The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (36 page)

Once they both ended their work day, they met
back, along with everyone else, at Curval’s for a communal supper.
Milvena was working the kitchen along with two other women. Their
appearance was strikingly similar. When Ylithia asked about it,
they informed her that they were sisters, all of them were Curval’s
daughters.

“Speaking of the dear, old man,” Ylithia
started. “Has he passed on? I have not seen him all day.”

Milvena smiled meekly while her sisters
continued working and said, “Father is still alive, but he is not
well…his mind has left him. Bridgette and Christina tend to him
throughout the day while I hold down the pub.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Ylithia
empathized.

The barkeep smiled again before returning to
cooking and serving the town. Jordana found the newcomers and asked
about their first day, which they had enjoyed very much. It was in
the midst of Scar’s recounting the ease of felling trees that a
haphazard strumming of the lute started.

“I see Cormaire is ready to regale us once
again,” the mayor said.

The pub didn’t quiet down any when Cormaire
set his fiery eyes on the townsfolk and recounted the verse of
Cullin, a Draco warrior that had personally met Drac, the God of
Fire. The man sang about Cullin’s mission to retrieve the sword of
fire, a legendary blade, from the alter of Gyo, false God of the
Sun. Cormaire’s rich voice overpowered his poor lute play, and
everyone clapped when Cullin struck down General Shihar, the evil
Gyosh tyrant.

“With a violin, I could surely help to enrich
that tale,” Ylithia commented to Scar.

“Then we shall have to get you one,” he
replied.

He motioned with his head for her to go talk
to the old bard. He patted her shoulder then she left him to go
introduce herself.

“I must say that you two fit in quite well so
far,” Jordana remarked.

“Glad you think so,” Scar said. “We truly
have been through Hell, and wish only to rest our bones in an
honest town removed from war. I’ve been wanting to ask,
though….”

“Yes,” she asked after his delay.

“Why is Othnatus so removed from the war
front? I’m aware of Longinus’s neutrality, but surely there are
times when skirmishes cross the border? I witnessed the scorned
people of Malababwe. Even though they are neutral, they do not seem
to respond kindly to foreigners, yet here you have a Slibinish
tanner and a Draco bard, who is obviously comfortable preaching
about Drac.”

“Preaching in verse for entertainment,”
Jordana clarified. “But the main reason for Othnatus’s peace is
that we are protected by a great expanse of sea. The bordering
countries are all to the west; Malababwe, which you have already
stated is neutral, poses no threat. To their south is Sudai. Munir
is too busy bickering with Donovan, even further south, to pay us
any heed, and that of course settles the reason for our peace with
the Dracos; they are too busy fighting the Gyosh and the
Zmajans.”

“That is good news, but I fear these are
tumultuous times regardless.”

Jordana pushed back a lock of chestnut hair
from her bronze face. She scrutinized the pale warrior for a
moment. Then she smiled.

“You have known only of war,” she asserted.
He nodded while watching Ylithia laugh with the chunky Draco. “You
can relax here. I’m certain there will be no trouble, unless you
have brought it with you.”

He turned to look into her dark, placid eyes.
There was a degree of fierceness that softened within seconds.

“We will leave before letting any of our
problems befall your people,” he affirmed.

With that, Jordana left him to eat and drink.
Ylithia returned to his side shortly thereafter with a grin. They
chatted together about how good it felt to finally be in a place
they could call home, and surrounded with such wonderful people.
This was practically it; they were done tormenting themselves with
their past, or being beleaguered by others. Soon, the townsfolk
trickled out to their respective homes. A handful of them also kept
rooms at Curval’s. They wished each other all a good night before
retiring to their rooms for sleep and another day of hard work.

The following day played out in a similar
fashion. Scar and Ylithia had breakfast, went to their respective
jobs, and met back up for lunch.

“How did it go?” Ylithia asked.

“It takes quite a few more whacks to cut
through wood than bone,” he joked. “But we took down some thirty
pines. The others cheered on during their breaks, and I teased them
about their slack pace. They are fun people.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Rothbert is teaching me
the finer points of tanning using hart leg bone to prevent nicking
the hide. He’s a bland fellow, but extremely kind and patient.”

Others came by to praise them on their
amicable behavior. Othnatus was certainly pleased with its new
guests. Day after day, they worked, learned their trades, and
gathered for meals before retiring to their room for passion.

Occasionally, both the newcomers taught those
who were interested a little of swordplay, mostly children and
adolescents. Scar even started going out with a party of hunters on
chilly mornings to shoot the local harts. With each new hide,
Ylithia promised her lover a masterpiece, which never seemed to
arrive. Eventually, he laughed it off whenever she made mention of
it, but she remained adamant that it was in the works.

A week had gone by as if it was a dream, then
two, then three. By then, Scar had single handedly felled so many
trees and learned enough of flooring and roofing to convince Dario
to help him build a house of his own. The loggers chipped in to
help as well, and in three days, Scar and Ylithia had a house
blessed by the will of Fafnir under the guidance of Jordana.

The first heavy snow came in at the end of
their second month. Laying in bed and conversing over trivial
matters, Scar grew silent, distant.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I…it’s just,” he stammered, and exhaled. She
held his face and gazed into his gray eyes. “I have not given you a
child.”

“Is that,” she started and gave him such a
look of empathy and compassion that he was nearly reduced to tears.
“Listen, my love, you have nothing to worry over. It might be that
I
am unable to conceive, but it is no matter. We have each
other, and that is certainly enough.

“Thank you,” he whispered and hugged her
tight.

Another week into the hard life of peasant
living, Ylithia mentioned that her birthday was soon to arrive.
Scar was resolute then to buy her a violin.

“I must hear you play, and I think it is a
fitting gift; music to bring us all together peacefully.”

“No traders have come bearing violins,” she
giggled. “You needn’t try so hard.”

“Please, don’t be silly. I’ll borrow a horse
and ride out to Oralia to purchase the best of violins.”

“Well, it certainly will be nice, won’t it?
Cormaire also wants to hear me play, says the town needs a real
musician…I can only hope I’m not too rusty.”

“So, it’s settled. I’ll ride out soon.”

They made love by the light of candles before
growing drowsy. Ylithia pulled the blankets over their bodies and
snuggled up to him.

“I should come with you to Oralia.”

“You should stay and finish that masterpiece
of leather you promised,” he joked.

“It is already done. I am but waiting for the
moment to present it.”

“In that case, we can ride out tomorrow
morning,” he suggested.

“That is too soon. Rothbert has fallen ill,
and I have taken to picking up the slack for him. All that hide
isn’t just for armor or clothes, you know? The town needs satchels,
straps, and buckles for all kinds of things. We can leave when
Rothbert has recovered.”

“But then I won’t have the violin in time for
your birthday,” Scar replied. Ylithia smiled and held his hand
while pulling the covers tighter over her shoulders. “I’ll just be
gone a day, or two if the snow storm has been worse to the
west.”

“I would very much like to play for the town
on my birthday.”

“I’ll ride out early tomorrow before the sun
rises.”

They kissed and laid back to rest. She fell
soundly asleep rather quickly. Since living together, Scar had not
suffered from restless nights or odd dreams. That night was
different, and sleep did not come for the mercenary. When he deemed
enough time had passed, he slinked out of the house with his riding
cloak, and jogged down the snowy path to the stables. He found a
stocky horse, mounted, and rode out to the northwest.

****

Ylithia woke early due to her lover’s
absence. She ate a scant breakfast and went to Rothbert’s with a
bowl of soup. It was still dark when she let herself in. Striding
past the hides on display and through the work room, she took the
stairs to her employer’s bed chamber and knocked on his door.

“Yes,” the man answered with a hoarse
voice.

“I’ve brought you breakfast.”

“Come in, lass. Come in.”

She found him wrapped up in his sheets
shivering. Placing the bowl on a nightstand, she then touched his
forehead. He was running a fever.

“You need to eat,” she cautioned.

“Aye…if I can keep it down.”

“I’ll get started right away,” she said and
made to leave.

“No, no,” he coughed. “No need. You go home
today. I don’t need you getting sick, too.”

She thanked him for his kindness and promised
to check up on him throughout the day. After leaving his home, she
strolled about the town for a while. Eventually, she found herself
at the lake. The sun was rising over what remained of the pines on
the eastern edge of Othnatus. They were mostly saplings or younger
trees too thin to harvest. Scar had indeed worked hard over the
past months. Ylithia watched some boys casting line off a dock.
They were making astounding claims that they had nearly caught
Curval’s catfish.

Contemplating over her life, she thought it
strange she had not yet gotten pregnant.
I wonder if I can carry
a child
. It didn’t matter much. They weren’t even married, and
marriage meant going to a church in Genova.
Perhaps it is time
to see if Mother still lives
….

Most of her day was spent at Curval’s,
chatting with Milvena, checking on her employer, and eventually
singing with Cormaire. Some of the citizenry asked after Scar. When
she told them where he went and why, they were pleased to know he
was a loving man.

Winds rattled the shutters, flurries of snow
blew into the pub when someone entered or exited; the storm was
indeed dreadful. Ylithia added some logs to the hearth fire.

“Thanks, lass,” Milvena said in passing.

“We’re lacking for company tonight, aren’t
we,” Ylithia remarked.

“Well, it’s no surprise. People have got to
keep the snow from their doors, their fires going, and their
children warm. You should go home, too, and get some rest…I’m sure
Scar is fine. He seems a rugged man.”

“That he is,” Ylithia smiled. “You’re right.
He’ll probably come barging in sometime before the sun rises,
anyway. I should have some stew ready for him.”

They wished each other good night, and
Ylithia marched home. Inside her modest abode, she readjusted the
pelts over the bed, fed the fire, and diced some rabbit, which she
dropped into a pot along with celery, carrots, potatoes, and water.
The pot’s handle slid over a prong sticking out from the fireplace.
The scent quickly filled the one room house. Before laying down to
catch a few hours’ rest, Ylithia looked over her old armor, Scar’s
chest plate, and smiled sadly when she glanced at the swords
mounted over the windows. Then the sound of snow bombarding the
side of the house lulled her to sleep.

She awoke to an infernal rapping on the door.
Not thinking twice, she rolled out of bed to wrap herself with a
thin blanket, figuring Scar had come home. The house was still lit,
albeit dimly, by embers in the fireplace. Upon opening the door,
she saw a group of men, Kulshedrans wearing half plate.

“Where is he?” the man at the door
demanded.

Her eyes went wide when she noticed his sword
was drawn. The man knew straight away she was going to be trouble
and dashed inside, followed by his ilk. Ylithia managed to pull her
sword from the window. Scar’s blade also crashed down in the
commotion along with her blanket.

Swords clanged, and as the fallen paladin
battled the Kulshedran squad, she sliced the throat of the first
attacker, parried the spear of another, and took a blow to her
thigh. They scrambled around the cramped quarters; the men weren’t
great fighters, but their Kulshedran magic allowed them to form
heavy plates of armor around their vitals.

Bleeding, and swinging, Ylithia dropped one
more with an overhead swing that cut through a helmet, but when the
man tumbled down, her blade was caught in his steel, and the long
spearmen stabbed into her over and over again. She cried out for
Scar, for Mekosh, but no one was there to hear her pain.

Puffing and wheezing, the Kulshedrans looked
about the home. One of them was groaning, and cursing about
bleeding out. Another told him to shut up.

“He wasn’t even here…now what?” a bloodied
man with a broad axe asked.

“No matter,” the bearded one said while
wiping the blood from his spear with Ylithia’s blanket. “He’ll
show.”

“Do we wait here, Dantin?” another asked.

“He’s got to be in town,” Dantin answered
then dropped the bloody cloth to the ground. “Start looking in the
other houses.”

The squad started to fan out to terrorize
Othnatus when a fist collided into the unprotected face of a
soldier brandishing a long sword. He went down fast, and Scar
bowled through the remaining five. Caught unawares, Dantin dropped
his spear. The enraged mercenary gripped him by the throat while
trying to find Ylithia, who was sprawled out in the corner dead,
still reaching for her blade.