The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (22 page)

Eventually, they veered north, away from the
river, and back into thicker growth. Before too long, they came
across a clearing where tracks of men were blatant. The area had
served at one time as campgrounds, but had long been left
untouched. Only a gray mound of ashy dirt remained at the center of
the clearing. Some of the stumps had likely functioned as
rudimentary seats. The surrounding trees were notched with
initials.

“Should we stop here to catch our wits?”
Leera asked.

“No,” Poland sighed. “Best to push on. We can
rest a moment when we reach the higher elevation.”

“And when will that be?” Illner, a sword
maiden, demanded.

“Calm yourself, woman,” Rauls admonished.
“Let’s just push forward.”

“And who put you in charge?” she fired
back.

“He’s right,” Scar stated. “And Poland has
already declared we move on.”

Illner winced in displeasure. The hard
looking woman was a fiery warrior and had little patience to spare.
She smacked her lips in disapproval, but said nothing else.

It took some doing, and more cutting through
vines on foot before the ground slowly ascended. After a while
longer, they were able to mount their horses, so long as they rode
extra carefully. The bugs had not lessened. Sounds of open palms
slapping skin echoed in the dim glow of smoldering torches.

Some of the riders yawned and stretched their
weary limbs. Others relaxed forward to lay their heads on their
folded fingers still trying to steer the horses. It was not an
overly lengthy ride from that point to the outer edge of the thick
jungle of Malababwe. The predawn twilight gleamed through a then
sparse canopy; hardwoods like oaks were interspersed with some of
the softer trees that bore oranges, lemons, and grapefruits.

“We should be almost there,” Poland said.
“See here, some of these old, gray rocks are an indication that we
have crossed into Alduheim.”

Scar scrutinized the environment. Green
grasses covered the soft ground. A handful of massive, aged oaks
thick with moss loomed around them.
This is my home?
He was
uncertain. A nagging visceral feeling told him otherwise. He
frowned to himself.
I thought somehow I’d feel it…I’d know that
I was truly home, but this? Perhaps home is not where one is from,
but where one settles down, yet I hunger for answers.
His heart
accelerated with anticipation. Scar wanted to lay eyes upon the
castle before giving in to assumptions.

Once there was ample light from the morning
sun, those who carried torches snuffed them out. A formation of
big, gray rocks grew visible in the distance. Poland quickened his
mount, so the others followed suit.

“What is it?” Marlayne asked.

“I think we have arrived. I was told the
Tiamatish explorers found their passage into Alduheim while mapping
an area of large boulders just outside the jungle. This would seem
to be the spot,” Poland surmised.

“I thought we had time to rest before
arriving at our destination,” Scar nagged.

They trotted onward quickly without coming to
a full gallop when Poland answered, “Seems we made it early.”

Scar shrugged indifferently. The stones were
in fact quite massive and covered the extensive landscape. After
rounding one particularly huge boulder, they spotted wooden shacks.
The figures of dark men appeared and disappeared behind the shacks
before reappearing.

“Ho!” Poland yelled out.

The Tiamatish people froze on the spot and
peered at the riders before hollering and scattering. By the time
Scar and his riders were amidst the rudimentary settlement, they
were greeted by angry warriors carrying javelins and long, oval,
wooden shields. Bright green patterns graced chocolate skin and
burning eyes glared over flared nostrils and bared teeth. Some of
them had daggers and axes carved of bone laced up in their leather
belts.

“Peace, Tiamatish explores,” Poland begged as
he slowed. “Where is N’Giwah? We have ridden long to meet with
him.”

The formation of Tiamatish warriors did not
relax and uneasy glances passed between Scar’s troops.

“You ambush us and then demand an audience
with our leader?” a tall, sinewy woman asked. “Who are you
people?”

“Easy,” Scar said raising an open palm.
“Where is Captain Sulas? Has he not been here? N’Giwah should have
mentioned our arrival…you are the explorers, no?”

The woman clad in leather bustier and short
skirt looked back to her squadron before returning her steely leer
onto Scar. “I do not know of what you speak. Who are you, and what
are you doing here?”

The Tiamatish people gleamed with sweat in
the sunlight. It was not a warm morning, but their battle lust had
their hearts pumping. Scar raised an eyebrow in wonder before
turning to Poland.

“Eh,” Poland vacillated. “I am Poland,
strategist to King Gilgamesh of Satrone and I ride with Brandt,
King of Alduheim.”

“You are mad, man,” the woman hollered. She
pointed her javelin at Scar. “This one you think is King of
Alduheim? There are no people there. You have ridden under the sun
too long. Go back to your country.”

“I don’t think they know anything about us,”
Scar commented.

Poland replied by giving him a look
indicating he was exerting the last ounce of his patience. “Are you
with N’Giwah or not?” the old man demanded of the explorers.

“What difference is it? Go or face our
wrath,” the woman declared.

“I thought your people were calm and neutral
in the matters of war,” Scar said sarcastically.

“Peace, King,” Marlayne said and rode beyond
him and Poland. “I am Marlayne, a scholar from Closicus. What has
all of you on edge? We are not here to fight…obviously.”

“I don’t know you,” the woman scowled. “And
we are none of us calm when a contingent of foreign riders sneak
upon us.”

“Dammit, woman!” Scar intervened and hopped
of his horse. The Tiamatish warrior tensed and pulled back to throw
her weapon. “I am Brandt and have ridden from Tironis to seek
council with N’Giwah. Now, for the last time, is he here?”

“I am here,” a man who was inconspicuously
leaning against a post supporting a shack roof said.

All eyes turned to the tall man’s profile. He
was graced by little green and the brown leather leggings he wore
covered lanky legs. With his arms folded over his chiseled chest,
his head down, and one leg bent over the other, he slowly turned to
face Scar. N’Giwah had a shaved head except for a thin, short strip
which ran all the way from the top of his forehead to the base of
his skull.

“Then, please,” Poland said. “Let us speak
civilly.”

The Tiamatish man looked to his people and
gave a nearly imperceptible nod. They all relaxed at once. Then he
slowly approached Scar and took a long breath, letting his black
eyes meet the mercenary’s.

“If I do not like what you have to say, you
will take your soldiers and go,” N’Giwah warned with a surprisingly
calm demeanor. “Otherwise, you face the anger of a scorned
people.”

“I hear you,” Scar answered. “Let me start by
saying that we are here only under the friendliest of
intentions.”

“Yet you ride with fearsome warriors,”
N’Giwah interrupted. “You look like Special Forces to me.”

“You can say that if you wish, and you would
not be wrong.” Scar admitted. “But I can only give you my word that
we are not here to fight with you. I was under the impression that
Captain Sulas had already met with you.”

“I do not know this man.”

“Has no one from Satrone arrived before
us?”

“No.”

Scar blinked. He was taken aback and wondered
what issue may have arisen.
We could not have possibly arrived
here first if Labolas set out before me and took a direct route
from Tironis.
He stared at N’Giwah. The man appeared
genuine.

“Then, then I apologize for seemingly
blindsiding you.”

He looked to Poland for assistance and was
wondering how much of their mission to divulge. Poland nodded
before laboriously dismounting.

“Allow me to speak for King Gilgamesh,” he
said while hobbling nearer.

“Alright,” N’Giwah consented. “What say you
for your king?”

“Word has come to his attention that you have
discovered a new passageway into Alduheim.”

“What of it,” N’Giwah interrupted.

“We wish to assist in the exploration. No
doubt if we know about your efforts, so do the Khmerans.”

“And?”

“Surely they will attack you.”

“Like the Kulshedrans.”

“No,” Poland said slightly insulted.

“Yes, they have attacked us on more than one
occasion. All of you people are bloodthirsty and we will bear it no
longer.”

“I, eh, b-but,” Poland stammered.

“Peace, old man,” Scar said. “I would know
about these attacks.”

N’Giwah gauged the man before him by slowly
looking him up and down. He narrowed his eyes and took a step
forward.

“You are King of the dead people?”

“That is what they tell me,” Scar answered
slowly and despondently.

“That is what who tells you?”

“The Kulshedrans.”

“Maybe they are lying to you.”

“Now hold on a moment,” Lortho started and
dismounted. “No Kulshedran is a liar!”

“Hold your tongue, Lortho,” Scar warned.

“But–”

“Just let me handle this,” Scar glared at
him.

Lortho punched his shield, and mumbled that
no Kulshedran has lied a day in his life. Scar and N’Giwah looked
at each other again for a long spell.

“I don’t know who I am, but these good people
of Kulshedra have taken me in, forgiven me for slaughtering their
people when I fought for Zoltek, and have guided me every step of
the way in helping me to discern my origins…I remember nothing of
my days before two months prior. They are not liars, but none of us
know anything with certainty. Can you not see we are all here under
genuine pretense?”

“You, I believe. Them,” N’Giwah said pointing
his finger at the riders. “I do not like.”

A wave of offense washed over the troops like
a winter’s breeze. Twitches of a nose here and a furrowed brow or
two there were the indication that egos were ruffled. No one said
anything else for a moment. The prolonged silence between N’Giwah
and Scar was more than discomforting to both forces, but the
leaders were peaceable if stern.

“Well, they are with me, and I promise no
bloodshed,” Scar finally announced. “Now, please, tell me of recent
events. We are in the dark here.”

N’Giwah nodded in compliance, but spoke
slowly as though choosing his words carefully. “I will if you can
tell me why you want access to our passage underground. I find it
unsettling that you even know of it.”

Scar shook his head in exasperation, saying,
“Fine, we wish to move into Alduheim and search for a hidden
knowledge.”

“Brandt,” Poland cautioned.

“Please, Poland, can you not see they are
frightened,” Scar answered. “Apologies, N’Giwah. We are here to
explore and hopefully avoid skirmishes with the Khmerans, but we
were also sent here to aid in driving them back in the event that
they tried to move in underground. Personally, I am here because I
hope to resolve the issues of my origin once and for all. In the
end, if I find that I am in fact King of Alduheim, my goal is to
assist in securing peace across the land…Now, as for who knows
about your passage and how, I am afraid that is beyond me.”

N’Giwah nodded very slowly before looking
over Scar’s men. He then looked back to the pale warrior. Finally,
the Tiamatish leader divulged his reasons for worry.

“Only months ago we emerged from one of our
caves to find ourselves here, and so we set up this settlement.
Soon after, we returned to our exploration and found a curious
boulder wedged into a crevice. Using our powers of Tiamat we molded
the rock and created an opening, which led into a neatly crafted
corridor. Since then, we have attempted to map the interior of the
castle’s lowest levels without fighting.

“We were successful for only a week before a
group of warring Kulshedrans drove the Khmerans into our camps. We
pleaded with them all to leave, but they did not heed our words,
and as is our custom, we slay only those who do not yield to
peace.”

“Well it’s no wonder the Kulshedrans wanted
retribution,” Lortho yelled.

“Perhaps, and truthfully our attack forced
both peoples against us, but that is the way of Tiamat,” N’Giwah
contested. Scar maintained a level head and motioned with his hand
for the man to continue, so N’Giwah broke his glaring at the
Kulshedran to add, “Between fending off their infrequent raids, we
managed to venture deeper and deeper into Alduheim, but found only
ever ruin, dust, and bones.

“Now, word of our passage has become known to
others, and everyone is trying to force us out. I seek only
answers.”

“To what?”

N’Giwah looked away then motioned for Scar to
follow him by tilting his head toward a shack. “The King and I will
have a meeting,” he said to his people. “You will treat our guests
with respect.” He then locked eyes with Scar to warn them all of
Tiamatish hospitality. “But if the guests show any volatility, you
will kill them to the last man.”

N’Giwah opened the shack’s door and held it
for Scar, who walked inside first. Wooden chairs surrounded a
small, round table. The Tiamatish man poured water from a leather
canteen into two wood cups. After both sat at the table, N’Giwah
leaned his elbows upon it and placed his chin in the palms of his
hands.

“There is more,” he started. “You no doubt
have heard of paladins.”

“Certainly,” the mercenary said with narrowed
eyes. “I killed Lovenhaad of Mekosh, the Severe, and Captain
Sulas—the man I thought would be here—had helped me.”