The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (32 page)

She shrugged at his reply. During his
skulking over flattened grasses Ylithia chastised him once or twice
for wasting valuable time, but he maintained that they needed
money.

“Is this really about money?”

He glanced at her emerald eyes and continued
moving low to the ground. She followed at a polite distance. A
quick traipse through the woods revealed more deer tracks in the
sandy areas between larger trees. Scar posted up against an oak
with rub marks from buck antlers, and it wasn’t long before luck
presented him with a hefty ten pointer; Closicus was certainly deer
country.

He saw the gorgeous beast sniff at some
leaves. While it licked the morning dew, Scar nocked an arrow, drew
back, and with an exhalation, he let loose an arrow that soared
through the wind and struck the animal just behind the foreleg. The
blow knocked the deer over, so Scar nabbed his sword, ran at it,
and went for the death blow, but it was too late. He had shot the
deer in the heart on his first try.

Ylithia chuckled, but then made a sad face,
saying, “He’s so pretty.”

“Pretty yes, pretty and dead.”

“Now what?” she asked.

Scar dithered about for a second before
putting his sword away, slinging the bow over his shoulder, and
then the deer over the other. Ylithia marveled at his strength. He
gave her a grin of satisfaction and smugness. She rolled her
eyes.

“Yes, you planned well for our financial
future,” she said sardonically. “Now let’s hurry on.”

Shortly after walking through a small wooded
area peppered with firs and oaks, they found a beautifully cobbled
street of gray stone roughly ten feet wide. Elegant arches
supported by etched pillars were spaced every hundred paces or so
along the road. Scar gawked at them. They clearly didn’t serve any
purpose.

“You should see them in the spring when the
vines grow about them,” Ylithia said. “Now, according to Foxus’s
expertly sketched map, we follow the road eastward in order to
reach Kathka by nightfall.”

“Excellent. A steady walk over a street will
be far less straining than the recent hiking.”

“And here I thought you were enjoying the
long haul through the country.”

“Yes, well…I think my boots have nearly had
it,” he replied. It was moments later while he eyed the shadows
cast by the standing arches that he suddenly blurted out. “Have you
ever heard the word
Sarkany
?”

Ylithia stopped her march to look at him. “I
do not think so. Why?” Scar shrugged, frowned, rubbed the back of
his head and made a dismissive maneuver with his hand. “Where did
you hear it? Or did you read of it in Alduheim?”

“Alduheim?” he asked more of himself.
“Perhaps that is where I picked it up…Sarkany, it is familiar
somehow.”

“Perhaps it is from your memory.”

“Could be you’re right,” he smiled. “Do you
think they’ll ever come back? My memories, I mean.”

She smiled peacefully, saying, “I should
think so…in time.”

They resumed their journey towards Kathka.
For a while longer they passed trimmed oaks and narrow firs
alongside the street. Someone had kept the trees pruned and the
road free of debris. By sunset, they met a group of travelers
wearing nice clothing. Two men, a woman, and a young boy were
walking together.

Scar noted what he assumed the customary garb
of Fafnirians; they wore long pants of gray or brown, laced tunics,
and the woman had a straw hat on that covered her hair, which was
pulled up and neatly tucked away. The older man—he had short, brown
hair and a neatly trimmed beard—pulled the boy close as he eyed the
two approaching the city. The boy mumbled something and
pointed.

“I’m sure they won’t harm us,” the younger
man said.

Scar gave Ylithia a gentle nudge and pointed
with his nose to step off to the side of the road, thus providing
the family ample room to walk and without feeling threatened.

“We’re just on our way to Kathka,” Scar
offered as the family drew closer.

An uneasy smile flickered across the older
man’s face. His eyes drifted toward the dead animal. The woman
pretended not to see anything at all.

“You’re big,” the boy said and giggled. “You
killed that deer?”

“He certainly is big, young lad,” Ylithia
smiled.

“I did kill this deer, boy,” Scar said. “He’s
big, too, huh?”

Again the man pulled his son closer and
skirted around the travelers. The younger man chuckled.

“You’ll have to forgive my brother and his
family,” the man said. “We’ve heard of you. That’s why they’re so
nervous.”

They all came to a stop. The father was
obviously edgy, and his wife remained impassive, but the boy and
his uncle were interested in the travelers; the buck had definitely
piqued the boy’s interest.

“Really?” Scar asked. “From whom?”

“Oh come, now,” the young man said. “You’re
the one they used to call the Ghost of Zmaj. Word travels fast in
Closicus. I am named Garnicus. I am a writer,” he added,
beaming.

“Brother,” the father warned.

Garnicus ignored him and gave a flicker of
the wrist to send them along saying, “I’ll catch up to you.” When
the family wandered off down the road, Garnicus continued. “I hope
I’m not imposing, but I should think this is my only chance to talk
with you and what appears to be a Paladin of Mekosh.”

“You certainly are bold,” Ylithia
quipped.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t born wise, my mother
always said,” he chuckled.

“What does a writer want with us?” Scar
asked, intrigued.

“I write many articles about the war front,
and like it or not, the man with no name, who turned out to be King
of Alduheim is a unique topic. I should also like to write about a
bare faced paladin,” Garnicus trailed off.

“You seem nice enough, Garnicus,” Ylithia
replied. “But we must hurry if we are to reach Kathka by
evening.”

“Just a few questions,” he implored. “Or
perhaps I could buy you dinner at a tavern?”

Scar grinned and was about to thank the man
for his generosity when Ylithia interrupted. “We’ve no time, so if
you have one or two questions, we’ll answer, but that’s all.”

Garnicus laughed as he glanced at the two.
“She’s obviously in charge,” he said. Scar shrugged knowingly. “All
right. I’ll be quick then. Why did you fight for Zoltek?”

Scar looked about to ponder the question
briefly, replying, “The first thing I can recall was being attacked
by Dracos. I fled into Usaj with no knowledge of who I was or what
I was doing, and word spread that I had bested a squad of enemies.
After that, a messenger found me with a letter from Zoltek. I went
to see him, and he promised me that he would ask Zmaj about
me.”

“And why did you switch sides?”

“General Dumar tried to kill me and then
Lovenhaad, the severity paladin, tried to kill me. A captain from
Gilgamesh’s army helped me defeat him and claimed that I was King
of Alduheim. The man’s friendship restored my trust in humanity,”
Scar explained.

“Then why aren’t you in Alduheim now? I
thought Gilgamesh was trying to foster peace by resurrecting the
old country,” Garnicus stated.

Scar frowned and looked away, saying, “I am
trying to learn of the world.”

“Oh,” Garnicus said, slightly surprised. “I
suppose as a king you should learn by firsthand experience. It
certainly bridges the wide gap between the nobility and the common
folk…. Now, what about you, my Lady. What’s a Paladin of Severity
doing showing her face?”

“Don’t be rude,” she accosted.

Garnicus chuckled again. He had not taken
offense nor meant any.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “What I meant to ask
is what role you are playing in the war. Travelling with the king,
you must be important.”

“I thank you for your interest, Garnicus, but
have no desire to answer your questions,” she affirmed.

“I see,” the writer replied with a
disappointed tone. “Well then, thank you for your time. I’ll make
sure to let everyone know the King of Alduheim is a regal man with
time enough for the lower class.”

Garnicus smiled, shook hands with Scar, and
then jogged off down the road to meet with his family. He had made
certain to ignore Ylithia due to her peevishness, and she knew
it.

“You could have been nicer,” Scar
suggested.

“I didn’t want to talk to him about our
business,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Writers tend to skew the
truth for their own gain.”

“What is there to gain?”

“Money, fame, rank, you can never be too
certain.”

“They are your people,” Scar argued.

“That’s exactly the point; a Fafnirian can
twist words in a most efficient manner. Besides…they
were
my
people.”

He frowned figuring she was just tired of
traveling. “I’d best be careful not to argue with you then,” he
jested and nudged her.

She smiled and rolled her eyes at him. The
two then resumed their trek in silence and reached the outskirts of
Kathka shortly after the stars came out. A light fog swirled about
the standing arches. Off to the east, Scar noted a looming shape
that seemed to follow them. Repeatedly trying to cast glances
through the thin wood line, he clicked his tongue.

“What are you doing?” Ylithia finally
asked.

When he caught a reasonable break in the
thinning firs, he pointed. “Over there. What is that?”

She looked. He was referring to a very long
shape that stood on many legs way out in a meadow beyond the city’s
exterior. The shape was well over a hundred feet in height.

“It’s the aqueduct,” she laughed.

“What is that?”

“It’s a system of arches that supports a
construct for running water to the large cities.”

His eyes went wide in disbelief. “I should
like to see that in the daytime.”

“I’m certain you will, but hurry it along. We
should be in Kathka soon.”

With a nod, he resumed walking, but
occasionally tried to peek through the firs. What little moonlight
remained only revealed the long, ominous shape in the distance.
Ylithia tapped him and moved her nose as indication to look. Night
patrolmen stood on the road. They greeted the travelers before
asking after their business in Kathka.

Ylithia let on that they were just passing
through on the way to Othnatus. The guards admonished them about
the laws regarding the carrying of weapons. While it was perfectly
legal to stroll with a blade, it had to be secured. Peace knots
were preferred, but neither had the type of sheath or scabbard to
allow for them.

“Just keep them out of your grip then,” the
guard stated.

After agreeing, the patrol went on with their
business- observing their city’s perimeter. Once Scar walked far
enough along the road, the firs opened up, and Kathka was before
them; numerous buildings surrounded by the cobbled streets. As a
whole, it was a bustling city not unlike Oros, a nexus of trade.
The architecture, however, was astoundingly different.

Most notably, the city was split into two
sections by an extremely wide section of road, which made it nearly
impossible to see into Kathka from the streets, at least at night.
Also, the taller buildings were nearly all attached by suspended
walkways; buttresses and arches were prevalent in order to sustain
the short bridges from building to building. Once Scar managed to
look away from the astounding structural design, he asked a guard
about the location of a butcher; he wanted to offload his buck.
Directions were promptly provided.

The entire city had a very bland, gray look
to it, and there were no torches on posts, but the shops had
lanterns over their wooden signs. The butcher’s shop displayed a
cleaver painted over a shield shaped emblem. It wasn’t difficult to
locate. Inside, scar approached the counter. Behind a bronze man
wearing a bloody apron were skinned rabbits, geese, and a few live
chickens cackling in a cage.

“Eh, good evening,” the plump Fafnirian said.
“Supposing you want it processed?” he asked, pointing to the buck
slung over the mercenary’s shoulder.

“Actually I was hoping you were interested in
skinning it and buying the meat. We need money for passage to
Othnatus.”

The butcher eyed the two for a moment then
proposed, “I’ll buy the whole thing off you for ten coppers.”

“No,” Ylithia said and made to leave.

“Wa-uh, wait,” the butcher stammered and
ruffled his balding head. “I’ll give you fifteen.”

They haggled for a while. Finally, Scar was
adamant about keeping the skin and antlers to sell somewhere else.
Ultimately, the butcher bought the venison, but kept five copper
coins from the price, leaving the mercenary with fourteen coppers.
He called it a king’s ransom no doubt implying that Scar had
sufficient coin stashed away somewhere. It took about twenty more
minutes, but the butcher skinned the animal and wrapped up the hide
in a bloody linen.

“Take it to Jerthol, he’s a friend of mine,”
The butcher said. “Tell him Ole’ Dantys sent you.”

Upon thanking the butcher, they asked for
directions to Jerthol’s shop, which Dantys provided. Then Scar
asked after Rolus and Reelus, but the man shrugged. Once they left,
they located the tailor easily enough, a shop denoted by a sign
with a needle and thread. The two popped in and announced that Ole’
Dantys had sent them.

“Good, good,” Jerthol said. “Sit down, sit
down.”

The travelers sat on short benches while
Jerthol took the skin to the back. The tailor’s shop was filled
with racks of nice tunics, pants, hats, gloves, pretty much every
article of clothing. Some were fashioned from cotton, others from
wool or leather. It was a very nice, clean shop with many standing
mirrors. When Jerthol popped back in from a room behind the
counter, he asked about the antlers.

“I thought about selling them to a trinketer
or what have you,” Scar informed him.