The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons

by Aaron Dennis

  “Not pelts,” Alistair smiled.

  “Some pelts,” Labolas countered jokingly.

  “Not good pelts,” Eileen stressed.

  The cart pulled directly into the warehouse and Relthys gave a “whoa” to the horses. A few guards eyed the carriage. Uneasy glances passed between guards and workers as they observed Scar. He feasted his eyes on the crates stacked along the walls like a child catching his first glimpse at the busy work life of adults. The only other time he saw anything even remotely similar in size and function was in Meshoptam, the capital of Usaj, and even then it seemed that Zmajans were more concerned with killing everyone around them than working.

  “Ride’s over,” Relthys announced.

  “For us, anyway,” Alistair conceded. “It was a pleasure, captain, Future King.”

  They all smiled politely for a moment then the Dracos said their final farewells. They hopped off the cart, called a few laborers over, and they all unloaded the pelts before immersing themselves with merchant’s talk.

  Shinji stirred, yawned, and heaved himself deftly off his seat. Within seconds, he ran off to disappear behind a wall separating the supplies to conduct whatever business he had in mind. Chatter echoed throughout the lively building.

  “See, Relthys?” Labolas asked. “We were no trouble.”

  “Bah,” the old man replied with a dismissive wave of the hand.

  Scar and Labolas chuckled. While they were relaxing, and Scar observed the loading of crates onto other carts at the far end of the warehouse, Shinji darted back to the rear cart, his cloak whipping about due to his rapid movement. Not only had Scar never seen anyone move so fast, Shinji’s hidden boots, or whatever he wore on his feet, made a sound like hooves over the stone floor.

  Some guards and workers jogged over, too, though seconds behind the Nagish wagoneer. They looked to Scar like every other Kulshedran soldier. Upon their arrival, one of the guards stopped short and stared wide-eyed at the mercenary.

  “What the?” he asked in alarm and made to grip to his short sword.

  “Peace,” Shinji admonished quietly. “He is a passenger on the way to the capitol.”

  The guard glanced at Labolas, who tapped his captain’s insignia. “It’ll be fine, soldier,” he said. “What is your name?”

  “Ranghol…what, what is he doing here?”

  Labolas smiled, answering, “Why, he’s switching sides, of course.”

  Ranghol and the other Kulshedrans laughed uncomfortably. Shinji demanded their attention, and they started loading and unloading their supplies.

  “Fresh food from Seleborn,” the Nagishman started. “Hand tools from Ulen, jugs, pots, and containers.”

  As he enumerated the supplies to be stored in the warehouse, one of the workers motioned for help. Two strange looking men strode over. Scar had not noticed them as they had been tending their duties behind piles of fresh fish. Their skin was silvery with a subtle glisten that appeared gold under the gas lights. They were both rather short and wiry with light eyes and hair that appeared to be yellow.

  “Grab the salt,” a Kulshedran worker stated.

  The two men obliged with a smile and a quick bow of the head.

  “What are they?” Scar asked.

  Ranghol squinted at Scar’s question. He gave the brute only a cursory glance. Labolas smiled.

  “They are from Qing-Sho. Men of light are followers of Bakunawa, allies of Dosvetyulia and so are tolerated by Kulshedrans, usually…so long as they are productive,” the captain replied.

  Scar watched the two men. They did work tirelessly.

  “Then there is much tolerance in the world?” Scar was incredulous.

  “Certainly,” Labolas laughed. “Zoltek has no doubt poisoned your mind. Usaj is the only nation with no allies and Hell bent on obliterating everybody. It is the burden of Satrone to rest along Usajan borders. We take that burden very seriously as without us to belay the ceaseless attacks, the other countries would be under constant siege.”

  “It is the burden of Satrone to allow blasphemers to run wild!” Relthys interrupted.

  “Hush up, old man,” Labolas chastised. “If more were tolerant we would not have a worldwide war.”

  “Bah!”

  Labolas winced and shook his head in disapproval, saying, “That ram’s head mentality is part of the problem. Make certain you pick allies as well as opponents, Brandt.”

  Scar continued to watch the workers and guards. War was the farthest thing from the proceedings in Oros. He was unsure as to how to comport himself. I know only of battle, or at least, that is all that has remained with me, yet I feel no wrath against any of these men. Their looks and beliefs hold no sway upon my emotions….

  Once business was concluded, supplies to be stored were removed and supplies to be traded were loaded, Shinji thanked everyone and climbed back onto the cart.

  “So, why do they call this an export warehouse?” Scar asked.

  Labolas quickly shook his head as though affected by spasms, and his mouth curled in; the expression implied that Scar had lost his marbles. “Because it’s where they store goods before shipping them out!”

  “But I see they also store imports.”

  Labolas smacked his lips and heaved a sigh. “You’re right. They should call it the import export warehouse,” Labolas conceded in a tone of great exhaustion.

  “On a more serious note, now that we are free of Dracos, will you tell me more of the Gods?”

  The archer yawned and stretched his arms over his head before answering, “I suppose.”

  “And the paladins?”

  “And the paladins.”

  Chapter Eight- Blessings revealed

  The glow of morning was breaking through dark clouds on the eastern horizon. With the conclusion of importing and exporting in Oros, the men were ready to travel further east on a road laid between the river Iles and Lake Aims. The safest path, though longer, was to squeeze between the two bodies of water rather than skirt the western side of the lake. Relthys made claims bandits were too prevalent in that area.

  “Kulshedran bandits?” Scar asked.

  “Of course! Where else would they be from?” Relthys grumbled.

  “Why would Kulshedrans plunder their own kind?”

  “Are you certain he doesn’t follow Garnabus, the Mad?” Shinji joked.

  Labolas raised his hand in a placating manner answering, “I’m teaching him the finer points in life…just keep your eyes on the road.” He then turned to Scar and addressed the situation. “Bandits are bandits. Every country has them. Every tribe has them. Bandits are all men and women who prefer a life of hiding in wait and capitalizing on opportunity. The funny thing is that they are probably the most honest of all people.”

  “How’s that?” Scar asked.

  “They know what they’re after, and they go for it. They don’t make excuses. They don’t discriminate. They don’t pretend to be something they aren’t, and they certainly don’t cause dissention amongst themselves for gain.”

  “So, how would a king deal with bandits?”

  Labolas rubbed his face, and looking out towards the rising sun, gave his reply. “I think that a king acts in a passive way towards bandits. When people complain, he sends in troops to deal with them. When people complain about the troops, and they will, the king calls them back, knowing that bandits will return. There will always be bandits, and unless they somehow grow out of proportion or cause international strife, there is no need to try to obliterate them. Sporadic patrols usually do enough to keep their movements a minimum.”

  Scar nodded. It was a sound reply. He then considered the fact that Shinji must be a formidable warrior to be Relthys’s only companion if bandits were ever prevalent.

  “Alright,” Scar suddenly announced. “Enough of lessons in governing countries. Tell me about these paladins.”

  “Ah,” Labolas smiled. “Time for Sunday school instead,” he trailed off for a moment and tried to gather hi
s thoughts. “Shouldn’t you grab a quill and parchment?”

  Scar shrugged indifferently. Labolas chuckled, cracked his knuckles, and leaned back in his seat. The wind was blowing, but not as warmly as it had been recently.

  “There are eight sects each comprised of two sides of one of four Gods,” Labolas started. “We’ve discussed Mekosh, the Severe and Mekosh, the Tolerant to some extent. Severity is the principle of Mekosh, which demands that men live by the fact that life is harsh and every living creature must die. As such, those following that sect are prejudiced to any thoughts outside that principle.

  “Generally, Paladins of Severity preach that our God is a Dragon and any who oppose this view are cut down without mercy. Paladins of Tolerance, on the other hand, feel that death is a drastic measure. The principle of tolerance states that men must wait patiently as they are taught about how the Dragons deceive men. These paladins are often found in towns or along heavily trafficked roads where they attempt to teach through patience the error of men, and they are usually called friars not paladins, but whatever.”

  “Do they have magic like worshipers of Zmaj?” Scar interrupted.

  Labolas clasped his hands over his chest and pondered before answering, “Well, now, that is a difficult question to answer…no…not like my magic or the flames, which followers of Drac can produce. Instead they have prayers, but those are an individual matter, not a homogenous expression of magic like we have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what I mean is that followers of Zmaj can use magic to change their weapons. I can use magic to change my armor. Dracos can envelop their bodies with fire and so on, but each paladin prays to his God for a special boon pertinent only to him or herself.”

  Scar nodded and pushed out his bottom lip in admiration and understanding, adding, “Please, go on.”

  By that time, the morning sun had risen quite a bit in the eastern sky, and the sound of sloshing water was clear. They had rode for the better part of two hours and were nearer the river by a natural cliff. The river Iles rushed off to their right and about ten feet below. Before Labolas continued his elucidation, Scar peeked out to the east and saw the far end of the river; the body of water was roughly seventy feet across. Small, brown stones protruded from the river in certain areas causing light rapids and eddies.

  “At any rate, next we have Silwen, the Lover, and Silwen, the Hater.”

  “The Hater?” Scar scoffed.

  “That’s what she’s called. Paladins of Love generally roam about naked, or scantily clothed, and no, they are not all attractive.” Labolas’s disappointed tone incited laughter from the brute. “They are often found in brothels and pubs preaching that all living things should love one another and make love to one another, and that that is the best means to peace. Be thankful Ole’ Brandine was a Draco and not a paladin. She would have had bedded you for sure.”

  Labolas laughed uproariously at his own remark. When he calmed down enough to speak, he provided more information. Scar just shook his head in mock desperation.

  “Paladins of Hatred are a disconcerting sort. They quite literally hate everyone and everything and will do whatever it takes to spread hatred. They lie, they concoct, and they often find ways to sway influential people into making decisions for the public, which turn out to be in the worst interest of everyone. Both the Lovers and the Haters believe that our God is a deceiver, and so the Lovers try to sway us with sex and kindness into behaving harmoniously, while the Haters sway us with vile words and venomous actions into behaving in such discord that we slay our own kind.”

  “Truly bizarre,” Scar commented. “And anyone from any tribe can forsake their Lord for one of these other Gods?”

  “Yes,” Labolas replied. “Lovenhaad was a former follower of Slibinas, God of Ice. I don’t know the details, but he was a barbaric warrior from Wuulefroth before he forsook his nation for Mekosh, the Severe.

  “Anyway, this brings us to Ihnogupta, the Perseverant and Ihnogupta, the Sloth.”

  “You can’t be serious. Perseverance and Sloth?”

  “Certainly. Paladins of Perseverance follow that principle. All of them are strangely branded with inks embedded in the skin. The painful and prolonged initiating ritual teaches them a sort of trial by fire. Some of them even die in the process, but those who persevere spread the teaching that life is hard, and the only path to peace and harmony is to strive diligently. They are not a bad sort, but they never give up and have already made their peace with death, so they will think nothing of forcing you into an untenable position.

  “Those of sloth are quite a mess, however. They are dirty, smelly beasts. Believe it or not, their belief is that the world is at it is and nothing can change it. They don’t really even spread their teachings, they just sort of lay about and try to lead—if that’s what you want to call it—by example. In a way, they are the least of anyone’s concern…except maybe shop keepers...or guards tired of stepping around them.”

  Scar grinned. He rooted around for a moment as the cart ride continued, found some water, and took a sip. Labolas handed him a nectarine and suggested he eat something. Scar assented with a nod and took the fruit.

  “Finally, this leaves us with Garnabus, the Sober and Garnabus, the Mad.”

  “It seems that each sect is diametrically opposed.”

  “Yes. They are two sides of the same coin and are said to represent each of the eight governing principles of men, hogwash if you ask me, but Paladins of Sobriety are some of the most logical beings you will encounter. They will present their case in the most lucid of terms, stating that men should exercise their minds and look at every side of every argument; that we should all leave faith and emotion aside and simply take an objective view of the world. You’ll find them out in the wilderness always dressed in animal hides.”

  “Truly?” Scar interrupted. “I would have wagered they dressed in robes preaching in libraries or universities.”

  “No. Their sobriety is a very primal idea based on rules of nature. Paladins of Garnabus, the Mad, while also found in the wilderness, tend to congregate in areas where hallucinogenic plants thrive. They also believe that nature rules everything, but they give their minds to those confounded plants and never make any sense.

  “I was once fortunate enough to be called to a small farming settlement where a batch of cajua plants grew abundantly. A sect of the Mad had moved in, erected sweat lodges, and consistently plagued the farmers by screaming nonsensical matters into all hours of the night. Their leader, I forget his name, contented that we were all really animals who had forgotten their nature and were only pretending to be men. Social beings, his term was. He then said he was a bear, and bolted off to into a young woman’s house. I had little choice but to slay him. The rest of our troops destroyed the cajua plants, and the sect scattered.”

  Both of them laughed a bit. Spurts of laughter were heard coming from Shinji.

  “And he thought I was a Paladin of Madness?” Scar asked with a motion of the hand towards the Nagish wagoneer.

  Labolas shrugged, asking, “So what do you think now? When we first met, you were starting to say some things, which led me to believe that maybe you thought that our God is not really a God, but a Dragon.”

  Scar vacillated. The explanation given by Labolas certainly made the paladins appear confused about their beliefs, but that was secondhand reportage. If nothing else, it was odd that there would be thirteen supposed Gods when there were in fact thirteen Dragons. Furthermore, the eight principles of man were congruous with people’s behavior in general.

  “I don’t know what to think. I will simply allow experience to show me the way,” he finally answered.

  “That is the answer of a true king,” Labolas commented with a subtle smile.

  Scar felt a surge of pride. He was still not used to thinking of himself as someone meant to rule a nation. And what nation? Each of the current nations has a supposed God…will this fourteenth nation be
a Godless one?

  “So, tell me,” Scar started. “Do the paladins ever fight one another?”

  Labolas crinkled his face. He remained quiet for a long moment, his eyes darting about. Unfortunately, his thoughts were cut short when a violent jolt halted the cart. Ropes burst forth from the dusty path. A trap had been laid ensconced beneath soil. The impact was enough to send everyone reeling out of their seats. Everyone save Relthys quickly came to their feet. Scar’s head actually pushed the cloth cover up a bit, he was so tall. The cart was listing to the right, and fruit spilled from a crate.

  From behind thick, green bushes and large, brown stones, men with bronze skin, hide armor, and menacing weapons, advanced. Kulshedran bandits apparently inhabited the section of the road between the Iles and Lake Aims, too.

  “Damned bandits!” Relthys cursed.

  “We can do this one of two ways,” the largest of the bandits announced. “The hard way or the fun way. Take your pick.”

  The heavy set Kulshedran with bulging arms, fat gut, and a large wooden hammer grinned his yellowed smile. Scar counted a total of eight men; not a force worth fearing by any means. The only real problem was that the trap, which was still lodged under the frame of the cart, had busted off one of the wheels. Scar turned to Labolas, about to comment on the miscalculation of taking that route, when Relthys started foaming at the mouth.

  The old man forced himself laboriously to his feet screaming, “You gutless swine lay traps and lay siege upon the unsuspecting and slaughter without recrimination, but I’ll not let you derail my business.”

  After completing his declaration, he pulled out a long, thin stick from inside his robe and went to swipe at the bandit. Naturally, the leader caught it with his left and wrested it free from the old man, who fell onto his bottom. Scar fought not to laugh. Shinji did not and laughed openly.

  “Come, Relthys, take your seat. I will handle them,” the Nagish wagoneer claimed.

  “Surprising that we should meet these bandits when Relthys specifically tried to avoid them,” Scar whispered.