The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons

by Aaron Dennis

  He felt a nudge against his ribs. Labolas was looking down the trail to the east. A small shape loomed in the distance. After a moment it became evident that it was the horse drawn cart. Labolas was pointing.

  “I thought he was already here,” Scar mumbled.

  “Well, he’s here now, what difference does it make?” Labolas retorted.

  That time it was Scar’s turn to give an uncaring shrug.

  “I’ll get our supplies,” Eileen stated.

  Alistair said nothing, but joined her. They entered the longhouse.

  “I have much to learn,” Scar said. “The Zmajans are a bloodthirsty people by comparison.”

  Labolas nodded and smiled. His expression was one of patience, understanding.

  “A good king does more than order his subjects around. He does more than wage war. It will be good for you to comprehend the intricacies of trade,” he said.

  “You really believe that I am meant to be King of Alduheim?”

  “What I believe is inconsequential. I follow my orders, but Gilgamesh is a good ruler.”

  Scar frowned and tried to search his feelings, to arrange his thoughts. His mood was a bit somber though he did not know why. Zoltek, Dragons, Gods, to be King…what is this place…who am I, really? Do I want to be a king? His thoughts were cut short when the Draco siblings exited the longhouse with crates of pelts. Most of them were small. Scar assumed the animals of the area, Satrone, Usaj, and Eltanrof, were smaller animals like rabbits and foxes. He had not seen many animals except for some goats in Usaj, and some birds on the road. By then, the cart was nearly upon them.

  Two, tall, wiry horses of white, thin fur pulled a long cart built of wooden planks. Behind the cart was another car, also built of similar planks. The two men guiding the horses wore tan robes with cowls over their heads to protect themselves from the scorching sun. Upon scrutiny of their hands, Scar noted one had bronze skin, a Kulshedran, the other had slender, light hands. Scar looked at his own skin, it was still a few shades lighter in pallor.

  “Greetings,” Labolas said to them.

  “Aye,” the Kulshedran said and pulled his hood back.

  He was an old man with a ring of long, gray hair pulled neatly back. Though the top of his head was bald, the pony tail hung down inside the robe. His eyes were the color of walnuts and showed very little life.

  “Are you all seeking passage?” the cart master asked.

  “We are headed to Tironis. I am Captain Labolas Sulas. These two Dracos are traders, Alistair and Eileen.”

  “We’re goin’ as far as Oros,” Alistair announced.

  The old Kulshedran smacked his lips. Scar noted the silence and wondered about the implication. For a moment it seemed as though the old man was displeased. He looked at the mercenary and a furrow creased his bronze brow. Then the other person on the cart leaned to the old man and whispered something. The old man nodded.

  “Ten pieces for each of the Dracos for a ride to Oros,” the Kulshedran started. “Twenty pieces for a ride to Tironis, but…this other one…who, what is he supposed to be?”

  Scar arched a brow.

  The robed figure spoke with a deep whisper loud enough for all to hear, saying, “A paladin probably. Looks like one of Garnabus, the Mad.”

  “I’m no paladin. My name, my name is Brandt,” Scar said with uncertainty.

  “He’s coming with me to Tironis, so forty pieces?” Labolas asked.

  The robed figure finally removed his cowl to reveal yellow hair and very faint facial features. He was a man, yet he lacked the strong jaw and chin shared by the Dracos and Kulshedrans. Slight wrinkles creased his flat brow. No hair grew beneath his small nose. His eyes were sky blue with a sort of fold over the top eyelid. They were slightly slanted.

  “Money is money, Relthys,” the light man said to the Kulshedran.

  Again the old man smacked his lips before replying, “I don’t like trouble, Shinji. You’ll handle that aspect should it present itself, I presume.”

  Shinji smiled and added, “I don’t think there will be any trouble.”

  “Why would there be trouble?” Scar demanded.

  “The unknown usually presents trouble,” Shinji retorted as he slid thin fingers through his short hair.

  Scar grumbled and looked to Labolas for a clue, but he was busy counting out forty copper coins. He handed them to Relthys. Eileen paid him as well, and the Dracos immediately set about loading their crates on the rear car. Relthys gave a motion to climb on back. Once they all loaded the crates, the four travelers sat on benches built into the sides of the front cart. A thin cloth tied to the four corners of the car shaded them, but the day was stifling hot.

  Before taking back to the road, Relthys climbed off with some difficulty and disappeared inside the longhouse. Shinji looked up at the sky and pulled the cowl back over his head. He mumbled something to the horses.

  “Who does Shinji follow?” Scar asked Labolas, who sat across from him.

  Eileen was next to Scar and Alistair was next to Labolas. While Labolas looked over the cart’s supplies, mostly dried fruits, salted meats, water, cloths, and oils, he answered the mercenary’s query.

  “My guess is Naga.”

  “Who is Naga?”

  “Those who follow Naga claim that their Goddess is the true creator of life as it originates in water and all must have water to sustain it,” Labolas said.

  “They are not our enemies,” Alistair added.

  “Why would they be?” Scar asked.

  Labolas frowned as he shrugged.

  “Because each tribe believes that their God is the true God,” Eileen confided.

  “I am still having some trouble understanding all this,” Scar admitted. “The Gods, or those who claim to be Gods, blessed their followers, no? Each of you are distinct in appearance and presumably custom. Do the Gods not also grant you powers and magic?”

  “You sound like a paladin!” Shinji shouted from his seat upfront.

  Scar winced, Labolas chuckled, and the Dracos shook their heads while smiles manifested. Prior to any new revelations, Relthys exited the longhouse retrieved a few boxes, disappeared into the establishment again, then returned, climbed back onto his seat with some difficulty, and finally took the reins. He shouted, “Haa!” and the horses started a slow gait towards their first stop, Oros.

  “Anyway, I’m just trying to understand,” Scar muttered. “If I am truly to be this King Brandt, I must know these things.”

  “Sure,” the captain paused for a while to gather his thoughts. As the slow cart ride crushed gravel and gave the occasional jostle, Scar leaned his head back and waited for an explanation. Hot winds blew providing little relief. “Alright,” Labolas agreed. “Yes, the Gods do seem to bless their followers with power.”

  “Some of their followers,” Alistair chimed in.

  Scar arched a brow, but kept his eyes closed. He was in a state of relaxation.

  “Yes,” Labolas conceded. “Some of their followers. It appears that the more one does in the name of his Lord, the more blessed one becomes, though in most cases, should one begin bidding for powers or blessings, his Lord shuns him.”

  “That is not the case with Drac,” Eileen stated.

  Her tone gave way to her level of growing aggravation. Labolas looked at her and curled his lips inward. He had not meant offense, but then that was the main reason for the war; so many took offense over things that were not meant to be personal.

  “I confess that I do not know enough of Drac’s teachings, as such I can only relay what I know based on the teachings of Kulshedra,” Labolas clarified. “At any rate, it is true that all the Gods offer some form of blessing, but what of it?”

  “Well,” Scar said and gave a pause for inhalation. “I just don’t understand how everything fits together.”

  Labolas rubbed the stubble growing over his chin. Alistair maintained a gaze over the open land. They were heading northeast by then, and the sun had begun its de
scent. Eileen maintained a shifty gaze on Labolas.

  “Look,” the captain said. “You can ask Gilgamesh whatever you like, but I think it may be best, in the interest of peace, if we don’t dwell on these matters here and now. Perhaps we could talk about something else.”

  “If I am to be king then it is necessary to make others uncomfortable when I need information. It would be a shame if these good people here grew agitated over such a simple discussion,” Scar alleged and looked at the Kulshedran. He then turned to Eileen. “Does it really upset you and your brother?”

  “Speaking of our beliefs does not upset me,” Eileen replied. “Tryin’ to say that my Lord, Drac, is not a real God does.”

  “But why? It is just his belief. You should not be concerned with how he feels, so long as he is not imposing upon you,” Scar countered.

  “And yet when people are at war everythin’ is an imposition,” Alistair added.

  Everyone grew quiet. Scar winced and laid his head back again. Dracos are quick to anger, he thought. Sweat was pouring over everyone. The others started to eat and drink, but even in the sweltering heat Scar was concerned only with his thoughts. I don’t know what to believe. It seems I am not blessed by anyone. Perhaps after these two are dropped off in Oros, Labolas will be more inclined to speak.

  Chapter Seven- A prelude to war

  Progressing ever eastward through Satrone’s dusty landscape, the group of travelers found quiet refuge in eating and drinking. With the day almost at its end, the sun was low on the western horizon, and cooler winds had blown for the better part of an hour. Labolas and the Dracos dozed while Scar leaned forward on his seat to gaze at the far away eastern peaks. The setting sun gave them an ominous appearance, black and inhospitable. The imposing man pushed out his lower lip a bit. A furrow creased his brow, yet it was not the world that held his attention.

  Gods and Dragons…I can’t get over that, Scar was yet consumed over the possibility of either. I’m hard pressed to believe that things are so cut and dry; only one God, or thirteen of them just as the number of Dragons. Then that crazy paladin and claims of true Gods. Paladins obviously believe that everyone is falling prey to something other than Gods, and they must believe in multiple Gods…I wonder if paladins wage war on each other over religion….

  A bump in the road pulled Scar from rumination. Labolas stirred, opened his eyes, and wiped his mouth.

  “Mmf. Looks like I drifted off, eh?” he asked.

  Scar smiled at his friend, but the darkness was encroaching and reading facial expressions was increasingly difficult. Labolas yawned, stretched his arms, turned in his seat from side-to-side a few times, and gulped down some water. After rubbing his face, he ran fingers through his hair and refastened the leather strap, which held the black locks in place.

  “Wagoneers,” the captain called out.

  “Aye?” the old Kulshedran asked.

  “How far to Oros?”

  “We’ll be there by nightfall.”

  “Thank you, Relthys.”

  Raised voices had roused the Dracos. As they came to, grumbles and murmurs escaped dried mouths. They tried to stretch their stiffened joints. It was at that moment, while smiling at the siblings, that Scar realized he was not sore or stiff in the least. That tinge of bewilderment brought back the old gnawing feeling of confusion, which drove him unwaveringly to discover anything at all about himself. The mercenary turned to Labolas, who was staring intently at him. The look on his face, even in the semi darkness, was one of obvious mirth.

  “What?” Scar asked.

  “You, uh, you don’t have any eveningwear, do you?”

  “Eveningwear?”

  Everyone chuckled at Scar’s expense.

  “No, I don’t have any eveningwear. Why the Hell is that so funny?”

  “Heh,” Labolas stopped laughing enough to explain his question, saying, “I can’t take you before Gilgamesh in scorched boots, singed trousers, and no shirt, can I?”

  “I’m certain there are linen salesmen in Tironis,” Scar replied in a dismissive tone.

  “Oh, sure, but we have such fine pelts right here.”

  “We’ve got nothin’ that can fit that massive frame, I tell ya,” Eileen chirped.

  They chuckled again. Scar smiled and shook his head.

  “Ah, well, I tried,” Labolas conceded.

  “Perhaps you could kill a bull and then just cut some arm holes in it,” Alistair suggested.

  That time Scar was able to join in the laughter. Their idiotic musings about his size and appearance had dispelled a bit of his gloom. Resting his head back on folded fingers he gazed to the road ahead. A glow had grown visible in the darkness to the northeast. Their ride was also much smoother; the path was a bit more packed, keeping the cart from jostling quite so much.

  “Looks like the light of fires,” Scar mentioned.

  “Oros is a town of wealth,” Labolas said. “Being practically on the Iles, the inhabitants can provide many exports to other towns within Satrone. Due to its wealth, Oros can afford to maintain a stock of yuclid gas. What you’re seeing is light of gas lamps, which keeps the town illuminated during the night.”

  “Truly?” Scar smiled. He liked that idea, and for a moment he simply enjoyed the thought. Then he wondered why it struck him as so affable. Does it remind me of something? “Yuclid gas? You say Oros can afford it. From whom?”

  Alistair answered as he and his sister double checked their gear. “It comes from the caves in Dosvetyulia.”

  Scar furrowed his brow and turned to Labolas; the last word just sounded made up.

  “I’ll give you a geography lesson later,” the captain replied. “All you need to know is that Bollans are a strange people, but we are not at war with them.”

  “They are allies, then?” Scar posed. “The people of Doz-whatever?”

  “Dosvetyulia,” Eileen corrected. “To Kulshedrans they are allies. We don’t care for them in Eltanrof, but we have no anger towards them either. They sit in their caves and grow their mushrooms, and that’s fine by me.”

  Scar chuckled and gave a subtle fluttering of the hands in confusion as he asked, “What? Mushrooms? Caves?”

  “Yes, damnit,” Labolas answered feigning anger. “They live in caves and grow mushrooms. From their mushrooms, they make yuclid gas, and since we’re allies, we purchase their gas.”

  The sound of cartwheels running over a cobbled road drew everyone’s attention. They glanced to the east again. Two tall but slender obelisks of brown stone stood conspicuously on either side of the cobbled street. At the base of their capstone were square openings on all sides, and from within, shone the gas fires; a bright yellow. More of the obelisks ran throughout the whole of the town.

  As the cart continued between the pylons, the bright light contrasting with the night made black shadows under the cart’s cloth cover. While they continued joking about mushrooms and cave people, they made quick movements, which disturbed Scar. Their jerky actions coupled with the black, fleeting shadows gave everyone a hollow look, like they were devoid of life.

  There was something so alien, yet so familiar about the scene playing out before his eyes. The men around him were like silent puppets whose limbs were made only to jolt about. The more Scar lost himself in the bizarre vision the less he noticed his surroundings.

  “I’d tell you to pack your crap, but I guess you’re all set, eh?” Labolas joked and smacked Scar’s shoulder.

  Scar smiled. He hadn’t really heard his friend, but the archer’s face, the tight lipped smile, the half-closed eyes, and the smack to the shoulder, which had restored his sobriety, was indicative of some stupid joke.

  “Oros…this is some establishment,” Scar muttered.

  The further in they rode, the brighter it was. His companions looked normal again, so the mercenary returned his interests to sightseeing. The city was home to a great many Kulshedrans. Guards wearing brown leathers and carrying spears patrolled the streets beneath yel
low fires. Late as it was, Scar did not see any civilians, but the stone homes with flat rooves were plenty.

  Kulshedran architects had designed the homes to be stacked on top of one another along both sides of the streets. While the shape of the rectangular houses was similar in design to the gray homes of Usaj, Kulshedrans saved space by housing people above and below one another. Stairs were built all over, allowing the citizenry to walk up and down with relative ease, and they used full rooves not the rattan latticework rampant in Usaj.

  “Where do we stop?” Scar asked.

  “The exporting warehouses nearer the river,” Labolas answered.

  Meandering down the cobbled streets and over crossroads, the cart continued along. Soon the sloshing of water became audible. Scar peeked to the south and saw the road was built out a ways and butted up to the river.

  The rainy season had not started yet, thus the river was low and currently not visible from his position. He did see a break in the road though, which led him to the conclusion that the river was capable of cresting in town at a width of over a hundred feet. Since the street was laid in a fashion that ended abruptly against but well above the river Iles, townsfolk were able to fish off the ledge quite comfortably.

  A nudge from across the cart caught Scar’s attention. Labolas pointed. To Scar’s left was a large building, a rectangular monstrosity with a flat roof built from the native brown stone. Before coming to it, they passed two guards sitting on the edge of the road, their feet dangled over the unseen water.

  “What do you store in that building?” Scar asked.

  The warehouse was built right over the street and a huge opening allowed the cart to enter proper. Even before pulling in, the lights from inside the warehouse revealed crates and barrels.

  “Everything the town needs, and more supplies to be routed through all of Satrone or beyond,” Labolas started. “Steel, wood, fish, herbs, grains, oils, plants, and gas. You name it, we’ve got it.”