The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (37 page)

“Nooo!” Scar cried out.

He kept a firm hold on Dantin, taking him by
the helmet and using him as weapon to knock over the oncoming
swarm. In the process, the Kulshedran’s neck snapped. Scar dropped
him to take his great sword from the ground and dashed into the
opposition and back out on the snowy streets of Othnatus. Whirling
about in a frenzy, he reduced the soldiers to bloodied limbs.

“Ylithia,” he breathed, dropped his sword,
and stumbled back into the house.

She was covered in blood, and as much of it
was splattered on the walls, the bed, the table, chairs, and the
floor. His home was in shambles. Concerned gasps and cries of the
citizenry resounded from just outside. One of the Fafnirians walked
around the corpses while others heaved from the sight of
dismembered Kulshedrans.

“Scar,” someone called. The mercenary picked
his dead lover from the ground and turned to see Dario adjusting a
wool blanket over his form. “My God, what’s happened?”

Scar strode past him. Most of the eighty odd
inhabitants of Othnatus had gathered to witness the commotion.
Gasps and sighs erupted loudly enough to stifle the sound of harsh
winds. Jordana was among them. She eyed the mercenary carefully,
but with a degree of sadness and concern.

“They came for you, didn’t they?” she
asked.

The mercenary just stood there, utterly
distraught. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he buried his face in
Ylithia’s corpse. Then he fell to his knees.

“Please, Scar,” Dario said as he knelt down
beside the warrior.

The carpenter splayed his blanket over the
ground and helped Scar to position Ylithia’s body. They then
wrapped her lifeless form.

“Hurry, grab some shovels,” Milvena ordered.
The people scurried about to secure what was required for a speedy
burial. “I’m so sorry,” she added.

“Did you tell them where to find me?” he
asked without looking at her.

“No, of course not,” she exclaimed.

“They must have snuck in,” Jordana claimed.
“None of us even knew there was any trouble until we heard your
screams.”

“Then you’ve nothing to apologize for…this is
Gilgamesh’s work,” Scar asserted.

As the sky grew brighter from the morning
sun, the winds softened, and the clouds separated into large, gray
puffs, the citizenry returned to the brutal sight of Ylithia’s
death with horses, tools, and a cart.

“Come, come,” Dario whispered.

“Can we bury her in the hartgrove?” Scar
asked. “She had a wonderful time there as a child.”

“Well, of course, man,” Dario replied.

In the brightness of a new morning, most of
the town of Othnatus journeyed for six hours in silent mourning for
one of their own. Those who remained behind burned the carcasses of
the attackers. Overnight, tragedy had turned the humble town into a
scorned people. They spat upon the name of Gilgamesh.

Amidst the tallest, thickest hartgroves,
hardy men slammed shovels and picks into the frozen ground. Scar
took a shovel as well, and made quick work of digging a large
enough hole. Crying, and cursing the names of Gilgamesh and
Kulshedra, the mercenary lowered his beloved into the earth. Before
covering her, he removed a black, leather case from his travel
satchel. From the case, he took her violin.

Placing the instrument and its bow over the
wool blanket he whispered, “Happy birthday, Ylithia. I loved you
more than life itself….”

He knew her soul then belonged to Kulshedra,
and saw the true reason for his meeting with Silwen. The horrid
Goddess of Love had made him look upon sheer beauty just to smash
her own principle to bits.
And for what? To force me into
killing Kulshedra? You knew, didn’t you? This was your plan; to
replace my love with hate…alright, Silwen, I’ll kill your Dragons,
but the Gods are next.

The warrior ground his teeth. Cormaire
started singing a verse called Blessings of the Valkyrie. It was a
beautiful song of a lady warrior, who fought hordes of monsters to
secure peace for a small town. During the verse, people’s
apologies, reassurances, and words of praise for the fine
Fafnirian, someone called out.

“Excuse me.” No one had paid much attention
to the unknown traveler forcing his way towards the mercenary. Scar
was too busy hauling dirt over his deceased lover. A few questions
about the mysterious traveler arose, but the man only called out.
“Brandt.”

That was enough to freeze Scar. He looked up
to see everyone glancing at a figure in a gray robe with white
trim. The cowl was pulled over his face, but there was a bow with
pulleys and steel cords slung over his torso. Scar threw the shovel
down, darted over to the man, took him by the throat and pinned him
to a tree. The man’s feet dangled helplessly as he choked.

“Please,” he gurgled. “Talk.
Private…Brandt.”

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” Scar howled.
The townsfolk didn’t what to make of the display. Some of them
stood by. Others tried to calm the brute. “Answer me!”

“I-I didn’t,” the man managed.

“I was gone for one day after living here for
two months. A squad of soldiers shows up in the dead of night, and
then you show up, a dead man calling out the name Brandt…that is
not my name. I am Scar!”

“Scar, please,” he choked. “I-I’m your
friend.”

“These are my friends, the town of
Othnatus.”

“I can, can explain, but,” Scar’s grip
tightened around the man’s throat and he couldn’t breathe or
speak.

“People,” Scar announced. “Please leave me
with this man. If you can, go to my home and recover Ylithia’s
sword…I should like to see it mark her grave.”

They hesitated, but when Scar begged, his
tears streaming anew, they spread out and left him to resume
conversations with the robed figure. Once they were gone, Scar
dropped Labolas to the ground. Exhausted by the proceeding, Scar
sat down against a tree across from him.

The melting snow soaked their clothes while
beams of sunlight cut through the hartgrove canopy. The Kulshedran
drew back his cowl. There was a scar cut across his face from the
bottom corner of his mouth across to the left cheek.

“Speak,” Scar growled.

Labolas swallowed hard and made to clear his
throat before saying, “I had nothing to do with this.”

“Why are you here, and now of all times?”

“Because I was trying to stop them.”

“You’d better start from the beginning, or
I’ll bury you too.”

The Kulshedran nodded and started his tale.
“Of course. I guess it all began when I left you in Tironis, but
even that isn’t truly accurate…it really started when the Dragons
pretended to be Gods, didn’t it?”

“You knew?” Scar asked as his face contorted
in anger.

“Not until I returned to Alduheim, but that
was after Hachi tried to kill me.”

“Start making sense, Labolas,” Scar
demanded.

“I’m trying, but it really doesn’t make
sense,” he answered then paused a moment. The archer tried to
sympathize with Scar. “First of all, I’m very sorry your woman is
dead.” He paused again, looking up into the falling leaves that
spiraled on their way to the snowy ground. He rubbed his throat
gingerly before continuing. “When I left you in Tironis, I was
supposed to meet with N’Giwah. Maranjo was there to ease the
tension. N’Giwah doesn’t like Kulshedrans, but you already know
that…so did my father. At any rate, Hachi led us to the explorers’
camp, or so he said, but we were met by a group of Khmerans
instead. It was an ambush planned by the Bakunawan.

“Before anybody made a move, or uttered a
word, he leapt onto a boulder and blew darts at me and Maranjo. The
Tiamatish died on the spot, but the poison didn’t affect me. Turns
out it was one of the more recent Dosvetyulian concoctions to which
I’ve acclimated over years of self-administration. I knew there was
no way for me to fell two dozen Khmerans and an assassin, so I
fled, but not before taking a sword to the face.

“After fleeing for hours, I stopped to rest
and ponder the situation. I had no clues as to what had happened,
for whom Hachi was working, if he really was one of my father’s
men…now I think that he is, and that my father wants me dead. I
couldn’t have guessed why, but I figured it had to do with
something inside Alduheim, and I surmised that if he wanted me
dead, he wanted you dead, too.

“Once I believed I was safe, I returned to
the old castle. Scouring for clues, I came across N’Giwah’s real
camp. There, I found your crew and N’Giwah’s men dead by Hachi’s
hand…he was there, too. Certainly you’re the one who killed him.”
Scar nodded and Labolas continued. “There was nothing else for me
to do, so I snuck inside Alduheim, followed your tracks, and found
the room of memories…you were right…the paladins are right. Our
Gods are but Dragons.”

Labolas’s clenched teeth and twitching brow
was proof of his sincerity. “That was enough for me to go after
Gilgamesh on my own, but I’m no fool. I can’t take him down by
myself, besides I wasn’t sure if he knew of the lies. It doesn’t
matter. My father had turned me into a pawn, and I had reason to
believe it was due, at least in part, to the will of Gilgamesh.

“Hiding my face from my kinsmen, I moved from
town to town all over Satrone collecting information. When I
learned that some of you had lived, I tried to track you down, but
was waylaid when I heard of the executions of Lortho and Delton;
Gilgamesh had them publicly executed for heresy and treason. They
had been preaching of the memories of Alduheim. With them dead, I
had to track the others. N’Giwah had returned to Ch’Nako, but I
didn’t think he’d receive me too well if I showed up without anyone
else, so I looked for Bosen, Ezlo, Jayna, and Pater. Two of them
had been killed after they fled Satrone. I found Pater dead in
Salhalam. Jayna’s death had been made to look as though bandits
killed her on the way to Malababwe. That left only Borta, who’s
vanished, and Marlayne.

“I tracked her to Genova. She’s taken up with
Longinus’s court, and they seem to be trying to discern what really
happened in Alduheim. Although, from what I can tell, she has not
told them of the memories, and instead only presented relics from
the buried keep. I think the Fafnirians have moved into Alduheim
now to investigate.”

“How did you find me?” Scar interrupted.

“I had to look for you, of course. I knew you
were still alive, and I wanted your help before approaching
N’Giwah. I didn’t know you were in Closicus until some of the
populace revealed that the King of Alduheim and a bare faced
paladin were seen traveling with Onger. Then I learned that I
wasn’t the first Kulshedran searching for you. I picked up Dantin’s
scent, but got sidelined by the storm. The legionnaire beat me
here.”

“He beat me here, too…I was in Oralia buying
Ylithia a gift for her birthday,” Scar said, and teared up again.
Labolas approached him to pat his shoulder. “It’s my fault. She
begged me to wait a few days…if only I had listened.”

“It is not your fault, my friend. It is
Kulshedra’s. We must kill him. We must kill all the Dragons. I
believe you can do it. I don’t know who sent you, but you are
surely among us to kill to the Dragons.”

“Oh, I’ll kill the Dragons,” Scar spat. “I’ll
start with Kulshedra then kill Zmaj. One by one, I’ll drop them
all, and then I’ll go after the Gods.”

Labolas furrowed his brow, asking, “What,
why?”

“Because Silwen came to me and made me fall
in love with Ylithia to fuel my rage. Gilgamesh nor Kulshedra alone
are to blame. The Gods are as much responsible for this. Now, the
fires of revenge burn brightly, and I will lay the world to
waste.”

The archer took a step back. Scar was
serious, and Labolas felt the fires of which the mercenary spoke.
He pushed his hair back then prodded at his scar, wondering over
his friend’s stability, he looked a barely contained volcano.

“Whenever you feel ready, we can ride out to
Tironis and confront Gilgamesh. I know we need some kind of gem to
kill the Dragons, but I don’t know where the gems are, or where the
Dragons are for that matter. We can force Gilgamesh’s tongue
though, I should think,” Labolas stated.

Scar slowly came to his feet, saying, “I am
ready. I just need my sword.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” he said, and walked off to Ylithia’s
grave.

He stood over it for a moment of silence then
said, “I’ll try to wrest your soul from Kulshedra…but if I can’t, I
hope you find peace.”

Labolas raised an eyebrow and asked, “You
think Kulshedra has her soul?”

“Silwen says the souls of the departed go to
the Dragon Lord controlling the men who do the killing.”

“For what purpose are Dragons taking souls of
the opposition?”

Scar looked at Labolas. “I don’t know, but
we’re certainly going to find out.”

With that, he started marching through the
grove, and back into town. By then, the sun had started to set.
Labolas had raised his cowl lest he be discovered a Kulshedran. He
informed Scar that current events had made Gilgamesh an enemy to
Jagongo, Longinus, and Sirokai.

Scar spotted Johannys coming out of Curval’s.
The blind man squinted and blinked a great deal before shuffling
over.

“Scar,” Johannys yelled. “We’re getting
everything ready now. We’ve decided to erect a proper headstone for
the lovely, young lass, but Rothbert and some of the others want to
see you before you venture off to do whatever it is you’ve got
planned.”

“Thank you, Johannys,” Scar said. “I’ll see
everyone for a quick moment before I leave.”

The old man bobbed his head up and down. Scar
left him to take his blade from the house. Inside, he found
Curval’s daughters cleaning up. They apologized profusely once
more. Scar reiterated none of them were to blame.

“You should stay…forget about revenge,”
Milvena beseeched.