses of brown. Mountains graced the horizon.
Hills and dunes peppered the landscape.

“What’s this, then?” a towering man with
freckled skin asked, pointing at Scar with his hammer.

The motley crew of barbarians scrutinized him
as curiously as he did them. They were a menacing force of about
fifty, and all of them had reddish hair, and burning, orange
eyes.

“Where, where am I?” Scar blurted out.

“This fool doesn’t know where he is?” another
chuckled. “Oi, fool, who are you?”

Scar shook his head, unable to give an
answer. His eyes darted from bearded faces to axes, hammers,
swords. Scar knew he was in trouble.

“I like that sword he’s got right there,” a
tall man with brands from heated irons said. Scar looked over to
it; the enormous blade with holes throughout stood flagrantly from
the soil. “I’m takin’ it,” the branded man then grinned
maliciously.

The others joined in laughter, but when the
man reached for Scar’s blade, the pale individual found he’d
latched his enormous, white hand around the assailant’s wrist, and
pulled down to the ground while taking a knee. The action
immediately broke the barbarian’s wrist, and his compatriots howled
before attacking.

The first order of defense was picking up the
wounded man and throwing him at the oncoming warriors. When the
forefront fell over, Scar drew the strange blade from the ground,
and immediately, he felt a powerful vibration coming from the
weapon. A mighty shout escaped Scar’s lips. He swung with a blow so
potent, it killed one man outright, and knocked over another three.
Suddenly, Scar’s mind was clear. His breathing slowed, and he
understood how to survive.

By constantly forcing his attackers between
his flesh and the weapons their friends brandished, he was able to
cut down one, or two, parry attacks then flee a moment. Though he
incurred the occasional scrape or laceration, no wound was
detrimental, and so he continued to cut down more men before
running. Every time the enemy gave chase, they were a couple of men
and breaths short. Within thirty minutes, he felled nearly the
entire troop.

“Leave me alone,” Scar finally cried out to
those who remained.

Orange eyes traded frightened glances. The
Dracos nodded and fled, leaving only corpses and dust in their
wake.

****

“Hm,” Scar purred. Kaviri’s firm grip on his
shoulders brought him back to the present. Scanning the now
purplish horizon, he continued saying, “That is my oldest memory. I
had no idea how I got there, or what I was doing….”

The sun slowly rose over the eastern mountain
range. Errant beams of red pushed over the peaks and dark clouds
parted. It was a calm morning, so he returned to thought of that
strange day.

“Following my first fight, I meandered
aimlessly just hoping to ascertain my location, to see something
familiar. Nothing was recognizable. I remember noticing the fight
had happened in the middle of a beaten path, and assumed that the
direction from which they came was probably not the best direction
to go in search of answers, so I walked down the other end of the
dusty path, and that’s when I crossed the border into Usaj.”

“And into my arms,” Kaviri stood on her toes
to kiss his neck.

“It was less than a week later, oh, that’s
good,” he chuckled.

She grinned knowingly. They looked into each
other’s eyes.

“Less than a week later,” she echoed. “Word
reached the ears of Zoltek that a strange man, white as a ghost,
bested a squadron of Dracos single handedly, and since they were
allies to the Kulshedrans, Zoltek took it upon himself to find that
man.

“You were rather easy to spot, the only
seven-foot giant with no hair and light skin.”

“Yes, so that messenger found me, and gave me
the note from Zoltek
.
” Life was yet strange, but the coming
morning, and battle, gave him hope. “Pray this work for Zoltek
yields some truth. I must learn who I am,” he whispered.

“You’re sweating already?” she eyed him. “Is
it me or this stifling heat?”

“Both, perhaps.”

“Have some cool water then.”

She poured some water from the clay jug into
a cup and handed it to him. He sipped while turning back to the
horizon. She took the cup and left him to ruminations. A short
while later, the sun fully rose over the mountain peaks in the
east.

The southern territories, such as the lands
under the guidance of Zmaj, Kulshedra, and Drac, were predominantly
warm and dry climates. Even early mornings, if devoid of wind, grew
hot quickly. Scar walked down to the base of the tower leaving the
heat for cover. The men were already gathered about the tables
eating and drinking.

“An easy battle we had last night, eh?” one
warrior asked.

“Quite,” another replied. “The Kulshedrans
are so weak.”

Scar rolled his eyes. “Don’t you remember
what Dumar told you? Our easy victory wasn’t due to any weakness on
the enemy’s part. The Kulshedrans of the outpost were outnumbered
and outsmarted. That’s why they fell so easily. The same thing can
happen to us if we grow complacent, so listen up.” He cleared his
throat and waited for everyone’s attention. The men quieted down,
and he continued. “It won’t be much longer before the supply wagon
rolls in…maybe by noon, or evening at the latest. Stay sharp. Find
some fitting gear from the corpses, sleeping quarters, or wherever.
Put it on to blend in with their kind and maintain a low profile.
You don’t want them noticing right away your dark skin. Besides, it
won’t do good for the cart to pull up and find twenty men in black
leathers.”

“Aye,” one warrior replied and started
shuffling the rest along.

“Shadri, come with me to the roof,” Scar
ordered. “We will keep an eye out for the wagon’s approach.”

Nimbly, the one called Shadri darted by his
kinsmen and caught up to Scar. Walking together up the steps, Scar
glanced at the Zmajan’s skin; he never tired of their gorgeous
patterns. Shadri was adorned by angular lines of purple and
black.

Under the cloth covering the roof, Shadri
asked, “You want me to gaze at the east?”

“Yes.”

The Zmajan pulled a wicker chair close to the
table, sat down then produced his telescope. Minutes of keeping
vigil passed by in quietude. Occasionally, the two men traded
glances. Shadri place his elbows on the table to steady the
telescope and alleviate the tightness in his back. Everything
remained still on the eastern horizon where the Shumite mountain
range spanned the Kulshedran-Draco border. Before long, both men
were sweating profusely.

Shadri pulled back from the telescope to wipe
his brow. He and Scar made eye contact again. Stifling heat made
keeping vigil a brutal affair.

“Nothing yet, eh?” Scar asked.

“Not–” Shadri stopped abruptly, and placed
his eye to the lens. “Wait. I see a puff of dust. It’s…yes. The
wagon is coming from a passage just west of the mountains. If you
hurry, I doubt they’ll see the flaming bolt from such distance and
in the light of day.”

“Good work.”

Scar quickly secured oil soaked cloths to the
loaded bolt of the ballista. He took the lantern from the table to
light the cloths, and when they caught flame, he fired the bolt to
the south where General Dumar and the remaining Zmajans waited. The
fiery projectile went hurling through the sky with an echoing
twang
. It left a trail of black smoke behind, but that
dissipated in seconds.

****

“Aye,” Dumar said, pointing. “There it
is.”

The General and second half of the Zmajan
warriors sat resting by the hillside. When the bolt appeared in the
northern skies, they gathered their gear. The flaming bolt soared
overhead. Some of them craned their necks to watch it vanish behind
a wood line.

“Warriors!” Dumar addressed them. “We march
to the north and meet the supply wagons of Kulshedra. By
dispatching the enemies of Zmaj, we earn his favor, and he grants
us power. Behold.”

The sun shone brightly, and only the shadows
of men graced the dusty soil of Satrone. Dumar stood—his feet
spread widely—presenting his power to the men. He grabbed his axe
from the ground. The blade of the weapon was an ordinary crescent,
and the wooden shaft was aged oak. The general focused his gaze
upon the axe. A furrow worked over his brow.

An eerie vibration radiated from the weapon,
blurring its appearance. The warriors looked on with held breath as
steel shards splintered away from the axe’s head and curled upon
themselves. More steel slid away only to collapse and reform into a
perfectly round blade. As gasps washed over the crowd, Dumar’s
power continued to alter the weapon. Segmented steel grew over the
shaft. Steel studs reinforced the grip, and then the most awe
inspiring event unfolded; the circular blade started spinning with
a high pitched whine all of its own accord.

“You see?” Dumar gloated. “I have created a
magnificent, killing machine with the power of Zmaj, the All
God.”

He brought the spinning blade close to a
stone causing bright sparks to shoot forth in a brilliant flurry of
yellow streaks. A second later, the stone was sawed in half, and
cheers erupted from the warriors.

“Zmaj, Zmaj, Zmaj!” they all chanted.

“March!” Dumar howled.

The squadron of warriors jogged in formation
across sandy hills and towards the guard tower to meet Scar’s half
of the Zmajan force.

****

Shadri remained in observation of the
approaching wagon. The thin, cloth cover above them gave little
respite from the increasing temperature. Beads of sweat poured over
his form. Scar, also gleaming from the oblique sunlight, took his
blade in hand.

“I will stand ready,” he said. “Shadri, keep
your eyes on the horizon for any reinforcements. Truthfully, I
doubt you’ll see anything, but if there is trouble, give the gong a
single whack.”

“Aye.”

Scar stormed down the flights of stairs,
calling out to the many Zmajans throughout. “Ready yourselves. The
time for battle is nearly upon us.”

At the base of the tower, in the cooler
shade, those under the leadership of Scar already changed their
armor to the customary brown leathers of Kulshedran fighters.

“Four of you take seats at the tables so the
wagoneers will think you Kulshedrans. The rest of you, ensconce
yourselves on the stairs, or behind the supporting pylons. You
there, you hide around the west side of the tower. Once the wagon
is safely inside, we swarm,” Scar ordered.

“Hurrah,” they answered in unison.

Scar stood under the archway of the west
entry with his blade resting over his right shoulder. From his
vantage point, he saw the beaten path coming in from the east. The
wagon was minutes from pulling into the tower. The brute popped the
fingers of his left hand by putting pressure at the joints with his
thumb. A moment after, the wagon pulled in, towed by muscular
horses.

Two old Kulshedrans sitting at the head of
the cart scrutinized Scar. Some guards sat in the back of the
carriage’s second car holding their long spears. They weren’t
paying any attention to their surroundings.

The white haired wagoneer let go the reins,
hopped off the wagon bench, and patted the horses. It was
increasingly obvious they were so used to their route that nothing
appeared out of the ordinary, except Scar. He maintained his
scrutiny of the old Kulshedran.

The wagoneer turned to address the soldiers
at the tables, “You there, who is this man?”