The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (40 page)

“Hennessey said I could rent horses for five
coins each if I have them back by the week’s end,” Labolas replied
hurriedly.

“Why should I trust you? You’re not
Hennessey, are you,” the man argued.

“I’m just trying to get to River Rock to see
Artimis.”

“Artimis?” McCormick exclaimed before
bursting out into such a fit of laughter he had to sit down.
“Wha-what’re you friends with that maniac for?”

“Does it matter? If you know him then you
know you can trust me,” Labolas answered.

“I’d better not be getting these horses back
with wings or rudders hitched to their arses,” McCormick warned. A
look of confusion washed over Scar’s face. “Let me saddle up two of
the, eh, cheaper ones.”

“Cheap means fussy,” Labolas told Scar.

“Wings and rudders?” he asked.

Labolas crinkled his face with a dismissive
frown while McCormick yelled at an adolescent to ready Striker and
Faragus. The boy argued that they weren’t ready for a ride out to
River Rock, and McCormick threatened him with a belt he wasn’t
wearing.

“Eh, never mind my grandson…he takes after
his mother,” McCormick joked.

“She’s honest?” Labolas asked.

McCormick laughed again, but neglected to
reply. The travelers paid their dues and mounted the horses, which
kept skirting about until the men were securely seated. With no
more time to waste, Scar and Labolas thanked the Draco before
riding out of town to the north.

By sunset, they had ridden alongside an
extent of the peat, which had accumulated over centuries of the
nearby river’s cresting. The woody settlement had little choice but
to flow downhill towards the coast. Under a darkening sky, they
reached the River Barness and followed it over rocky hills into the
aptly named town of River Rock.

Instead of riding into town, Labolas edged
it, occasionally leaping over slat fences, and scaring the sheep of
farm owners. With each jump, Scar grew more and more nervous about
his mount. The fussy horse kept stopping at each fence, backing up
a few paces then turning a circle before actually clearing the
wood.

“What are we doing?” he finally demanded.

“Oh, uh…Artimis doesn’t actually live in
town.”

“He’s a farmer?”

“No,” Labolas trailed off.

“Well, what the Hell is going on? How is this
man supposed to get us into Tironis anyway?”

“You’ll see…that’s his house over there,”
Labolas said pointing.

Scar squinted. There appeared to be a large
barn built into a clearing, but still surrounded by cypresses. A
few torches glowed, but from the distance, it could have been
anything.

“Whatever, I’m just relieved we’re finally
here,” Scar huffed. “Do we rest here tonight?”

“Probably. If I know Artimis, and I do, he’ll
want to know what all we’ve got planned.”

“Will he be joining us?”

“So to speak.”

“What does that mean?” Scar grumbled.

“You’ll see.”

“Stop saying that!”

They rode beyond the thin wall of cypress
trees at a slow pace to keep the horses from accidently tripping
over the knees protruding from the muddy ground. Only hundreds of
yards closer was a definite, sloppy trail leading up to the barn
where they dismounted and tied their horses to posts by the broad
side of the building. Dogs announced their arrival with incessant
barking.

“Shut up!” someone yelled. “Shut up, you
stupid mutts.”

A Draco in a kilt and white tunic with black
smudges all over it appeared from the barn, a torch in one hand. He
was trying to wipe more smudges from his face with a rather dirty
cloth. Brown locks danced about his chin as he cleaned himself.

“Labolas?” he asked after cleaning one
eye.

“Artimis.”

“Labolas, you stupid, Kulshedran, goat
lover,” Artimis cheered.

When the rotund Draco gave the archer a big,
bear hug that nearly lit his cloak on fire, Scar said, “He seems
friendly.”

“And who’s this? Your new boyfriend?” Artimis
joked.

“Ah, look,” Scar started, but the man gave
him a hug, too.

“I kid, I kid,” the Draco laughed. “I know
who you are.”

“I’m not the King of Alduheim, I’m just a man
trying to get to Tironis,” Scar interrupted.

“No, that’s fine, that’s fine,” Artimis said.
He then paused to look over his old Kulshedran friend. “What
happened to your face?” Before Labolas answered, Artimis marveled
at Scar’s armor. “Slibinish, am I right?”

“Sort of,” Scar said. “Look– ”

Artimis waved him off, gave a shrug of
indifference then invited them inside the barn for a drink and a
story. He threw a pot over a fire, poured scotch into wooden cups,
kicked a dog away, and pulled some crates for them sit down for a
degree of comfort. Scar noted the barn’s full interior was
separated by enormous double doors. The area they were occupying
looked to be less than a third of the entire space.

“So, tell me what’s brought you way out
here,” Artimis pressed.

“It’s a long story,” Labolas started.

“Those are the good kinds,” the Draco
announced and motioned for him to go on.

As Labolas gave him scant details about what
was really going on, Artimis lit a few yuclid gas lamps, which Scar
found odd since they were in Eltanrof. Labolas continued his
elucidation implying that both he and Scar had been tricked by
Gilgamesh; they had been sent to their deaths. Furthermore,
Gilgamesh had dispatched men to execute Scar after he settled down
with his lover in Closicus, and unfortunately that had cost the
young woman her life.

Artimis frowned at that, saying he understood
too well the death of a lover. The Draco even gasped then shook his
head in dismay when he heard of the Kulshedran soldiers’ executions
in the name of heresy, and finally laughed when Labolas told him
point blank it was up to him to get them into Tironis
unnoticed.

“Well I don’t know about
unnoticed,
but certainly I can get you in without any opposition,” Artimis
claimed.

“How?” Scar demanded.

The Draco nodded slowly, heaved himself from
the crate, wandered over to the double doors, unhooked their
securing pins from the ground, removed the wooden bar that kept
them together, and pulled them open. Behind the doors was an odd
monstrosity. The bottom portion of the vessel wasn’t unlike a boat,
only it was deeper and required a rope ladder for entry. Above the
wooden vessel, secured to the structure by an enormous net of
ropes, was an oblong construct of mixed hides all stitched
together. It was then that Scar noticed the vessel wasn’t sitting
on the ground. It was floating and was tethered to wooden
posts.

“What in blazes is that?” Scar asked slack
jawed.

“That, ole’ boy, is my dirigible,” Artimis
beamed.

“What’s a dirigible?”

“A flying contraption,” Labolas answered.

Scar crinkled his face implying the
Kulshedran had lost his marbles, and added, “Birds fly…Hell,
Dragons fly. That, that, that thing can’t fly.”

“Oh, but it does, lad,” Artimis
corrected.

“Alright, so wait, you’re telling me we’re
going to
fly
to Tironis?” Scar was incredulous.

“I told you, you’d see,” Labolas smiled.

Scar shook his head and stammered, “But how,
I-I mean. This,” he laughed nervously and pointed. “I’m not
flying.”

“Why? It’s quick, and we can literally drop
in unannounced,” Labolas offered.

“We can ride in on horses,” Scar argued.

“The Kulshedrans’ll want you dead. Too much
fighting,” Artimis protested.

“We can get there in just over a day with
this thing,” Labolas added.

Scar laughed from shock. Artimis made fun of
his panicky expression with over dramatic mimicry.

“This is the best way, otherwise we risk
dying before we get there,” Labolas advised.

“They can’t kill me,” Scar argued.

“Maybe not,” Artimis resigned.

“Do you want to kill every Kulshedran
following bad orders? This isn’t their fault, and I won’t be a part
of that,” Labolas asserted.

Scar nodded, saying, “No, you’re right…but,
but, but flying?”

“Aye, laddie,” Artimis grinned.

Chapter Twenty-Three- Guests of honor

It had taken a while for Scar to agree to a
flight over Eltanrof and into Tironis. Prior to actually climbing
the ladder into the keel, the mercenary demanded a rudimentary
understanding of how the vessel worked. Labolas argued they had
little time, so Artimis agreed to explain as he readied the craft
for the trip.

First, he opened the retractable doors that
acted as a roof over the barn. They were held in place by pulleys
and were actually constructed of several wooden boards like immense
shutters. Once they peeled away, the moon shone directly into the
barn better illuminating the dirigible.

“It’s actually quite simple,” Artimis
started.

“It doesn’t look simple,” Scar
interrupted.

“It is,” the Draco maintained. “The hides
hold a gas that is lighter than air. Those kinds of gasses, like
steam, float.”

“Steam is hot,” the mercenary interrupted
again. “How will it stay hot in the cold winds?”

“This isn’t steam, mate,” Artimis explained
while checking the ropes tied to cleats built into the barn’s
loadbearing posts. The ropes were in fact two lengths secured by
way of steel clamps ran through I-loops in the adjoining ropes.
“This is artred gas, and before you ask, it’s extracted from
special ores mined in Balroa.”

“Scultonians have many of these dirigibles?”
Scar asked.

“No, and stop interrupting,” Artimis laughed,
but Scar was too nervous. His arms and legs trembled as he started
to climb the rope ladder. Labolas laughed at him. Finally Artimis
resumed his elucidation. “What I was saying was that the gas is
extracted from heating the ores and held in place by these hides.
Once it’s sufficiently inflated, the bottom flap can be secured
into place. See the laces above you? The gas doesn’t escape because
it wants to float, not fall out.”

“But how do you fly it?”

“Well…that was my original problem and why
Scultonians don’t use these things,” Artimis answered. By the time
they had all boarded, and Artimis unhooked the ropes, the vessel
rocked and the hide balloon bumped the walls.

“You’re already crashing! You’re already
crashing!” the mercenary cried out, bracing himself for impact.

The other two were laughing so hard at his
antics they had lost all of their composure. Labolas coughed and
choked. Artimis was tearing up.

“Dammit, man, listen,” Artimis demanded
between laughs. “I’m not crashing. Soon as I unhook this rope,
we’ll lift up, and again, before you ask, I can control it like
this….”

The Draco trailed off for a second. He
unhooked the last clamp, and the thing lifted off gently. Then
Artimis pulled a rope that hung off the front of the dirigible’s
balloon and some hides unfurled. The new pocket took on a portion
of the displaced gas and filled out to look like a bird’s head.
Next, he ran to the back of the keel and pulled another rope to
unfurl something that ended up looking like a tail, and finally he
undid the ropes on either side, which unfurled a set of wings.

“By maneuvering these ropes about, I can
catch the wind like a bird in flight,” Artimis said.

“Ah,” Labolas smiled. “I have to admit, I,
too, was wondering how you solved that problem…I’m glad to see you
finally figured it out.”

“Well,” Artimis trailed off. “
Figured it
out
is premature.” By then, they were a good fifty feet off the
ground and rising above the cypresses. Scar looked down then leaned
back shutting his eyes. “This is technically the Plume’s maiden
voyage.”

Labolas’s face lost all signs of glee, and he
said, “You, you’ve never actually flown this thing?”

“Again,
flown
is a strong word,”
Artimis chuckled. Scar shook his head and cursed under his breath.
“Anyway, what I was saying was that I
should
be able to
lift, bank, and lower us when needed by way of controlling the
tail, head, and wings.”

“What’s to keep the artred gas from escaping
in flight?” Labolas pried.

“Bee’s wax,” Artimis said. “The reason
Scultonians don’t build dirigibles is that for one, they have a
shortage of hides. Two, they definitely have a shortage of bees,
and three…only I, Artimis O’Clannigan, have mastered the concept of
bird’s flight.”

“Is
mastered
one of those strong
words?” Labolas jeered.

“Guess we’ll find out, eh pal?” he asked
Scar, who was cowering next to some crates holding their
supplies.

“I can’t believe you’re so scared,” Labolas
laughed.

“You know,” Scar accused. “It wasn’t too long
ago that you were practically in tears over boarding a sloop!”

“That was different!”

“How?”

“I can’t swim,” Labolas answered
unforthcomingly.

“What?” Artimis and Scar laughed
together.

“I can’t swim, alright?” Labolas snapped
back.

Scar chuckled and added, “Well, I can’t
fly.”

“But I can,” Artimis beamed.

The pilot’s eyes darted back and forth
between the rigging in his hands and the horizon. A huge grin
played over his boisterous countenance. Labolas sniffed at the cool
air. The wind whipped about them, and he placed his hands on the
edge of the keel, marveling at the beauty of flight. It was yet a
few minutes later that Scar decided to try to stand. The dirigible
didn’t rock much, and he found it easy enough to look around.
Peeking carefully over the edge, his feet wide and firmly planted,
he saw they were soaring over cypress trees, extensive meadows,
rolling rocky hills, farmsteads, rivers, and all manner of
terrain.

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Alright…this isn’t
too bad. It works.”