The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons

by Aaron Dennis

  Scar considered the proposal. There was simply no other way to go if he did in fact want to enter Alduheim. But do I need to enter Alduheim? Naturally, I wonder what this hidden knowledge is, and if there is a clue as to who I am, or who my people were, I should surely like to know. He held his sword firmly and gazed at it. The light of gas lamps danced over the glistening steel. A vague feeling like half remembered dreams gnawed at Scar, and for a second he wanted to dash over and cut the king down in one stroke. That force almost overtook him, but Gilgamesh spoke again, and Scar’s attention was returned to the world.

  “Do this for the benefit of humanity. There are so many out there counting on you.”

  “Yes…I must enter Alduheim…it calls to me.”

  Thus the meeting with the great Gilgamesh concluded. The regal King of Satrone stood and lithely walked back to the stairs and out of sight. The two guards approached Scar. They stood by menacingly. He looked at them for a second and was unsure how to proceed.

  “The chair, your grace,” one of them said in a raspy tone.

  Scar winced and stood. They took the chair, and while the mercenary watched them, he heard a voice call.

  “King Brandt?”

  He turned to see Ehrloime had come up behind him. She closed her eyes halfway and smiled.

  “Yes, Lady?” he asked and rested his sword on his bulging shoulder.

  “I will now take you to meet with Strategist Poland.”

  He nodded and followed her all the way back out to the foyer. There waited an old Kulshedran with a ring of grayed hair. He was thin and wiry with a slight bulge at his midsection. Covered with only a long, beige robe, the man walked up and greeted Scar effusively by clasping his wrist and shaking hands.

  “Greetings, greetings, young King. I am Poland, one of General Sulas’s confidants. I had heard of your meeting and am aware of your council with our king,” the man said with a very warm smile.

  His teeth were crooked, but his old, brown eyes, and pointed nose gave him the appearance of a genuine individual.

  “It is a pleasure, Poland,” Scar replied.

  “Ah, Lady, if you don’t mind leaving us alone,” Poland asked.

  “Certainly,” she said and walked off.

  Poland smiled at Scar again before taking a few paces next to a long bench placed against the wall. He looked at the large man before him and raised his brow portraying great fatigue.

  “Please, sit with me. I am old, and my feet bedevil me,” he laughed.

  Scar obliged, and then Poland leaned towards him and spoke sincerely about his position, Gilgamesh’s wishes, their movement into Alduheim, the deployment of their small force, and the plan to secure the ruined kingdom.

  Chapter Thirteen- Enroute to Alduheim

  Poland’s plan of attack had involved a great many variables, but if his information on the current state of Alduheim was correct, and he had assured Scar that it was, then the infiltration was going to be quite perilous, at least for normal men. The strategist believed the bulk of Khmeran forces were fighting the Kulshedran army behind the ruined towers, but there were platoons stationed all around the expansive site.

  Those platoons were employed by Sahni to keep any other forces from performing their own exploration, which posed a problem for N’Giwah’s men. Poland’s idea was to ride east from Tironis into Malababwen territory, move north a few clicks, then attack from the western border of Malababwe where Khmeran forces were not only thinner, but were supposed to lack allied support. Scar’s small force was meant to sneak by the bulk of Khmeran troops, discover whatever N’Giwah may have uncovered during his limited exploration, if he had in fact been able to discern anything at all, and then take over the keep from the entrance the Malababwen explorers had uncovered underground.

  Scar had been hard pressed to believe that his group of twenty including himself, one of whom was Poland and two of whom were scholars, would be able to succeed without casualties. During their ride, and after having just met Gilgamesh’s small but handpicked force, Scar posed a question.

  “I had learned through General Sulas that the leader of the Dracos is lending support and that the Captain of the Legion of Archers is spying on N’Giwah. Is it not more sensible to attach ourselves to the main forces? Gilgamesh also suggested we ride north and attack directly.”

  The sun had only just risen during the long ride out of the capital of Satrone, and the morning was yet chilly. The strategist adjusted his gray riding cloak before answering.

  “Let the soldiers fight. That is what they have been trained to do; stand toe-to-toe and swing swords,” Poland proclaimed. “These men you have here,” he added with a motion of the hand to the force riding with them, “are specially trained to decimate small squadrons in the blink of an eye. Large forces are designed to secure borders, prevent advancement, or claim large portions of territory over a period of days. All we want to do here is move into the castle, find the hidden knowledge Gilgamesh seeks, and return with information. These are not things normal soldiers are trained to accomplish.”

  Scar liked that Poland had a free will and cunning mind. He then looked over his new squad. One of the scholars was a tall, older woman named Marlayne. She had knotty arms, long, brown hair in a thick braid, and ice cold blue eyes. A gray, short sleeved robe in white trim covered most of her bronze skin. She was a little lighter than the Kulshedrans Scar had yet known and her prominent brow, he was told, was the mark of Fafnir. That alone troubled Scar since the people who followed the God of Speech were said to be neutral throughout the territorial disputes. Borta, on the other hand, was a middle aged man with ash gray skin, purple eyes, light gray short hair, black lips, and had blue patterns like dripping water where his skin showed. He was the Scultonian scholar, and that really made the mercenary apprehensive. Labolas had stated that Scultonians were only loosely allied with Kulshedrans and had as much of an allegiance with Khmerans. This whole situation just spells trouble, he thought. I hope Poland knows what he’s doing.

  “Alright,” Scar began. “I get that we are designed for speedy acquisitions, but why are we meeting with N’Giwah? I get the feeling Gilgamesh does not like him.”

  “Forget what Gilgamesh thinks,” Poland disputed. “We are not certain of how to access the new passage N’Giwah uncovered, and that’s how I propose we enter Alduheim, safely. Besides, if I know young Sulas, he’ll have had words with the Tiamatish before our arrival. That should make everything move more smoothly.”

  “So we’re to ride in and claim whatever secrets they themselves are working hard to find?” Scar asked skeptically.

  “Well, perhaps, but no,” Poland stammered and laughed. “No. Certainly the captain has informed him of the Zmajan forces and given claim that we are enroute to assist to that end.”

  “But that’s not what we’re doing,” Scar said as he squinted. “Right?”

  “We may yet, should they present themselves. I do not believe N’Giwah’s men can handle them. This, however, is not a matter for concern. Should we find a trace of the Zmajans, we will deal with them.”

  “Why do you depreciate N’Giwah’s men? How few are they?”

  “They are a small group of explorers. Tiamatish people are not militant…or perhaps it is more accurate to say that they are not aggressive. The Zmajans, even few in numbers, will be ruthless. You, no doubt, can attest to that.”

  Scar scratched his head. I certainly can. He turned to look at the rest of his squad. The remaining sixteen men and women were all Kulshedrans and fit as any fighting force. Four were archers wearing studded leathers, galeas, and steel bracers. Their names were Leera, Johan, Tarvin, and Gelrim. Ten were swordsmen wearing half plate with open-faced helmets, and they carried bronze shields. Poland had introduced them as Jayna, Rauls, Ezlo, Bosen, Illner, Teyrin, Pater, Garrahf, Orsa, and Layne. The last two were burly men unlike most of their wiry brethren. They wore field plate, carried tower shields, and wore broad headed axes on their hips. Poland said their
names were Lortho and Delton.

  As they rode east off the beaten path, and beyond sparsely growing trees, the sky turned gray with clouds. It had not rained once since Scar left Usaj to start his raid on the Kulshedran border. He watched the swirling masses of clouds morph into and out of all manners of shapes, they even resembled warring Dragons. With a cocky smile and a shake of his head, he thought about the possibility of just that; Dragons at war. That is definitely what all this looks like to me.

  During the better part of four hours, while the land steadily sloped downwards, the riders chatted amongst themselves. Small drops of cold rain peppered them. Scar felt the chilly drops on his head and had to keep wiping the water from his eyes. Those with riding cloaks pulled their cowls on, Scar was at the mercy of the weather. Bolts of lightning occasionally flashed on the horizon. Thunder growled in the distance.

  They kept a modest pace over the soil while the soldiers’ armoring unleashed a plethora of tink sounds from the rains. Tufts of green grass grew sparsely as they came across more and more trees; large brown monstrosities with thick foliage. Birds hid from the precipitation among the entwined branches.

  “How long is this ride?” Scar asked to break the monotony.

  “Two days,” Poland answered with a smile.

  “Do you often go on these missions for Gilgamesh?”

  “Not as often as I used to,” the old man sighed, but kept his smile. “These old bones are worse for wear.”

  “You don’t say,” Scar chuckled. “And tell me of the battles for Alduheim. Have they gone on long? Has any ground been covered? I have come to understand that any kind of advancement in its exploration has only been recent.”

  “Oh certainly,” Poland answered. “In all my years of service I have only seen any real effort in securing Alduheim over the past two years.”

  “Why?”

  “It was thought to just be a ruined castle, gone and buried, reclaimed by the land as though Kulshedra himself was ashamed of its history,” Poland explained. “The only reason Gilgamesh and Sahni fought over it before now was border disputes.”

  “If I may?” Marlayne interceded. “Only Kulshedrans believe that Alduheim was rightly part of their territory.”

  Scar looked at her then at Poland, who made an expression of mock exasperation by rolling his eyes and slightly opening his mouth. The mercenary smiled to himself before returning his attention to the Fafnirian.

  She said, “While our own rich history does agree that the Dragons were in fact routed to the area south of Alduheim, we have evidence to support our claim that the people of Alduheim were never allied with Kulshedrans. Now, Khmerans will attest to that as well, but their claim is that those people, your people, were their allies and had mistakenly destroyed themselves with some great and mysterious power, and that their only reason for warring now against Kulshedran forces is to prevent Gilgamesh from acquiring that power; they are protecting life since Khmer is the God of Life.”

  “That’s hogwash,” Poland retorted. “Sahni has been disputing territory with Gilgamesh for many years, and their predecessors did the same, but I respect your opinion, my Lady.”

  “Ever the keeper of the peace, Poland,” she replied with a smile. “Try to understand, Brandt, I’m not supporting the Khmerans. The tragic tale as recounted by the historians of Closicus is that the people of Alduheim did destroy themselves with their power, but only because they wanted to seal it away. Whatever that power was, they used it to vanquish the Dragons. Now whom was allied with whom will never truly be discerned.”

  “Hold a moment. I thought people prayed to the Gods, or in your case, to Fafnir, to destroy the Dragons,” Scar interrupted.

  “And just how do you think that Fafnir answered their prayers? Obviously with deific power,” she argued.

  Scar pursed his lips. It was a logical explanation.

  “You must be opposed to this mission then. Do you think it wise to find this power?” Scar asked.

  Marlayne frowned and furrowed her brow. Her eyes quickly moved from side-to-side for a moment. She twice opened her mouth to answer, but took and exhaled breaths instead. Finally, she offered her take on the matter.

  “I am not opposed to this mission, but I am reticent,” she started. “I think that is why Gilgamesh picked me to assist you. Of all of us, I am the only one who does not wish to see this power used. For better or worse, Gilgamesh will want to wield it in the name of peace. Sahni makes the same claim. Those two leaders are, or were, the only ones bidding for that power and only since two years ago.

  “Now Jagongo is also seeking it, which troubles me as she and her people have only ever wanted to keep their country out of war’s way. Zoltek, too, is bidding for it I am told, and likely just to vanquish his opponents. My part in all this is to try and make certain that if that power does exist, and it is accessible, that it either never be used, or at the very least, that it does not fall into the wrong hands.”

  “So your ties are not to Gilgamesh?”

  “Certainly I am loyal to him for the duration of this mission, but I am first and foremost Fafnirian. My loyalty is to the people of Closicus, and my work on the history of Alduheim both earned me a place at the side of my emperor, Longinus, and previously to his father, Linus. It is because of my honesty, experience, and expertise that Gilgamesh personally requested my assistance. However, had not Longinus saw fit to agree to his request, I would not be here with you all now,” Marlayne explained.

  Silence prevailed for a moment. It seemed that either tensions were growing and the riders did not wish to argue with one another, or there simply was no more to say on the matter, so Scar returned to thought. Gilgamesh had not mentioned that there was some kind of power hidden in Alduheim…he called it knowledge, and he certainly had made no claims that it was the power of a deity.

  Scar scrutinized the riders. The warriors had returned to idle chatter of family and home. Borta stared at the mercenary. His purple eyes almost sparkled, but his visage was fierce. Scar kept his eye on the man. It was evident to both that neither were convinced by Marlayne’s claims.

  “Borta,” Scar called.

  “Yes?” the man hissed after a moment.

  More lightning flashed. They had ridden into the storm proper. The wind and rain picked up and the thunder boomed onto them after only a second.

  “You are also a historian, but from Balroa,” the prospective king said. Borta took an inordinately long inhalation as he looked away. “I am wondering what your people believe,” Scar added.

  The Scultonian lowered his eyes and pulled his cowl down over them before answering with his gritty voice, “That is irrelevant. I am not here to share opinions.”

  Scar was slightly taken aback, but not irritated. I suppose that is just his way. Yet Scar wanted to hear a new outlook in order to support his theory about the Gods being Dragons. More than ever, he felt it in his bones that such a thing must be the case. Unfortunately, conversing openly of such beliefs had proven useless time and again, and he did not have the relationship with them that he had built with Labolas.

  He sniffed once, rubbed the water from his face, and stretched his arms out to the sides. After yawning and popping his knuckles, the mercenary leaned forward on his mount. Curious that only over the past two years people have started vying for this ruined castle. Marlayne says the historians of Closicus believe there is a magic power sealed away inside. If other countries thought as much, they certainly would have tried to obtain this power long ago. I wonder how and when Gilgamesh came to learn of it…and I certainly wonder why they all believe my people were instrumental in defeating the Dragons. Come to think of it, I wonder what Zoltek knows about Alduheim. He had never even mentioned it to me….

  As Scar let his mind meander, the lightning passed, and the rain slackened to a drizzle. By then, everyone was well soaked through. Some of the riders produced food or drink. The horses had also grown sluggish. Amidst the clusters of trees, water ran over ruts betw
een the grasses and hurried downhill.

  “We should come across a pond or something around here soon,” Poland said, breaking the silence.

  “Good,” Scar replied. “I think the horses need a drink and some rest.”

  “Aye,” the strategist agreed.

  “I’d like to stretch my legs as it is,” one of the riders added.

  “An’ I’d like to stretch the hole of my arse,” another joked. They all shared a laugh. “Seriously,” the man stressed. “I been bouncin’ up an’ down on this damned horse for half a day.”

  “Peace, Rauls,” an archer begged. “You’ve got to learn to keep that kind of stuff to yourself.”

  “Just sayin’ my arse hurts, is all,” the joker replied.

  The one called Rauls was middle aged with short hair, and one long, thin braid dangling behind his left ear. He fidgeted in his saddle for a moment then muttered under his breath. One of the others laughed and threw a piece of bread at him. During their journey, the land had slowly morphed from a rocky chaparral to woods.

  Under the cover of trees visibility was limited due in part to the thickness of the growth, but also the time of evening. Insects started chirping, and bats fluttered between branches to feast. Poland pulled a torch from his travel pack and lit it. The flickering, orange light helped to reveal their surroundings.

  Though tiny droplets still fell upon the riders, the rain had ceased. Water was only dripping from leaves above them, occasionally sizzling after striking torch flames. Each gust of wind rustled the foliage, forcing a barrage of drops to careen onto the ground.

  “There is water ahead,” Poland announced.

  “How do you know?” Marlayne asked.

  “See there, those willows,” Poland answered and pointed. “They grow near water. Won’t be long before we run across it.”

  Scar was impressed with the old man’s knowledge. Only moments later, they did come across a pond, though it looked as if the shallow water had only gathered that day. The area was a small clearing where peat had accumulated. A few willows lined the surroundings. Apparently the ground held too much water for hardwoods and since the whole area was lower than the surroundings, rains always gathered there first.