The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons

by Aaron Dennis

  “Here they come,” a Zmajan shouted.

  The sound of boots pounding over stone came from the floor right above them. Enemy soldiers poured down the steps; their ferocity knew no limit.

  “Stay back,” Scar instructed.

  He stormed over corpses to meet the Kulshedrans at the stairs. With his great sword, he cut two down with one slash. They bled and fell out of the way.

  “Die, bastard,” an enemy cried.

  A Kulshedran lunged with a thrust of sword, but Scar parried then pulled back to bash the attacker with the pommel of his blade. When the man collapsed, more heaved themselves over comrades to force Scar from the stairs.

  Their success was short lived. Scar’s men came in from the flank and slaughtered them. After a nod of approval, Scar took the stairs up. His men were not far behind.

  Just below the floor, and still on the stairs, Scar hugged the wall. He tried to get a good look at whatever retribution sat in waiting. C’mon, there’s certainly more Kulshedrans up here. Apart from the ringing gong, Scar’s group heard nothing. They glanced at each other. Then the mercenary ran up the steps with a mighty howl, but to his dismay, there was no one.

  “That may be it,” one Zmajan ventured.

  “I have to stop that damned gong,” Scar growled.

  He ran up to the third floor. There was no one there either, so he continued on to the roof, where one bloodied Kulshedran kneeled from injuries unceasingly beat the bronze gong with a rounded mallet. He watched Scar stride over to him, but did not so much as flinch. Scar sank his blade deep into the man’s flank. The final ring of the gong slowly died out.

  “We must wait for the general,” Scar sighed. “The whole of Kulshedra probably knows about our attack now.”

  “I don’t think anyone else can hear that gong. The other towers are too far away,” one Zmajan answered.

  “You’re injured,” a rather dark warrior remarked with a subtle pointing of his axe.

  Silence washed over the squad when Scar ignored him. After a second, the men puffed and heaved. The agony of injuries washed over them; adrenaline wore off quickly.

  “Let us clean this mess,” Scar offered. They used cloths to wipe blood from wounds, armor, and weapons. “You, what is your name?” Scar demanded of the largest Zmajan.

  “Samu.”

  “Pile the corpses outside…we won’t be leaving for the next outpost as planned.”

  Samu nodded and went to work. By the time nightfall came, the Zmajans had worked to clear most of the mess. They were extremely efficient, but exhausted and they passed out at tables on the ground floor just after bandaging each other’s wounds.

  Scar was the only man awake. An eerie silence was marginally dulled by cutting winds. Desert nights were chilly, but Scar did not shiver, nor was he tired. He sat in a wicker chair next to the long, wooden table. While he eyed the food, his mind turned to himself. What shall I do? Dumar will not be pleased.

  He took an apple and biting into it, relished the sweet juices. Should’ve seen this coming…. The cadence of boots pounding the hard packed soil rallied his attention. General Dumar and several Zmajans entered from the western opening.

  “Ah, Scar,” Dumar started. “We have another victory thanks to your cunning.”

  “Not quite,” Scar replied then stood and rounded the table to meet the general.

  Dumar’s crew readily made themselves at home by sitting, eating, drinking, and turning to idle chatter.

  “What do you mean?” Dumar asked.

  Scar observed the soldiers. Kaviri and Shadri were among them.

  “The horses are dead,” she said. “What happened?”

  “If I can have a moment in private,” Scar asked.

  Dumar gave a nod and motioned with his hand to walk outside the eastern opening. The two stepped out from the tower to find one soldier relieving himself.

  “A fine mess of Kulshedran trash out here,” the soldier said while shaking out the last drops.

  He had been urinating on the pile of enemy corpses. With a grin, he walked out of sight. Scar gave his attention to Dumar, who bore a worried look.

  “General, an enemy fled. I presume he has warned his superiors by now. Furthermore, they rang their gong for some time. Assistance has yet to arrive but,” he trailed off.

  Dumar stroked his chin. The frown on his aged face showed evident disapproval.

  “Yes, we all heard that infernal ringing,” Dumar said and paced a bit. “In which direction did this man flee?”

  Scar shook his head, saying, “I can’t be certain. It was a wild battle. We–”

  The general held his hand up to silence Scar. Nothing else was said for a minute. Scar’s jaw clenched involuntarily a couple of times, but he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease his stress. He looked up to watch low clouds float across the dark sky. Many stars glittered.

  “This is problematic,” Dumar sighed.

  “They won’t bring an entire army to take back a guard post,” Scar interrupted.

  “Perhaps not.”

  Dumar continued pacing slowly. Laughter from the tower was clearly audible. Scar and the general saw well enough from their position one of the less injured soldiers recounting his fight with dramatic thrusts and flailing of the limbs.

  “I may have a solution,” Scar offered.

  “Oh?” Dumar paused in question, but before Scar uttered his proposition the general spoke. “I think we should hold off on whatever it is you think you know.”

  Dumar’s eyes were like fierce chunks of obsidian. Scar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The old Zmajan nodded to himself. Finally, he spoke.

  “Listen, all is not lost, but you have blundered.”

  “I have done no wrong,” Scar interjected.

  He and the general locked eyes. Though Dumar was powerful and angry, he knew well enough the strange man before him was dangerous.

  “Calm yourself, ghost,” Dumar hissed. “Like it or not, you were placed in charge. You accepted that position and even killed Urdu for it when contested. That alone makes you responsible…and likewise…I am responsible. It will do no one well to have Zoltek learn of failure; much less the death of his idiot son amounting to nothing.

  “Now…I have a solution. There is enough oil stored at each of these outposts to set a small forest aflame. Surely a squadron of Kulshedrans is already enroute, and they may bring Draco reinforcements. You and a handful of men will stay here tonight and cover this entire tower with oil.

  “When the enemy comes—and they will come—you will set fire and flee. You will, of course, have to remain hidden on the top floor in order to be certain the enemy forces have all made their way inside before igniting the blaze, so how you flee is up to you.”

  They scrutinized one another. Is this a sound plan? Scar’s eyes narrowed in wonder.

  “Well?” Dumar asked.

  “Where will you go?”

  “We will depart in mere moments to regroup on our side of the Usaj-Satrone border. There are a few safe havens to the near south,” Dumar replied. “Taking out a couple guard towers is a sufficient blow for the time being, but there is a great deal more territory to usurp before Zoltek’s ultimate plan can be set in motion.”

  “What of the other tower, the one we already secured? Are there not Zmajans stationed there? They should be told about–”

  “Let me worry about my men,” the general interrupted. “This war is from over.”

  With that, Dumar turned to make his way back into the tower.

  “General,” Scar called. Dumar stopped, but did not turn around. “What do you wish of me after the fires have been set?”

  “Why, make your way south.”

  The general strode out of sight, and presumably to inform his men. Scar winced. Something is not right. The mercenary peered into the darkness towards the south. He waited a moment before marching back under cover of the tower. Kaviri came away from leaning against a pylon when she spotted th
e pale faced brute.

  Looking at him askew, she asked, “Want me to stay behind?” Scar looked her over. His glance moved from her to the lively men. Fighting had raised their spirits. Zmajans were a very warlike people, and their brazen antics coupled with their fantastic exaggerations of the previous scuffle seemed a catharsis for them. Torch fires cast wispy shadows over the brown stone structure. “You look like you can use some good company.”

  Her offer interrupted his scrutiny of the warriors. “Indeed, and Shadri, too…if you can find him,” Scar agreed.

  She arched a brow giving the impression of confusion, but then quickly smiled showing her big, white teeth. Scar returned the smile, and she scampered off to secure the help required for the new operation. While they had been speaking, Dumar finished addressing the partial failure to his men. Everyone knew their role. Within minutes, those who were not helping Scar amassed outside the tower. Shadri, Kaviri, and Samu approached the mercenary.

  “Ready?” Shadri asked.

  “We had better be quick about this,” Scar answered. “Shadri, stay posted as lookout. Find us if the enemy comes. Samu, Kaviri, let us cover this place in oil.”

  While they went to work, the remaining Zmajans marched away south and into the night. It did not take long to move the barrels of oil from the top two floors down to the first. Samu was quick to handle the third floor alone. Scar and Kaviri started at the base. They struck the barrels with Kulshedran spears then rolled them around.

  Once the ground was soaked with the dark, viscous liquid, cloths were added for smoke. They destroyed the furniture, too, and since it was illogical for the enemy to approach from the south, they piled much of it there in an effort to bar any escape route.

  “Looks like our only way out of here now is to use bed sheets and fashion rope,” Kaviri stated.

  “We’ll have to make a quick descent and flee,” Scar approved.

  Kaviri looked him up and down. “You’re much too tense.”

  “Of course I am,” Scar growled. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to know nothing of who you are? And to make matters worse, I may have ruined my only chance to learn. I must rectify this or Zoltek won’t help me.”

  They stopped for a second to observe their work. The base was ready. Scar glanced at Kaviri’s eyes as he made his way to the stairs. She joined him on his way up to the second floor. Samu was already there perspiring freely.

  “The third floor is set, and I have left four barrels up top so we can drop them to keep the enemy inside,” he said.

  “Good,” Scar replied.

  “Why don’t you go keep Shadri company for a minute,” Kaviri suggested.

  Samu looked at her then at Scar. Her intentions were obvious.

  “Of course,” Samu smiled.

  The large Zmajan left them to finish the work on the second floor, which was not much; tossing about some linens and smearing oil on shards of wood. Moments later, it was all set and Scar took a burning torch from a wall sconce.

  “You should grab one, too, and wait for Shadri’s warning. We’ll need to let the enemy in to give us chase. Once we make it up to the third floor, we can light the oil from the base of the stairs. Everything should catch within seconds,” Scar instructed.

  “Relax,” Kaviri breathed.

  She moved lithely behind Scar and placed her hands on his large shoulders. With her lips to his back, she massaged his muscles. He closed his eyes before rolling his head to loosen his neck.

  “We don’t–” he started.

  “Shhhh. Let Kaviri fix everything,” she purred.

  Perhaps just for a moment…Scar thought. Kaviri slowly moved one hand away from his shoulder to his belly. Her velvety lips continued kissing the creases of his back. Then her other hand moved away from his shoulder. Like a flash of light, a sudden realization cleared in Scar’s mind.

  He snapped his eyes open and rolled forward away from Kaviri while dropping his torch. With a quick spin of his head he saw her holding a wicked, curved blade; she had just missed slitting his throat.

  “What are you doing?” he howled.

  “Shut up, ghost! You were a means to an end, but you already failed, you worthless idiot.”

  Her words were poison. His face contorted in rage, and he ran at her. She dodged his swipe, slashed at his thigh while rolling behind him, and hopped onto his back in an effort to stab the blade into his throat. Scar capitalized by leaping backwards into a pylon. A whimper of pain escaped the assassin’s lips.

  “Die!” she cried out trying to stab again.

  Scar threw his right hand back over his head. His thumb connected with her eye before her blade struck flesh. The sharp pain and potent blow knocked her off the mercenary, so he turned around, took a knee, secured her wrist, and by twisting it, forced the blade from her grip.

  “Do it! Do it!” she screamed.

  “I will.”

  Scar placed his knee into her abdomen to keep her pinned to the ground. He wrapped his right hand about her throat and when he drew his left back to punch her, she spat in his face.

  “NOW!” she howled.

  His fist collided with her nose. The blow left her limp. A loud crash from outside forced him to halt in a crouched position. Then there was another from a different direction followed by two more. The first floor went up in flames. Scar’s eyes went wide with alarm.

  “It was me! The plan was to trap me!”

  Bright fires and thick smoke quickly clouded his vision. Choking for air, he made to run upstairs, but fires already blocked the way.

  “Dammit! You set me up! You all set me up! Dumaaar!”

  Scar scurried around for a way out, but barrels of oil had been lighted and thrown from above to cover every escape route; to boot, Scar caught glimpses through flashing flames of the assailants dropping from makeshift ropes.

  The stifling smoke was disorienting. Scar stumbled about blindly both trying to secure his sword and find a way out. No longer able to breathe, or ward off the excruciating heat of flame, he bolted up the stairs.

  Pain accosted his lower body as his leggings caught fire. Blistering heat rattled his feet. He grunted, made it to a window, and flung himself out. Unfortunately, he fell into a pile of flaming wood. Horrible burns ravaged his body, but he rolled away onto cooling soil and fled into the cold night of the Kulshedran desert cursing the name of Zoltek.

  Chapter Five- False Gods

  Scar sat on his rear, his knees pulled up to his chest. Over a mile to the south stood a great, flaming beacon. The Kulshedran outpost remained in flames.

  “Zmaj be damned…and Dumar with him,” the mercenary snarled while coming to his feet.

  The previous ordeal left his boots and most of his leggings in tatters. He prodded at the newly formed scars. Considering what he had gone through, they were not severe. With a deep inhalation through the nose, he turned his eyes to the dark skies. Heavy clouds rolled overhead. Occasionally, the moon broke through; a thin, shining crescent.

  “What shall I do? Venture to the south and kill Dumar? Perhaps,” he nodded to himself. “That certainly provides immediate comfort, but no, that is not the proper course of action. It is now evident Zoltek has no desire to assist me,” he narrowed his eyes and set his jaw before continuing. “Zoltek…he’s the one I need to kill.”

  The mercenary was more than upset, more than insulted, he was completely betrayed. He had wanted only to learn of himself. Now that seemed impossible. Ripping the spine from Zoltek’s still breathing form won’t help me to learn anything.

  Scar took a few paces to loosen the tightness from his thighs; still mired in contemplation he did not notice the figure striding through the chaparral. With his fists on his hips, he returned to voicing his thoughts.

  “I need to wait for those fires to settle. Hopefully my blade is intact…damn! I can’t just wait…fighting off the oncoming hordes of Kulshedra, Drac, or whoever won’t be easy if all I have is their modest weaponry. Then again…Dumar’
s axe was quite the strange–”

  Extreme pain rattled his head. There was a second of confusion, like the ground had come away from his feet. Then he was rattled again upon hitting that very same ground. Groaning and gripping his bleeding head, the stunned mercenary turned onto to his back. A tall figure clad in full plate mail as dark as the night itself loomed over him. The shining moon revealed a knight armored like a bastion before the clouds ensconced him in darkness again.

  The assailant’s gear was unlike anything Scar had witnessed so far; thick plates of unknown metal completely covered the mysterious attacker. Smoky colored filigree graced black steel creases. The two-handed mace in the man’s hands was also unfamiliar. This man—whoever he was—was not a soldier of Zmaj or Kulshedra. Scar sat up to scramble back, but the man smashed a heavy boot onto the mercenary’s shin before following up with a right-to-left bash of his mace. Blood flew from Scar’s mouth as the blow knocked him back into the soil.

  “Unholy creature, I will cleanse you from Tiamhaal,” the black knight breathed.

  When the knight went for the deathblow, Scar kicked the attacker’s feet out and the knight went down so hard that a cloud of dust nearly obscured him from sight. That time, it was the enemy who sat up in time to see Scar’s massive fist smash into his crowned helmet.

  “Ouch!” Scar griped, but the blow was sufficient to buy some time. The mercenary caught his bearings. In quick observation, he noted the armor was definitely a problem. “Who are you? Did Dumar send you? Gilgamesh?” Scar yelled.

  The black knight swung the mace over his head and at Scar’s knees, and although the blow was avoided by a jump, the knight had time to come to his feet. Leaning forward a bit and clutching the mace in both hands, he gave his reply.

  “Lovenhaad, Paladin of Mekosh the Severe, and I will kill you, ghost.”

  The odd, breathy voice of Lovenhaad was unnerving, but there was no time to contemplate; the paladin charged. Scar stopped the coming blow by gripping Lovenhaad’s gauntleted hands at the strike’s apex. For a second, they were evenly matched in strength, though the paladin was a hair shorter and narrower even in his armor.