by Aaron Dennis
“It is possible,” Scar started, but stopped for a second to reclaim his train of thought. He made a smacking sound with his lips before continuing. “It is possible that he wanted to make sure you lived, perhaps just to keep you away from Satrone….”
“I don’t know. What purpose would that serve?”
“You get to live without being caught up in these dreadful wars.”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, a normal life with Ylithia?”
“After I met her, yes…before I met her, I just wanted to know who I was. You were right, you know, you said it didn’t matter who I was, only who I wanted to be. Shamara had said as much. I wanted to be a husband, but that has been stolen from me, and now neither kings nor Dragons will have a moment’s rest. Scar is coming.”
“You’ve given me some peace of mind by providing the possibility that my father really does love me. Let me do you the same. Don’t let these Dragons turn you into a cold blooded killer. That isn’t who you are, that much I know.”
They grew silent. Labolas eventually fell asleep. Scar beheld the sun emerge from the sea. Waves of orange radiance washed over the entire horizon then exploded into a brilliant yellow. It was a beautiful sight.
Later on, after the other two awoke, and Valiant took the sails again, Scar asked Labolas—in hushed whispers—what he knew about the others from his former party.
“Nothing, really. Marlayne is under the direct protection of Longinus. He’s a smart man, but she’s a shrewd woman. If she doesn’t feel he’s up to believing her stories of Alduheim, she’ll keep her lips shut. N’Giwah may have persuaded more Tiamatish into the castle. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Jagongo started some kind of anti Dragon movement, but then again, being Tiamatish, she might keep it to herself. That just leaves Borta, and literally no one knows where he vanished to. He supposedly took a ship back to Balroa and that’s the end of it.”
“What about the other countries? Have they reorganized their allegiances?” Scar asked.
“Doubtful,” Labolas answered while tying his hair back. “Hashnora has no reason to break ties with Gilgamesh, but he may well be supporting Sahni for unknown reasons. I think it’s likely that more of the rulers know now that something important was discovered in Alduheim. If we don’t act soon, they’re going to destroy themselves.”
“They need ta’ talk it out,” Valiant chimed in. “Nothin’ ever gets solved with a blade.”
“Want to bet?” Scar asked.
“Eh…after revenge is an empty feelin’, I tells ya’.”
“I guess I should talk to my lover’s killers,” Scar scoffed.
“Nope, some men need a killin’, but that’s fer personal reasons. When it comes ta’ kings and countries, someone’s gotta be the mediator, and ain’t no one better’n Longinus…’cept maybe his dad, but he’s dead now.”
Labolas shook his head before restarting the conversation about the rulers and Alduheim. “What I was trying to say is that everyone is going to send legions into Alduheim. They’ll fight each other, betray each other, or worse, they’ll see what you and I have seen…the countries might implode,” Labolas explained.
“Would that be so bad?” Scar asked.
“I think yes,” he answered. “Something like this has to be handled with tact.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” the mercenary jeered.
“I sure hope so,” the archer sighed.
Four more days of arguing with Captain Valiant passed on with excruciating deliberation. He was a halfcocked old coot, but he had lived a long time and witnessed many trials from the neutral standpoint of Fafnirians. Upon examining the situation, Scar found it odd that some of the Dragons, Fafnir and Tiamat particularly, didn’t send their followers to war. How do they increase their powers? He wondered, but there was no way to know.
One morning, while Labolas yelled at the old man for pooping over the side of the vessel in the middle of conversation, Scar saw the mountains of Eltanrof looming in the distance. They were almost opaque against the blue sky sprawling out over the northern horizon. They had sailed for almost five long days, and Aldurstun, Valiant had said, was only hours away.
“Wipe your arse and point me in the right direction,” Scar snipped.
“Hold your horses, now,” the old man laughed.
He then corrected Scar’s course and told him to let the current pull them around the southern edge of Eltanrof. Three hours later, just after the sun shone down on them from directly overhead, dark specks manifested in the horizon.
“That’s it, over there,” Valiant said pointing. “Current’ll do most o’ the work, now. When I tells ya’, ya’ll get the paddles an’ I’ll roll the sail up.”
“At long last, we’ll be rid of this crazed codger,” Labolas joked.
“Not until ya’ give me my payment,” he replied with a firm finger.
“Right…hoped you’d forgotten.”
Labolas got the captain’s second payment ready. By the time other vessels grew visible at the docks in the distance, Valiant rolled up the sails and the warriors started paddling. Another hour later and they were securing rigging to cleats in Aldurstun, a bustling port city with irate Dracos eyeing their new arrivals.
The Kulshedran kept his cowl back to present the idea of peace; they were still allies after all. Mostly, they eyed Scar, or at least his amazing armor.
“Last time they looked at me with covetous eyes I had to kill fifty of them,” Scar remarked.
“Don’t kill anybody here. We still need to procure rides to River Rock,” Labolas instructed.
“Head ta’ The Broken Barrel,” Valiant said. “You’ll find what ya’ need there.”
“A tavern?” Scar asked.
“Yep, matter of fact, if’n ya’ follow me, I’m headed there myself.”
“You’re not going home?” Labolas asked.
“Hell no,” the old man yelled. “I jus’ sailed for five days. Need ta’ get my land legs back!”
He laughed uproariously at his own comment. They looked at him askewed, but said nothing. Passing freckled dock workers in kilts, the newcomers braved the chilly, packed, dirt roads of Aldurstun to the tavern. The layout was reminiscent of pretty much any tavern; stools at the bar filled by boisterous men, chairs and tables where families enjoyed food, a warm fire at the center like the one at the longhouse west of Oros. Apart from the rounded Draco rooves, which looked like overturned boats, the environment was similar to every other city outside of Usaj.
“Get some food, I’ll find horses somewhere,” Labolas stated and went off to mingle.
Valiant gave Scar a big smile. He ordered scotch and began the arduous process of reclaiming his land legs.
“Ain’t you supposed to be the King of Alduheim?” the barkeeper, a rough and tumble Draco with unkempt, red hair, asked.
“Was supposed to be,” Scar answered dryly.
“Drown your sorrows with this,” the man said and poured him a scotch, too.
Scar nodded and gulped it down. As he paid for another drink, Labolas returned to his side.
“We can borrow horses for a small fee provided someone in River Rock returns them by the week’s end,” he said.
“How do we manage that?”
Labolas flicked his wrist implying it was of little matter. “We just need to ride out as soon as possible.”
“I’m ready now.”
“Me too,” he agreed. “Old codger, it’s been fun. Don’t get yourself killed.”
“Ya’ boys be careful,” Valiant said with a raised glass.
The travelers left the pub. Scar followed Labolas to the stables, nodding his head to those who stared a bit too long for comfort. The wicked sight of a giant, scarred man in black leathers with antlers on his head was sufficient to dissuade any comment even from Dracos. Upon arriving at the stables, Labolas asked for someone called McCormick. An old man with a limp acknowledged his name and approached.
“What can I do fo
r you?” he asked while stomping horse crap off his boot.
“Hennessey said I could rent horses for five coins each if I have them back by the week’s end,” Labolas replied hurriedly.
“Why should I trust you? You’re not Hennessey, are you,” the man argued.
“I’m just trying to get to River Rock to see Artimis.”
“Artimis?” McCormick exclaimed before bursting out into such a fit of laughter he had to sit down. “Wha-what’re you friends with that maniac for?”
“Does it matter? If you know him then you know you can trust me,” Labolas answered.
“I’d better not be getting these horses back with wings or rudders hitched to their arses,” McCormick warned. A look of confusion washed over Scar’s face. “Let me saddle up two of the, eh, cheaper ones.”
“Cheap means fussy,” Labolas told Scar.
“Wings and rudders?” he asked.
Labolas crinkled his face with a dismissive frown while McCormick yelled at an adolescent to ready Striker and Faragus. The boy argued that they weren’t ready for a ride out to River Rock, and McCormick threatened him with a belt he wasn’t wearing.
“Eh, never mind my grandson…he takes after his mother,” McCormick joked.
“She’s honest?” Labolas asked.
McCormick laughed again, but neglected to reply. The travelers paid their dues and mounted the horses, which kept skirting about until the men were securely seated. With no more time to waste, Scar and Labolas thanked the Draco before riding out of town to the north.
By sunset, they had ridden alongside an extent of the peat, which had accumulated over centuries of the nearby river’s cresting. The woody settlement had little choice but to flow downhill towards the coast. Under a darkening sky, they reached the River Barness and followed it over rocky hills into the aptly named town of River Rock.
Instead of riding into town, Labolas edged it, occasionally leaping over slat fences, and scaring the sheep of farm owners. With each jump, Scar grew more and more nervous about his mount. The fussy horse kept stopping at each fence, backing up a few paces then turning a circle before actually clearing the wood.
“What are we doing?” he finally demanded.
“Oh, uh…Artimis doesn’t actually live in town.”
“He’s a farmer?”
“No,” Labolas trailed off.
“Well, what the Hell is going on? How is this man supposed to get us into Tironis anyway?”
“You’ll see…that’s his house over there,” Labolas said pointing.
Scar squinted. There appeared to be a large barn built into a clearing, but still surrounded by cypresses. A few torches glowed, but from the distance, it could have been anything.
“Whatever, I’m just relieved we’re finally here,” Scar huffed. “Do we rest here tonight?”
“Probably. If I know Artimis, and I do, he’ll want to know what all we’ve got planned.”
“Will he be joining us?”
“So to speak.”
“What does that mean?” Scar grumbled.
“You’ll see.”
“Stop saying that!”
They rode beyond the thin wall of cypress trees at a slow pace to keep the horses from accidently tripping over the knees protruding from the muddy ground. Only hundreds of yards closer was a definite, sloppy trail leading up to the barn where they dismounted and tied their horses to posts by the broad side of the building. Dogs announced their arrival with incessant barking.
“Shut up!” someone yelled. “Shut up, you stupid mutts.”
A Draco in a kilt and white tunic with black smudges all over it appeared from the barn, a torch in one hand. He was trying to wipe more smudges from his face with a rather dirty cloth. Brown locks danced about his chin as he cleaned himself.
“Labolas?” he asked after cleaning one eye.
“Artimis.”
“Labolas, you stupid, Kulshedran, goat lover,” Artimis cheered.
When the rotund Draco gave the archer a big, bear hug that nearly lit his cloak on fire, Scar said, “He seems friendly.”
“And who’s this? Your new boyfriend?” Artimis joked.
“Ah, look,” Scar started, but the man gave him a hug, too.
“I kid, I kid,” the Draco laughed. “I know who you are.”
“I’m not the King of Alduheim, I’m just a man trying to get to Tironis,” Scar interrupted.
“No, that’s fine, that’s fine,” Artimis said. He then paused to look over his old Kulshedran friend. “What happened to your face?” Before Labolas answered, Artimis marveled at Scar’s armor. “Slibinish, am I right?”
“Sort of,” Scar said. “Look– ”
Artimis waved him off, gave a shrug of indifference then invited them inside the barn for a drink and a story. He threw a pot over a fire, poured scotch into wooden cups, kicked a dog away, and pulled some crates for them sit down for a degree of comfort. Scar noted the barn’s full interior was separated by enormous double doors. The area they were occupying looked to be less than a third of the entire space.
“So, tell me what’s brought you way out here,” Artimis pressed.
“It’s a long story,” Labolas started.
“Those are the good kinds,” the Draco announced and motioned for him to go on.
As Labolas gave him scant details about what was really going on, Artimis lit a few yuclid gas lamps, which Scar found odd since they were in Eltanrof. Labolas continued his elucidation implying that both he and Scar had been tricked by Gilgamesh; they had been sent to their deaths. Furthermore, Gilgamesh had dispatched men to execute Scar after he settled down with his lover in Closicus, and unfortunately that had cost the young woman her life.
Artimis frowned at that, saying he understood too well the death of a lover. The Draco even gasped then shook his head in dismay when he heard of the Kulshedran soldiers’ executions in the name of heresy, and finally laughed when Labolas told him point blank it was up to him to get them into Tironis unnoticed.
“Well I don’t know about unnoticed, but certainly I can get you in without any opposition,” Artimis claimed.
“How?” Scar demanded.
The Draco nodded slowly, heaved himself from the crate, wandered over to the double doors, unhooked their securing pins from the ground, removed the wooden bar that kept them together, and pulled them open. Behind the doors was an odd monstrosity. The bottom portion of the vessel wasn’t unlike a boat, only it was deeper and required a rope ladder for entry. Above the wooden vessel, secured to the structure by an enormous net of ropes, was an oblong construct of mixed hides all stitched together. It was then that Scar noticed the vessel wasn’t sitting on the ground. It was floating and was tethered to wooden posts.
“What in blazes is that?” Scar asked slack jawed.
“That, ole’ boy, is my dirigible,” Artimis beamed.
“What’s a dirigible?”
“A flying contraption,” Labolas answered.
Scar crinkled his face implying the Kulshedran had lost his marbles, and added, “Birds fly…Hell, Dragons fly. That, that, that thing can’t fly.”
“Oh, but it does, lad,” Artimis corrected.
“Alright, so wait, you’re telling me we’re going to fly to Tironis?” Scar was incredulous.
“I told you, you’d see,” Labolas smiled.
Scar shook his head and stammered, “But how, I-I mean. This,” he laughed nervously and pointed. “I’m not flying.”
“Why? It’s quick, and we can literally drop in unannounced,” Labolas offered.
“We can ride in on horses,” Scar argued.
“The Kulshedrans’ll want you dead. Too much fighting,” Artimis protested.
“We can get there in just over a day with this thing,” Labolas added.
Scar laughed from shock. Artimis made fun of his panicky expression with over dramatic mimicry.
“This is the best way, otherwise we risk dying before we get there,” Labolas advised.<
br />
“They can’t kill me,” Scar argued.
“Maybe not,” Artimis resigned.
“Do you want to kill every Kulshedran following bad orders? This isn’t their fault, and I won’t be a part of that,” Labolas asserted.
Scar nodded, saying, “No, you’re right…but, but, but flying?”
“Aye, laddie,” Artimis grinned.
Chapter Twenty-Three- Guests of honor
It had taken a while for Scar to agree to a flight over Eltanrof and into Tironis. Prior to actually climbing the ladder into the keel, the mercenary demanded a rudimentary understanding of how the vessel worked. Labolas argued they had little time, so Artimis agreed to explain as he readied the craft for the trip.
First, he opened the retractable doors that acted as a roof over the barn. They were held in place by pulleys and were actually constructed of several wooden boards like immense shutters. Once they peeled away, the moon shone directly into the barn better illuminating the dirigible.
“It’s actually quite simple,” Artimis started.
“It doesn’t look simple,” Scar interrupted.
“It is,” the Draco maintained. “The hides hold a gas that is lighter than air. Those kinds of gasses, like steam, float.”
“Steam is hot,” the mercenary interrupted again. “How will it stay hot in the cold winds?”
“This isn’t steam, mate,” Artimis explained while checking the ropes tied to cleats built into the barn’s loadbearing posts. The ropes were in fact two lengths secured by way of steel clamps ran through I-loops in the adjoining ropes. “This is artred gas, and before you ask, it’s extracted from special ores mined in Balroa.”
“Scultonians have many of these dirigibles?” Scar asked.
“No, and stop interrupting,” Artimis laughed, but Scar was too nervous. His arms and legs trembled as he started to climb the rope ladder. Labolas laughed at him. Finally Artimis resumed his elucidation. “What I was saying was that the gas is extracted from heating the ores and held in place by these hides. Once it’s sufficiently inflated, the bottom flap can be secured into place. See the laces above you? The gas doesn’t escape because it wants to float, not fall out.”