The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (8 page)

The crowd cheered, “Brandt, Brandt,
Brandt.”

“Well said,” Scar whispered, looking to
Labolas. The archer did not comment, but consented with a quick
shrug and frown. “What now?”

“Off to bed,” Labolas replied.

Chapter Six- World’s edge

Scar stood before a precipice. Whooshing
winds whipped around, scraping away dust from distant plateaus.
Overhead, there was no sky proper. Instead there were degrees of
darkness. All manners of dark clouds melded into one another- a
ceaseless vortex of black. Utterly bewildered, Scar looked
around.

There was an endless array of dusty plateaus,
all varying in degrees of brown. No manner of a path led either to
or from the one on which he stood. The masses of land were
scattered pock marks in the complete blackness. To add to the
confusion, he was nude and in a world of no light. How he saw
anything was as much a mystery as what he saw. All at once, and
without actual comprehension, it was as though his body or essence
perceived the area and not his eyes, and yet he was clearly
seeing.

“What? What is this? Where am I?” his voice
echoed and reverberated.

He looked up, over, and spun around. There
was nothing, and aside from the few dozen paces available on the
brownish-gray stone ground, there was nowhere to go.

“Sarkany,” a deep voice muttered.

The sound was so utterly familiar to Scar. He
was on the verge of knowing everything, on the very precipice of
self-actualization. His eyes were wide. His body vibrated. His skin
itched and a tingle went up his spine.

“Where,” Scar whispered.

“Sarkany, you have returned.”

The feeling was lost and replaced with
dread.

“Show yourself,” Scar gasped.

The mercenary had not known fear since his
battle with the Dracos, but this presence was different. It was
everything he was unable to recollect.

“Peace,” the guttural voice breathed as
though coming from everywhere. “You must recover your blade.
Without it, you cannot bring their souls back.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you?”
Scar panicked for only a second longer. Then he remembered drinking
with Brandine. “I must have passed out…I must be dreaming.”

“Dreaming? Yes, but you must do as I command.
Slay the others. Retrieve their souls. Bring peace to
Tiamhaal.”

****

“Brandt.”

Scar woke up with an inhalation. Labolas’s
bronze face was inches from his. A loose lock of black hair dangled
towards his own face. Scar pushed himself to a sitting position. He
blinked a few times as Labolas backed away.

“Everything alright?” Labolas asked while
standing with his fists on his hips.

Scar wiped his face before replying,
“Yes.”

“Bad dream?”

Scar nodded slowly. He was in a room at the
longhouse. The cot covered with straw and pelts had made a very
comfortable bed, and as with the act of dreaming, Scar did not
recall having slept before.

“What did you dream of?” Labolas asked.

Scar shook his head saying, “It is gone, but
whatever it was has left me unnerved.”

“Well then I have good news. A contingent of
Kulshedrans cleaned out the wrecked tower. They’ve recovered your
sword and it will be waiting for you in Tironis.”

Scar was taken aback. He rolled out of the
bed before coming to his feet. “Really? I, I think I dreamt of my
sword. How, how do you know it has been retrieved?”

Labolas smiled, answering, “We traveled
slowly and spent quite some time here. Some of the soldiers came to
rest after cleaning up your mess, so I questioned them.”

“What did you learn?”

As Labolas gave his information, he packed
his belongings. Scar stretched to loosen his muscles and fully
waken. Sunlight brightened the modest room. The rich woods from
which it was comprised gave it a pleasant sepia tone in the light
of mid-morning.

“Zmajan forces have fled to the south. The
Kulshedran who ran from battle was the same who informed the
contingent from the west. Due to his information, they made their
way to the outpost. There they found your sword and sent it along
with a detail to ensure its safety to Tironis. Your sword was to be
a gift to Gilgamesh.”

“I must retrieve it!” Scar shouted in
alarm.

“Calm yourself, mate,” Labolas chuckled.
“We’re making our way there by carriage ride.”

“When?”

“In just a few hours. The cart master arrived
to drop off supplies. We’re hitching a ride back to Tironis with
him,” Labolas explained.

“How long will it take?”

“Oh, two days. We’ll likely have to make some
stops along the way.”

Scar inhaled deeply and nodded his head in
approval. Labolas scrutinized the prospective king. After a short
moment of silence, the Kulshedran spoke.

“You look ruffled.”

“Perhaps I am…something about that dream,”
Scar muttered. “You know, I don’t recall having slept since that
first fight.”

“Well, no sense in worrying over dreams,”
Labolas comforted. “C’mon, Brandt, let’s get some food in our
bellies.”

Scar nodded. They both left the coziness of
the sleeping quarter for the longhouse main room. It was desolate
compared to the formerly lively night. A young man and woman, both
Dracos, were busy cleaning up. Slits of sunlight gleamed over the
floor. Chairs were stacked on tables. Stools were upside down. A
different bar tender stood behind the counter; the man was a tall
Draco. While he organized the beverages, Labolas approached.

“Got breakfast?”

“Aye,” the Draco replied without turning
around. “Check the spit.”

Labolas turned to the fire at the center of
the room. It was mostly embers. Over the coals was a large cooking
pot. The sound of bowls being placed on the counter drew the
Kulshedran’s attention. He smiled to the bar tender, took the
bowls, and helped himself to the stew while the man dusted his
hands on the white apron he wore over his buff tunic.

“Here,” Labolas said, offering a bowl to
Scar.

When Scar took the bowl, the main doors came
open. Three Kulshedrans walked inside, two older men and a woman.
They all wore studded leathers. Each carried a weapon. The two men
wore maces on their hips. The woman had a long sword. Their faces
immediately contorted in rage. Muscles tightened beneath bronze
skin.

“What’s he doing here?” one of the men howled
and pointed at Scar.

The mercenary said nothing but sipped his
stew.

“Hold on,” Labolas intervened.

“Shut it!” the other Kulshedran man
countered.

Weapons were drawn and the soldiers strode
over to the center of the room.

“Take it outside,” the bar tender admonished.
“I’ll have no bloodshed in here.”

The soldiers ignored the warning and kept
stride.

“I said hold it,” Labolas yelled.

By then, the Dracos who were cleaning stopped
their work to watch the proceedings. The oldest soldier, one with
scraggly gray hair, scrutinized Labolas.

“You’re a captain. What’s he doing here?” the
old soldier barked.

Scar raised an eyebrow, but did no more than
continue eating. Tension forced such a silence in the room that
Scar’s slurps sounded like an army marching through mud.

“Relax,” Labolas advised. “We’re going to
Tironis. Gilgamesh seeks an audience with–”

“Stop it!” the Kulshedran woman interjected
with a piercing voice. Pointing her weapon with a hand trembling in
anger she continued shouting. “The ghost responsible for
slaughtering our people is right before us, and you break bread
with him?”

“I follow our king’s orders. I suggest you do
the same,” Labolas advised maintaining an even keel.

“Listen,” Scar started.

“No,” the other Kulshedran man interrupted.
“You, listen. I’ll not stand here in the same room as my enemy, the
enemy of all of Kulshedra. Let’s take this outside.”

Scar dropped his bowl letting the contents
splash over the floor.

“Ugh, I just cleaned over there,” the young
Draco complained with a roll of his orange eyes.

The mercenary started his way to the door,
but Labolas placed the back of his forearm against Scar’s ribs. The
look on the archer’s face was stern. Scar watched as Labolas stared
down his countrymen.

“I’m trying to reason with you. I understand
your sentiments, but this man is not our enemy. He was only hired
and misled by our true enemy, Zoltek,” Labolas explained.

“This doesn’t sit well with me,” the woman
said with flaring eyes.

“We’ll be leaving for Tironis in just a
little while,” Labolas added. “Let me buy you food and drink.”

“Food and drink don’t bring back our
friends,” the old Kulshedran argued.

Again the boardinghouse grew quiet. Rapid
breaths were the only audible sounds. Scar’s eyes mellowed as did
Labolas’s. The old Kulshedran’s words were a point that rang quite
true, yet there was no need for anyone to draw blood that day. Only
a moment of deliberation passed before the soldiers conceded to
their superior and staid their weapons.

“Thank you,” Labolas said. “Apologies, bar
keep. We’ll go wait for the cart outside.”

“I think that’d be best,” the bar tender
replied.

The archer left a few coins in the opened
palms of his kin then he motioned to Scar to move out. He winced
and followed Labolas, who took the bowl he had been holding
outdoors. The Kulshedrans did not take their eyes off the
mercenary, but their anger did cool after ingesting a free
meal.

“Such hostility,” Scar remarked.

The sun shone brightly outside. The day was
already hot. Sipping his stew beneath the awning, the archer turned
to Scar.

“You’d best get used to a rough reception
until you speak with Gilgamesh,” Labolas said.

“Right,” he answered and then gave a pause in
deliberation. “What, exactly, am I to expect? Will most Dracos and
Kulshedrans be ready to draw steel?”

Labolas vacillated, placed his empty bowl on
a wooden bench against the longhouse exterior wall, and folded his
arms. He remained silent for a moment while Scar observed him. The
man was in obvious thought. Finally, Labolas spoke slowly as though
extra careful to enunciate his words, to clarify his meaning.

“I believe that some will crave vengeance,
but most others wish only for peace. In the cities, the places
furthest from war, you’ll see just how agreeable the Kulshedrans
are. These wars have gone on long enough. We are all tired of
fighting, but like it or not, you are a key player, a catalyst of
sorts.

“That being said, only the few who wish to
avenge their kinsmen will be quick to seek a skirmish, although I
think guards and patrolmen might raise some issues.” Labolas
chuckled after finishing his thoughts. Scar didn’t find any humor
in his predicament. The archer then stared fiercely into Scar’s
gray eyes. “Tell me, Brandt, what is it you wish for, peace or
war?”

While Scar considered the question, a gust of
wind ruffled the wiry grasses surrounding the area and kicked up
tiny dust clouds. He stepped away from the longhouse, placed his
hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the sunlight, and
scanned his surroundings. There were tannish mountains far to the
east. The immediate terrain was slightly hilly.

Labolas broke the silence, saying, “It is not
a simple question, admittedly. To secure peace, to secure Alduheim
as Gilgamesh seeks, is an act of war, and even after driving back
the Khmeran forces, we will still have to fight the Zmajans. Our
alliance with the Dracos is not total, so there will always be some
issue. Of course, this is the whole point, isn’t it, to end as many
of these
issues
as possible.”

Before Scar answered, the sound of the
longhouse doors dispelled their thoughts. Two warriors of Drac came
out. Labolas recognized them from the night before. They had
apparently spent the night. A crunching sound from their boots over
soil held Scar’s attention. They nodded and smiled to the mercenary
and Kulshedran.

“Heard a travelin’ merchant is comin’ by cart
soon,” the Draco man said.

Scar nodded to him replying, “I think he is
already here, somewhere.”

They all looked to Labolas as though he had a
clue. He replied with a shrug of indifference. The Draco man smiled
politely. He was not too tall, perhaps six feet, pale and freckly
with locks of auburn hair and a fiery, but neatly trimmed beard.
Both he and the woman warrior bore brands from heated irons on only
their right arm and shoulder.

“This is Eileen, and I’m called Alistair. We
heard a bit about you not bein’ an enemy,” Alistair said.

Eileen, who was a rather squat and powerful
looking woman, adjusted her leather armor and shook auburn hair
from her face. Scar saw similar features on their round faces.

“Since it seems we’ll be travelin’ together
for a bit…,” Eileen said and trailed off before continuing. Her
brother gave her a nod and she resumed her thought. “We might as
well start off as allies rather than foes.”

“Excellent,” Labolas cheered. “You see,
Brandt, there are as many of us wishing for a resolution to this
endless combat.”

Scar smiled and shook both hands with both
Alistair and Eileen, asking, “Are you two traveling to
Tironis?”

“Nay,” Alistair replied. “We’ve pelts to
trade in Osor, Talion, and Faroos.”

“Towns along the river Iles,” Labolas
interjected.

“Pelts?” Scar asked and looked at his
compatriot with wonder.

“There’s always a war going on, but not
everyone is at war, you see? People still need pelts,” Labolas
explained.

Scar contemplated. It made sense, yet he was
unable to shake the feeling that it was meaningless. The look on
his face conveyed his bewilderment.

“Did you really not know that people trade
goods?” Eileen asked.