The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (35 page)

“He certainly seemed to know something about
us…I wonder what kind of tales have spread during our long
travels,” Scar mused.

“Do you want to stay here tonight or march on
to Othnatus?”

“I have had my fill of sitting idly. Let us
move now and warm our muscles. These chilly nights under the stars
are quite breathtaking.”

“I do agree,” she smiled and took his
arm.

It was a day’s hike, but they made it to the
small settlement of Othnatus just after sunset. A few farmsteads
were built near the town’s border. Dogs barking and sheep bleating
announced their arrival. Small stone and wooden buildings with
thatched rooves peppered the bleak landscape like small, grayish
headstones. Off the cobbled street and down the hard packed soil,
Scar saw the moon’s reflection over Lake Grekka, an astonishing
sight. Othnatus was built around the southern edge of the lake
where the elevation was slightly higher.

The travelers continued down the dusty road.
No more dogs barked. No more sheep bleated. There was no sound, not
even the chirping of crickets. The whole of the town was eerily
quiet putting Scar on edge.

“This is the place?” he asked in a nervous
whisper.

“Yes…it’s not as big as I remember it,” she
answered also whispering. “Of course, I was a little girl…and
mostly I remember it in the daytime. There should be a pub over
there.”

She pointed toward a wooden building.
Firelight showed through cracks in the walls and the closed
shutters.

“It’s so quiet,” Scar said.

“I know. I don’t even hear drunks laughing at
the pub.”

Beyond a handful of stone buildings was a
long, two-story, wooden building. The double doors had words
painted on them, the name of the pub, which was
Catfish
Curval’s
.

“Oh, that’s right,” Ylithia exclaimed
gleefully. “I forgot all about Catfish Curval. The owner swears
Lake Grekka has an enormous catfish that only he’s seen. It’s long
as a ferry and twice as wide he used to say.”

She pushed the doors in as she spoke. Scar
followed her into a dimly lit tavern with stools at the bar at the
far end, tables with chairs along the interior, and booths at the
side walls. It was a nice place, clean, but empty. Their boots
clomped over the wooden floor so loudly they didn’t have to ring
the bell on the counter to announce their presence. A disheveled
looking woman came from behind the wall and looked at her guests
from the other side of the bar.

“Well, what do we have here?” she asked with
a smile.

“Where is everyone?” Ylithia asked as she sat
down at a stool.

Both she and Scar had some difficulty due to
her armor and his stature, but they managed to scrunch their knees
against the wooden frame of the bar.

The woman looked at them funny, saying, “You
look like you’re from around here…he doesn’t, but you do.”

Ylithia frowned trying to figure out what she
meant.

“Why does it matter where we’re from? We’re
hungry, were tired, and we have coin,” Scar announced.

“That’s what I expect to hear from you,” the
woman chuckled. “The Fafnirian ought to know why no one’s around,
though.” The woman looked at Ylithia expecting her to get it, and
Ylithia maintained her gaze on the barkeep expecting her to
explain. Finally she said, “The Hartgrove festival?”

Ylithia’s face brightened up as a flood of
memories rushed free from the clutches of her mind. She laughed
openly and even slapped the counter once. Scar was taken aback and
chuckled, too.

“Now you’ve got it,” the woman smiled. “I
thought maybe all that worshiping Mekosh turned you into a
dummy.”

“No, but I remember now,” Ylithia said. “Oh,
it’s too bad we got here tonight instead of yesterday.”

“What’s this festival?” Scar asked.

Both Ylithia and the barkeep, who then
excused her rudeness and said her name was Milvena, explained that
Fafnirians used to believe that certain trees held special powers,
and the hartgrove tree specifically was thought to help or hinder
the winter crops. Druids from ancient times before even the Dragon
Wars used to go into the Hartgrove, a sacred grove of sacred trees,
and cast spells or sing songs, or do whatever it was that druids
did in order to assure a cold winter, if that was necessary, or a
balmy winter, if they had experienced droughts or harsh winds early
on.

“Today it’s just a big party,” Milvena said.
“We know now Fafnir helps us when we need it.”

Her tone implied how much more evolved she
thought they were. Then she touched Ylithia’s gauntleted hand as
though apologizing for her remark. Ylithia chuckled.

“That’s alright, Milvena, I don’t worship
Mekosh anymore,” Ylithia said.

“How come you’re not out there…wherever
they’re celebrating?” Scar interrupted them.

“Because someone has to mind the bar in the
event strangers show up too silly to know they missed out on the
Hartgrove Festival. Lucky me,” Milvena teased with a wink.

“It’s too far to reach tonight then?” Scar
inquired.

“Yes,” Milvena nodded. “You’ve got to trudge
down a path we never keep cleared, and it’s about a six hour hike
into the hartgroves. Then you have to find your way through the
trees and into the center of a very special grove. It has to be
done by daylight…if it was earlier, you might have been able to
follow the sounds of drunk and disorderly conduct, but they’re
probably sleeping in their barf by now.”

They all shared a laugh.

“Well, I guess we’ll just take a meal and a
room if you have one,” Scar said after a moment of politeness.

“Of course. It’s on the house tonight, but
don’t make a habit of it,” Milvena warned in a half-joking
tone.

Scar nodded accordingly. The barkeep stepped
out of sight, presumably to grab their meal. He arched his brows
while looking at Ylithia’s beaming face.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re so cute when you’re happy.”

She laughed then heaved a sigh remembering
the one Hartgrove Festival she had experienced. “When I was a
little girl,” she started. “We came here to this very pub and met
old Curval, who told us about the festival. My father was a tanner
and he came here to hunt the great harts, gorgeous deer with the
most pliable hides. Curval explained to us that the great hart was
a sacred animal, and only a true hunter could ever hope to slay
one. As it turned out, the festival was to be held at the week’s
end. We stayed until Dad bagged a hart, and that didn’t happen
until after the festival.

“Of course I know now that the hart is only a
regular deer; anyone can shoot one just as easily as the next deer.
Still, the look on my father’s face when he came back to Curval’s
with a dead hart slung over the back of a horse was priceless. He
was as happy then as the day he died.”

Scar held her hand. Milvena popped back in
with bowls of rabbit stew and cups of mead. During the meal, the
barkeep asked about their business.

“We’re looking to live here,” Ylithia stated
bluntly.

“Really?” Milvena was shocked. “Not to be
rude, but I don’t know that you two are the types of people fit for
a town like this. We’ve got no troubles here, and we aim to keep it
that way.”

Scar smiled, saying, “We’ve had our fill of
trouble, and that’s precisely why we’re here. Ylithia visited as a
little girl, and now that she’s ready to live a normal life of her
own accord, she wants to stay in the place that makes her
happiest.”

“And you?” Milvena asked leaning forward on
her elbow.

“I’m sick of being lied to and manipulated by
kings…I have killed in the names of Zoltek and Gilgamesh. I have
fought the Khmerans, the Dracos, and even put down a Bakunawan
assassin. None of it has brought me pleasure, and none of it has
brought me closer to who I am,” he grieved.

“But now Scar is with me,” Ylithia placated
by rubbing his shoulder. “We have travelled together and grown to
love each other. All we seek is honest work, a small home to call
our own, and to live life for ourselves without the orders of Gods
and kings.”

Milvena was taken aback by their display,
their words; they were good people and little Othnatus might
benefit from such. She thanked them for their honesty, took the
emptied bowls and instructed them to take the stairs around the
corner of the bar to the last room on the left.

“I don’t think we’ve any vacant homes for the
time being, but you’re welcome to board here so long as you’ve got
coin,” Milvena stated.

“We’d like to look for work first thing in
the morning,” Scar told her.

“Well,” the barkeep thought out loud while
dusting her apron. “You’ll do well to talk to the mayor then. Her
name is Jordana. She lives in the largest home on the opposite side
of the lake. Don’t go too early, though.” Milvena then added with a
laugh, “She’ll certainly be nursing a hangover.”

They all said goodnight to one another before
Scar and Ylithia bolted up the stairs to find their room, toss
their smelly garments aside, and have a roll in the hay. They fell
asleep in a gentle embrace.

****

The travelers awoke the following morning to
sunlight beaming on their faces. The modest accommodations of
wooden walls with animal hides and horns hung about had provided
great comfort, plus pelt beds were far more conducive to a good
night’s rest, or a rough night’s play, than the hard ground. They
headed down for breakfast wearing only their garments; Ylithia wore
her furred top, and sub regalia covered by a short cloth skirt.
Scar left his chest plate behind and strolled about bare chested.
Their weapons and armor, they believed, were safe upstairs.

A pot simmered over the fireplace by the far
corner. Taking some bowls from the counter, the two helped
themselves to more rabbit stew. It was not as fresh as the previous
night, but still tasty.

“I can’t wait to see the town bathed in
sunlight,” Ylithia said.

“Me too,” he agreed. “Hopefully this Jordana
will help us out. I don’t think these people want a guard,
though.”

“I’m sure they’ll have something for you,”
she consoled. “I’m more worried about me.”

“Why?”

“Well, what skills do I have?”

“You said you can play music…and you’re
father was a tanner. Certainly, if great harts are abundant,
they’ll have a tanner here. Maybe you could apprentice or
something.”

She grinned and said, “Thank you. Your
optimism has done wonders for me.”

“We should probably try to get some clothes
though…and maybe a bath.”

About that time, Milvena stumbled back to the
bar looking as though her rest had been cut short.

“Thought I heard some ruckus,” she
mumbled.

“Where can we get clothes and wash
ourselves?” Scar asked.

“We got a tailor here, Johannys,” Milvena
answered. “He’s blind as a bat, but still good with fittings.
There’s a communal bath house at the center of town. Probably
filled with the townsfolk washing the barf out of their hair. Relax
here, enjoy your breakfast, and meet everyone when they stumble in
with achy bellies.”

An hour or so after making idle chit chat
with Milvena, they learned a Draco bard inhabited Othnatus and
though his voice was pure as honey, he was terrible on the lute.
Ylithia offered to play in his stead if there was anywhere to
procure a violin. The barkeep suggested traveling to Oralia or
waiting for a trader to come by, but should Cormaire, the bard,
accept the accompaniment of a violin, she was more than welcome to
split the tips with the old man. Eventually, the townsfolk started
milling in, and Milvena consistently introduced everyone and
explained that strange travelers were looking for a peaceful
life.

“You look like a big, strong man,” Dario, the
carpenter said. “Good with an axe or hammer?”

Scar quickly made friends with the muscular,
aged Fafnirian and let on that he could clear a forest on his own,
but had no knowledge of putting wood to good use. Dario reassured
that if his words were honest, he’d talk to Jordana on his behalf
and hire him as a lumberjack while training him in the skill of
carpentry. Ylithia also met Rothbert, a Slibinish tanner. He was a
tall man with knobby muscles and cascading, blonde hair. Then they
both met Johannys, the Fafnirian tailor, who promised some meager
clothing for a couple of coins on behalf of their new start.
Finally, they met Jordana, a middle aged woman with dark bronze
skin, who looked more Kulshedran than Fafnirian except for her
sharp features and chestnut hair. She agreed that Scar and Ylithia
could live in Othnatus provided they stayed out of trouble for at
least a month.

That day flew by. First, the citizenry shared
their take on the festival; good food, good drink, poor music, and
amazing singing. Then the travelers were shown the bath house where
they washed their clothes and bodies with buckets of water from the
lake. From there, old Johannys, who was as deaf as he was blind,
squinted all the way back to his shop where he fitted the two. Scar
received a pair of gray, laced trousers and a brown, linen tunic.
He gave Ylithia a beige, sun dress and a wool cloak. The lovers
gaped at one another. They were finally regular people.

After the fitting, they split up to visit
Dario and Rothbert respectively. The carpenter explained to Scar
what was expected of him; cut down a minimum of five pines no
thinner than his arm—it was a big arm—everyday alongside the other
two lumberjacks, Marcus and Renus, strip them of limbs, load them
onto the carts, and haul them to the woodworker, Janus. After the
communal lunch, Scar was to report to Dario’s shop and start
learning the trade of carpentry.

Ylithia was provided a quick rundown of the
different types of hides, the oils they required for tanning, how
to brew the oils form the animals’ brains, and how to use the
proper tools to cut, shape, tan, and boil leathers for different
uses- be they straps, sheets, armor, or clothing. Rothbert was a
very kind if bland individual with a monotonous voice and stoic
expression. She thought he was hiding something, but refrained from
asking so early in their relationship why he had come from
Wuulefroth to live in Othnatus.