The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (11 page)

“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.

Labolas didn’t reply. He instead shrugged
indifferently while watching Shinji leap off the bench. The bandit
leader was still laughing at Relthys when the Nagishman ripped off
his travel cloak in one swift maneuver. Shinji revealed his white,
ghi pants, wooden sandals, and a long, curved sword held in a
shiny, black scabbard made of wood. The sword’s guard was round,
and the long handle was wrapped in decorative, blue cloth.

“The water worshiper wants to play?” the
bandit grinned.

In less than a second, the blonde haired
warrior was a flurry of limbs. Shinji had darted up to the bandit,
stepped his right foot way out in front of himself and drew his
blade from the glossy, black scabbard in a manner that drove the
pommel straight in the bandit’s abdomen. As the bandit reeled,
Shinji sheathed his blade, threw a back fist with that same hand as
though it sprung right off the sword, and delivered a jumping kick
into the chin of the loudmouth. When the bandit leader fell back in
astonishment—the pain from the heel of the wooden sandal was
incredible—all Hell broke loose; everyone attacked the cart.

Shinji managed to cut in front of two sweaty
men before they reached the wagon. He swept out the feet from one
man and leaned into him, which forced him to crash into his bandit
compatriot. Though they tumbled over unharmed, another bandit
waving a hatchet dashed at Relthys, who had only just come to his
feet. Before the Nagish warrior could intervene, Scar propelled
himself from the cart ready to earn his keep. His massive body
collided, elbow first, with the would-be attacker. The collision
sent Relthys reeling and back onto his bottom.

While Shinji slashed his elegant and slightly
curved bade in arcs, and Scar threw fists and big boots, Labolas
calmly held out his left hand by his hip, took a long inhalation,
and released it. The steel bracer clasped over his left wrist
gently vibrated.

It was evident the bandits were outclassed
and outmatched. Shinji and Scar had already felled three men. The
four that remained eyed their leader. The brigand finally stood up,
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat at the
ground.

“You think you’re tough, eh?” The bandit
leader growled. “I’ll show the lot of you…the might of
Kulshedra!”

After yelling, he ran towards Shinji and
Scar. Steel rings from the tops of his boots peeled away and folded
back on to his calves and over his knees, but as the warriors
steeled themselves, pink feathers suddenly appeared against the
bandit’s throat. The man gurgled, choked, and stumbled about. An
arrow was protruding from the back of the man’s neck. Both Shinji
and Scar turned to the cart. Labolas had fired one arrow and had
another nocked.

Quick as lightning, the Captain of the Legion
of Archers released two more arrows. The bandit opportunists turned
tail to run, but Labolas felled one more. He then eyed Scar with a
stern countenance.

“Tell me, Brandt,” Labolas demanded. “With
seven bandits dead, do we let the last one run for his life or do
we cut him down without mercy?”

Scar scrutinized the man in the wagon. Plated
armor had appeared over his left shoulder, down his elbow, and over
his hand. Between the advanced weaponry and commanding grace, the
prospective king wasn’t sure what to make of him. Labolas, the
captain, was a demanding man of war.

Scar turned to look at the fleeing bandit; he
was little more than a speck on the chaparral. “What separates us
from bandits is mercy, no?”

“Perhaps…perhaps that is so, but will you
show everyone mercy?”

“I will let my heart decide.”

“That, my friend, is a redeemable
answer.”

Labolas set down his bow and closed his eyes
to relax. Scar witnessed the archer’s armor vibrate, grow blurry,
and then the steel plates folded into each other down to his elbow
where tiny, steel scales rolled around the back of the arm and out
of sight. The gauntlet over Labolas’s hand also retreated towards
the wrist until all that remained was a simple, steel bracer.

After that display, Scar turned to Shinji,
who was wriggling back into his cloak. The Nagish warrior helped
Relthys to his feet. With an inhalation to steady his nerves, the
mercenary eyed his surroundings, hoping for a clue regarding the
bandit’s base of operation.

“I can’t believe you let that confounded man
run away,” Relthys suddenly accosted them.

“Calm yourself, old man, lest you become
reacquainted with the ground,” Scar joked.