The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (34 page)

“And none of them use guards?” Ylithia asked
with subtle disbelief.

“Of course they do, my dear,” the trader
chirped. “They are not Onger.”

After talks of international trade, which was
painfully dull, Onger asked after their real purpose in Othnatus.
His contention was that under the most obvious of circumstances—the
king of a dead country with no men and a bare faced paladin—it was
a sensible guess that they were escaping from something, and that
seeking shelter in Closicus, a neutral country, and a tiny town
like Othnatus, to boot, whomever was looking for them likely had
very good reasons.

“An astute observation,” Ylithia commented.
“I suppose there’s no harm telling you we’re really here to push
for a more established relationship between Longinus and
Gilgamesh.”

Scar gave her a sideways glance. Her
insinuation was absolutely untrue. She smiled at him, and he
shrugged in reply, opting to let her provide whatever kinds of
answers Onger liked to hear.

“Ah, yes,” the trader nodded to himself.
“That does make sense, but why not stay in Genova then. Why
Othnatus?”

“He has spies in Othnatus, and we need them
to see us in the midst of our clever ruse first. After they report
back to him, he’ll set up first contact,” she fabricated.

“Of course, of course,” Onger agreed.

“Say, Onger,” Scar started.

“Yes?”

“Have you heard the names Rolus or Reelus?
They are the sons of a man called Foxus, and I told him I’d keep my
eyes open for his sons.”

Onger grew quiet. Ylithia and Scar traded a
look of curiosity. Finally, the master tradesman spoke.

“The brothers were some of my younger
traders. They went in on a cart together and traded under the
protection of The Onger Tradesmen for two months before they were
compromised in the heavy snows of Wuulefroth. They vanished in a
snowstorm and were never seen again…I didn’t know old Foxus was
still alive.”

“He lives on a farm outside of Kathka,” Scar
said.

“And he doesn’t know his sons are dead?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” Onger sighed.

They rode on quietly after the disconcerting
news. Birds darted from tree to tree inspecting the limbs for
insects. The horses carried on over the cobbled street, the cart
clattering away as the wooden wheels spun. It was almost a two day
ride to Genova. A few times, they chatted amicably about the
predicted yield of crops, when and how cold it was going to get,
and what raising Alduheim had to do with Gilgamesh and
Longinus.

Ylithia spearheaded the political
conversations. Scar led Onger to believe she was his trusted
advisor after relinquishing the worship of Mekosh to support
Fafnir’s proliferation in Alduheim. She proposed that since the old
kingdom was a Godless one, having neutral parties ally themselves
with Kulshedrans in a new country that supported peace would leave
only the Khmerans and Slibinish as possible opposing forces against
Fafnirians. Conclusively, since the Slibinish and Khmerans weren’t
at war with the Fafnirians and Closicus had the country of Sudai as
a barrier between themselves and the Dracos with neither country
being an enemy anyway, the entire eastern portion of the world
would know some degree of peace.

“That still leaves Gilgamesh problems with
Zoltek and Sahni,” Onger pointed out.

“But that’s nothing new,” Scar argued.
“Besides, I would not have Khmerans and Kulshedrans killing each
other in Alduheim. That will secure Satrone’s northern border…I
guess you could say the entire goal of this mission is to finally
mount an attack on Usaj.”

“Good,” Onger cheered. “Those blasted Zmajans
are the worst of all.”

Once they gave Zmaj, the All God, some proper
cursing and Onger traded in speaking for eating, Scar and Ylithia
whispered about just how close to the truth of prospective futures
they were.

“It all depends on what N’Giwah and the
others decide and how much influence they can rally,” Ylithia
affirmed.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like anyone knows
anything about Dragons yet, so maybe they weren’t able to come to
some form arrangement,” Scar proposed quietly.

“That’s because they were counting on
you.”

Scar frowned and looked across the hilly
countryside. He finally had a decent view of the spanning aqueduct.
The land surrounding Genova had been clear cut ages ago. Sheep,
goats, and a hog or two, bounded over the hills and in between the
pillars supporting the immense structure, which appeared to span
throughout the country. When the sun started to set, the longest,
most amazing shadows snaked away from the water system. Onger
eventually suggested they hunker down when complete darkness
settled in. It had been over an hour since Ylithia’s remark, and
Scar had remained stoic, but deep in thought.

“Have we done the right thing?” he asked
her.

She held both his hands, kissed his knuckles,
and asked, “What do you think?”

“I think the world can fend for itself…what
does it matter who worships what? There will always be discord, and
I have found enough peace in Closicus, and in your arms.”

Chapter Twenty-One- Burning bridges

Onger took the travelers to Murcas for a
quick stop. They practically rode straight through the northern
edge of the town where the master tradesman met with a client who
owed an installment on supplies he had purchased in order to sell
under his own name rather than Onger’s. While the master trader
accepted and counted the coin, he made ludicrous guarantees of
copious amounts of money the man was losing by buying supplies from
Onger instead of signing on with The Onger Tradesmen. The man’s
reply, “just take the coin, Onger,” implied he had heard the sales
pitch on several occasions.

The speedy conclusion in Murcas led them out
of town and back on the road to the northeast by sunset. Genova,
was yet over half a day away. There was little to do besides plan
life in Othnatus. Onger joked that if the king was really settling
down, he should join The Onger Tradesmen.

“It’s a temporary ruse,” Ylithia reminded
him.

Genova came into view during the bright
morning of the following day. It was a partially walled city with
more suspended walkways between the tall fortifications. Atop the
walkways and fortifications were more arches, which supported the
aqueduct that run right into the capitol. Scar tried to get a good
look at the meandering streets, but his view was obstructed by
trees, the partial walling, and all manner of citizens zipping
along the cobbled roads.

Finally, Onger pulled up to the main entry
guarded by a long section of wall outlined by manned ramparts.
Before he rode in to handle his business, Ylithia reiterated she
had no intentions of going inside, so Onger let them out to roam
the expansive meadows surrounding Genova.

Scar and Ylithia commiserated outside the
walled city. He had wanted to enter and catch an eyeful of the
Closic capital, but Ylithia was worried about being recognized.

“So what if they do recognize you?” he asked
as they traipsed through the meadows of browning grasses.

She looked off towards the pines in the
distance atop a squat hill for a time. Opting for silence rather
than replying, Ylithia came to a stop next to some colorful wild
flowers.

“There was a big scene when I left,” she
eventually explained. “Everyone who knew me or my family had come
to dissuade me. I just can’t face them yet.”

“You’ll do so when you’re ready.”

Scar kissed her forehead. Exploring the
surrounding land for a bit longer, the travelers saw some roaming
dogs with long, shaggy, brown and white fur. When the sound of
Onger’s horn resonated from his cart, which he had indicated would
be the signal of the conclusion of his business and the melodious
sign that they were to travel again, they started back. The
entirety of business in Genova had taken only a few hours.

When the two strolled from the meadows and
back to the cobbled street to board the cart, they found a new
passenger, a Paladin of Ihnogupta, the Perseverant. The young man
was dark skinned like the Tiamatish or even Zmajans, but in place
of the normal streaked skin were a plethora of shapes, shades, and
lines; they were all the work of an expert artist, who had embedded
inks in the paladin’s skin.

“Don’t worry about him,” Onger announced.
“He’s paid up.”

The young man eyed Scar and Ylithia with
curiosity as they stepped into the back of the cart across from
him. Once they were settled, and Onger took off down the cobbled
street, the young man smiled, revealing sharpened teeth. Scar liked
them and smiled back, but Ylithia cringed then quickly tried to
look away to avoid hurting the paladin’s feelings, if he had
any.

“I am called Shrikal,” the man said with the
same accent the Zmajans had.

“Scar, and this is Ylithia,” the mercenary
said and shook his hand. “Who is your patron? I mean, I know you
follow Ihnogupta. I, that is….”

“I am Zmajan, if that’s what you are trying
to ask,” Shrikal laughed.

“What happened to your patterns? I’ve never
seen a Zmajan without his natural colors.”

“You really don’t know?” Shrikal asked with a
tilt of the head in awe.

Scar glanced at Ylithia, who whispered, “They
have left his skin much as he has left the worship of Zmaj.”

Scar turned back to the paladin then motioned
with his hand for the young man to come nearer. When he did, the
mercenary checked quickly to see if Onger could overhear.

“The marks of Zmaj left your body when you
started on the path to perseverance?” the mercenary pried.

They both leaned back in their respective
seats, and Shrikal replied, “Yes…more proof that Dragons are posing
as Gods.”

“Ah,” Onger interrupted in warning. “You
promised no talk of that kind while on my wagon. Will I have to
make you hike?”

“Apologies, tradesman,” Shrikal said. “I was
merely answering a question. It won’t happen again.”

“So…where are you going?” Scar asked.

“I am on pilgrimage,” the young man said, and
started to look distraught. He fumbled for a moment trying to find
the proper words. “I have been given a special task. Now is not the
time to talk about it.” His smile flickered. There was more he
wanted to say on the topic, instead he asked. “You? Word in Genova
is that something happened in Alduheim.”

“What did you hear?” Ylithia asked.

“That the king fell in love with a Paladin of
Severity and that they have run away to shirk their
responsibilities.”

“My, you certainly are well informed,”
Ylithia scoffed.

Shrikal blinked in excess for a moment.
Confused over the sarcasm, he suddenly questioned his information.
When Scar chuckled, Shrikal shrugged and looked at the wooden floor
of the carriage.

“Have I been mistaken?” he asked after a long
silence.

“It’s of little importance,” Ylithia
reassured. “It won’t affect your pilgrimage, will it?”

“Of course not. I will persevere in the name
of Ihnogupta,” he said and pounded his bare chest.

The following two days passed on with
everybody in high spirits. The eastern edge of Closicus was a
heavily wooded environment. They oft saw deer and boar or plenty of
game birds scurrying through high grasses, grasses that were
turning brown from lack of rains and the chilled nights. The days
had grown incredibly short, the nights colder, and the winds
harsher. Shrikal covered himself with a light toga. When asked if
he was comfortable, he stated that he was able to persevere through
the cold because of his deity, but wondered after Scar’s
attire.

“This is all I’ve got,” the mercenary
laughed.

“I suppose kings of dead countries don’t have
much,” Shrikal consented.

If nothing else, the trip had revealed to
Shrikal that his information about Scar and Ylithia had been
correct, and he told them he was leaving them in Oralia, though he
did not let on what his special task was.

“You’ll come visit us then?” Scar asked
him.

“I will see what happens at the end of my
journey,” Shrikal stated.

“In case you can’t tell, we don’t have many
friends,” Ylithia joked.

“Well, you’ve got Onger as a friend, now,”
the trader shouted to them over his shoulder.

“Make sure you come and see me when my
kingdom rises from its ashes,” Scar jested.

“I will, my liege, don’t
you
forget
it,” Onger admonished.

They all had a good laugh and remained happy
of company until their arrival in Oralia. In the middle of the
night, they rode into the small town, past the single guard on
lookout, who was dozing peacefully, and hopped from the cart.

“So this is it, eh?” Scar asked.

Onger approached him first and gave a firm
handshake, saying, “You be careful in Othnatus. I have heard some
strange information whilst gathering my payments.”

“Such as?”

Onger scrutinized Scar and Ylithia before
replying, “I heard something happened to the party that went into
Alduheim…heard they’ve been executed.”

Scar narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly.
I wonder if he means the men killed by Hachi.
Either way, he
didn’t really want to know if N’Giwah and the others had been
killed. They hadn’t been on his mind for days, and he wanted to
believe they were fine, if disappointed. A pat on his shoulder drew
him back to matters at hand; Onger said his last goodbyes and rode
into town to conduct his business.

Shrikal smiled at them and said, “It was a
pleasant ride…I believe we will meet again…after all, you know
about the Dragons.”

He turned and jogged off into the night,
leaving Scar and Ylithia with their mouths open. They shrugged and
looked each other over.

“He was a strange one, even for a
perseverant,” she claimed.