The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (14 page)

“Just get it done!” Labolas yelled and
marched out.

Scar followed him out into the streets. A
cloud of dust whooshed by, the whisper of the wind its propelling
force. Grumbles of total exasperation echoed from both men. Guards
slowly rode their camels in the vicinity.

“I don’t like it here,” Scar complained.

Labolas’s head shook quickly and tightly for
a moment. He was arriving at his breaking point, but took a breath
of cool air and resigned himself, again, to whatever was
required.

“We should find lodging. I doubt anything is
going to be resolved tonight,” the archer finally suggested.

Scar was not tired, aggravated certainly, but
not in the mood for sleep. Labolas was totally exhausted,
practically unable to keep his eyes open. He blinked a great deal
and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. As they started to
walk, the archer’s stomach gave a vehement protest.

“Bullocks, I’m starved,” he said.

“Aren’t you supposed to meet someone in the
mess hall anyway?”

“Ergh, yes. I suppose it can’t wait.”

“Why so reticent?”

Labolas did not reply, but turned abruptly
and started trudging across town. Scar followed, and the two passed
more guards on foot, some other citizens of Eresh—mostly Kulshedran
families, but also some Gyosh in colorful robes—and a scant few
guards on camel back. The torch lights made shadows dance over all
the buildings. From shrubs and cacti to benches and crates, all
kinds of irregular shapes were cast in blackness on the
surroundings.

As they approached the mess hall, Scar noted
that it was not a building proper. It had a back wall, but the roof
was an enormous, cloth drape held in place by several, tall posts.
Lanterns placed low on many of the posts provided enough light to
see all the tables and chairs under the large cover.

Chatter rang from the mess hall. The
citizenry were gathered to eat and discuss trivial concerns. It was
late, but not so late that everyone was in bed. Upon entering, Scar
noticed a grizzled individual sitting alone with a stone pipe
smoldering from between his lips. For a Kulshedran, he was big,
like the bandit they had fought too recently, and old without being
feeble. The man maintained a fierce gaze on Scar, which enticed him
to stop in his tracks. Labolas continued walking to the kitchen
area built into the back wall. The cooks were quick to assist
him.

As was customary whenever the mercenary made
an appearance, the people in his vicinity grew quiet and started to
stare. He didn’t give them any attention. There was something
consuming about the old man instead. Before too long, the grizzled
man looked away, but obviously not out of submission; he was busy
perusing some parchments spread out all over the long table.
Suddenly a voice jolted Scar.

“Brandt,” Labolas called, “I see you’ve made
note of the general.”

He turned and asked, “That’s him? I can see
now why you were hesitant to sit with him. He looks experienced,
but then I’d wager a good general must be.”

“Let’s do this,” Labolas ordered and marched
for the table while carrying a tray with meats, vegetables, and
drinks.

Without so much as an introduction, Labolas
pulled out a chair and sat down. He ordered Scar to do the same
with an imperative glance. He obliged. It was a moment yet before
the general acknowledged their presence.

“Captain,” the imposing man said.

“Sir.”

The man frowned; it was as though his hard
countenance could do little else. Thin scars creased his left
cheek. His bronze skin was exceptionally dark, and though he was
covered by a green doublet, which poorly concealed a breastplate,
his forearms showed as massive and gnarled. His knotty fingers
rolled up a parchment, and he pushed more out of the way before
removing the pipe from his mouth to speak.

“Did you procure rides to Tironis?” he
asked.

Scar was impressed that the man already knew
about their doings in town. Labolas vacillated by taking a breath
and then pouring water from a pitcher into cups before
replying.

“Everything’s being taken care of, Sir.”

“And this is the one, eh?” the general
asked.

He stood up from his chair. When he did, Scar
noted the man wore riding leathers, and his steel boots had spurs.
He made
tink
sounds as he rounded the table and stood before
the mercenary.

“Doesn’t look like much of a king to me,” he
said while scrutinizing Scar.

The old man did not have a harsh voice, but
his firm yet patient tone was that of a man who has experienced
every facet of the field of battle. There was no hurry in his
assertions, yet there was little room for dispute.

“Neither here nor there, Sir. Gilgamesh
believes he is the one,” Labolas interjected.

“Sir,” Scar started. “If it were not for the
promise of a revelation regarding who I am, I would not even be
entertaining this premise, so I can understand why you might think
I’m not much of a king, but with all due respect, I don’t
care.”

The general nodded a bit then let curls of
smoke out of his mouth adding a gesture of disregard by flicking
his wrist. A flash of recognition then hit the mercenary; the old
man and Labolas shared certain features; high cheek bones, broad
chin, the angle of the nose. He squinted at Labolas. The archer was
involved in devouring a chicken leg. Once the general plopped down,
he gave all his attention to the Captain.

“How’s your mother?”

“Fine.”

“When is the last time you saw her?”

“When I left Tironis, Sir,” Labolas huffed.
“It always amazes that you can find a way to finagle information
about all the comings and goings of everyone in Tiamhaal, and yet
you don’t realize that the last time I saw Mom was when you gave me
the orders to go get Brandt.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy,” the
general admonished. “You’re not too old to bend over my knee.”

“I knew it!” Scar exclaimed jubilantly. “He’s
your dad!”

Scar almost laughed himself out of his
chair.

“You shut your mouth, ghost,” Labolas
retorted. “One day you might come face to face with your dad. Then
what?”

General Sulas chuckled before returning to
questions. “So, your mother is doing well?”

“She’s fine, Sir. You should visit more
often.”

“I can’t,” he sighed and looked off into the
streets. “Have you two had any difficulty besides Lovenhaad and the
bandits?”

“Not really. Everything was actually
progressing quite smoothly. While Brandt has absolutely no idea who
he is, he is more than willing to comply. Zoltek did not poison his
mind, but had only cajoled him with false promises. Brandt
understands that Gilgamesh is the only one with access to
truth.”

“Yes,” the General agreed. “Indeed, it is
only our fair ruler who can speak to Kulshedra.”

Scar smiled. He was not about to get involved
in more useless questions about why only one man could speak to
God. Instead, he simply remained amicable while thoughts of
paladins all speaking to their God made more sense than some random
individual being the sole bridge between the creator of life and
the citizenry.

“I do hope Gilgamesh can shed some light on
my history,” the mercenary whispered.

“I promise, boy, you will know soon enough,”
General Sulas consoled. “Now,” he redirected his attention to
Labolas who was devouring a carrot like a starved horse. “We must
talk about the Zmajan operators in Malababwe.”

“What is Zoltek up to now?” Labolas asked as
he leaned into the table on his elbows.

“Did you know that N’Giwah found a secret
path into Alduheim?” the General asked in a low whisper.

Scar maintained his gaze between both men.
If I keep my mouth shut, I might learn something here,
he
thought. Hushed tones and looks of concern passed between father
and son as they continued their conversation.

“What does that mean for us?” Labolas
asked.

“Well,” the General started and eased back
with a frown. He puffed on his pipe. “I’ve never seen Malababwe
make any kind of advancement on any tribe. Jagongo and her
predecessors have always been neutral, to a fault in fact, and my
information on current events coincides with this, but I don’t know
enough about her agent, N’Giwah, to be certain of anything yet.
They may just be exploring. Alduheim is said to hold many secrets,
and since it has been occupied by Khmeran forces for so long, there
is no way for us to know with certainty what any of those secrets
are. Besides, our only access to Alduheim has ever been by way of
Malababwe, discounting skirmishes with Khmeran forces on the
border.”

“You said there were Zmajan operators,
though.”

“Yes, and that is what troubles me. I believe
they are relaying information back to Zoltek. You’ve no doubt
noticed how often the name of Alduheim is on the tongues of rulers
these days. There is something large in the works, and that
castle,” he trailed off and looked at Scar. “And this man are
certainly of prime importance. Zoltek had already tried to use him.
Unfortunately, or fortunately for us that is, Zoltek is a madman
willing to slay anyone who shows the slightest bit of an open mind,
a free will.”

“What do you know about the operators?”

“They are but a group of five. Two men and
three women. They have been moving circles around Alduheim through
Satrone, Zetsuru, Nabalhi, and now Malababwe. I have reason to
believe that they will mount an attack on N’Giwah’s forces.”

“Unbelievable that the Zmajan operators made
it as far as they did, and stranger yet that they did not move
either through Eltanrof or Jinshuke.”

“Why would they do so?” Scar interrupted.

“Because Usaj is a peninsula,” Labolas
replied. “To move on foot through Satrone is a dangerous maneuver
for them…or rather it should have been.”

“This group of Zmajans went unnoticed then?
For how long?” Scar asked.

“Oh no, Brandt,” the General answered. “They
were certainly noticed. I made certain that my own men kept an eye
on them, at least while they were in Satrone. I needed to know who
they were and where they were going.”

“What did you find?” Scar asked.

“That’s immaterial at the moment. What you
are going to concern yourself with, Labolas, is learning what you
can about N’Giwah.”

Labolas interrupted his father, saying, “But
I have orders to bring Brandt to Gilgamesh.”

“That’s your primary objective, of course,”
the general barked. “Once he is in Tironis, there will be no
problem, but you will not be staying. You will venture into
Jagongo’s territory without delay and see what N’Giwah has found in
Alduheim. You will also make an effort to stop Zoltek’s men if you
have the opportunity.”

The captain sighed in exasperation. He rubbed
his eyes and took a sip of water; fatigue was setting in, and the
old man was making him irritable.

“I don’t care for these clandestine
operations, Sir. I have work to do for Gilgamesh.”

“You leave Gilgamesh to me,” the general
ordered. “You’ll do as I say so long as I live and breathe. Now,
the Nagish have been hitting the Khmerans through Dosvetyulia, and
the Dracos and Gyosh are still squabbling over borders, but Donovan
has agreed to assist in mounting an attack against Khmeran forces
in Alduheim.”

“So the Dracos have enough men to aid us?”
Labolas asked.

“Yes, but don’t expect to see aid from
Balroa.”

“I never do…our alliance is weak at best, and
I’ve always suspected that Sirokai is helping Sahni.”

Scar interjected again, saying, “You will
have to educate me on who all these people are at some point.”

“Certainly,” Labolas smiled. “Though I may
have to do so less thoroughly than I had planned if I am to be
called away from duties…again.”

“Yes, well,” General Sulas started. “You
won’t be alone. Maranjo. Hachi. Come out.”

Two men suddenly emerged from the shadows in
such an overt manner that it made Scar’s stomach churn. How those
two had been so perfectly concealed the entire time was a mystery
to him.

“These are two of my finest,” the general
said. “Maranjo of Malababwe and Hachi of Qing-Sho. They are at your
disposal.” He then addressed the two mystery men. “You two will
guard my son as though he were myself. Understood?”

“Yes, General,” they said in unison.

Under scrutiny, the men were dressed for
stealth. They wore dark clothing, held no weapons to be seen, and
they only carried a few pouches cinched to belts about their
wastes. Both of them even wore black gloves and soft black boots.
The Malababwen’s skin was the color of chocolate and beautiful
green patterns adorned what little of his skin was revealed- his
neck, collarbone, and concentric triangles around his left eye. The
Bakunawan was silvery with light eyebrows and light eyes. His eyes
almost shined; there was a bit of a glow about them, but as soon as
Scar focused on that detail, they paled. Both men wore cloths on
their heads, which hid their hair.

“We are all to ride to Tironis then?” Labolas
asked.

“That is correct. Rest for the night, but set
out before the morning sun,” his father answered.

“That only gives me about four hours,” the
archer complained.

“Then that is four hours you should spend
asleep.”

“A pleasure as always, Father.”

The general smiled and remained quiet for a
moment. An air mischief played on his countenance. After an
awkwardly long moment during which Scar observed everyone, General
Sulas dismissed them. The four men, with Scar trailing behind, left
the elder to his devices in order to find lodging for the
night.

The crew passed a handful of smaller
buildings towards the outer edge of town and eventually moved off
the carved path. Lodging came in the way of a small shack on the
outskirts of Eresh where the general’s men had stored their
supplies. It was modest but clean, had only one window facing the
south, and was one of only a handful of wooden structures.