The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (41 page)

“Thank Drac it does,” Artimis scoffed. “Last
time I didn’t have the wings, tail, and head, and the wind changed
direction once I got too high. Darned thing nearly crashed me into
the mountains.”

“How did you survive?” Scar asked without
looking away from the breathtaking morning view.

Labolas chuckled as though it was a secret
joke. Artimis fumbled with his words saying something
nonsensical.

“What?” Scar asked.

“Umm,” Artimis stalled.

Scar arched a brow and looked at Labolas, who
quickly turned his head to avoid his friend’s glance.

“Damn it, what aren’t you telling me now?”
the mercenary demanded.

Before anyone replied, a murder of crows
caught up to the airship and cawed. They were so close Scar swatted
at them.

“The ship crashed into the mountains,”
Artimis revealed.

“So you were injured,” Scar surmised.

“No, God no,” Artimis said emphatically. “I
wasn’t aboard by the time it smashed into the cliffs.”

“How did you get off?”

“The same way you’re going to get off when we
reach Tironis,” Artimis chuckled.

Scar opened his mouth to demand more
information, but the Kulshedran cut him off saying, “You’ll
see.”

“I hate you,” Scar replied. “I hate both of
you.”

They all had a good laugh at his histrionics,
but eventually the sheer bliss of soaring through the sky like
birds soothed them. When the sun fully rose, and Artimis determined
the winds were safe, he anchored the ropes to wooden beams to
maintain their trajectory.

The other two busied themselves with food,
drink, and idle chit chat regarding the states of affair in
Eltanrof, but Scar watched the quickly receding ground below. More
than once, they passed over established towns or small cities. The
people craned their necks to the skies, held their hands over their
eyes to block the sun, and gazed at the immense, brown bird above
them. The shadow of the beast swooped over them all.

“What if they fire arrows or catapults at
us?” Scar asked.

“Hm?” Labolas mumbled.

“Bah,” Artimis said with a dismissive wave of
the hand. “We move too quickly for them to hit us.”

“We’ll have to slow down in order to land in
Tironis,” Scar said carefully as an attempt to determine how they
were going to exit the airship.

“No worries there, mate. Only you and ole’
Labby are hopping out. I’ll keep the Plume in flight,” the Draco
chirped.

The mercenary grumbled again. Soon the sun
was right over them, casting a strange shadow in the keel. Scar
started thinking about fighting Gilgamesh. He didn’t know much
about his enemy other than he was a Kulshedran, but Kulshedrans had
strange magic over armor, and Gilgamesh was supposedly an amazing
fighter. It didn’t really matter. When he thought about Ylithia, he
knew one thing for certain, the only thing that did matter; victory
was the only acceptable outcome. After that, he had to find
Kulshedra.

Time elapsed as a blur. It seemed only an
instant had passed. The ground below turned from hills to jagged
peaks. They had reached the southern end of the Shumite mountains;
a natural border between Eltanrof and Satrone. For a quick moment,
it looked to Scar as if the ship was too low and he braced himself
for a scrape against a rocky cliff, but the ship soared right over
the mountain, leaving only a fleeting shadow.

Beyond the mountains was a Kulshedran
outpost. They heard the cries of soldiers howling below them.
Another moment later, and they were soaring above the dusty brown
soils of Satrone; a familiar sight. There were squat shrubs, cacti,
dunes and valleys, and then they passed over a hard packed
road.

“So, what exactly is the plan?” Scar asked.
“We land in Tironis and fight through masses of guards into
Inneshkigal?”

“That would be unwise, and a waste of
valuable time,” Labolas answered. “We need the element of
surprise.”

“How do you mean?”

“We’ll drop directly into the courtyard
inside Innsehkigal.”

Scar figured landing there was a safer bet
than landing on the outskirts of the town and running in, but it
left the Plume open for attack. He cocked a hairless eyebrow and
looked at Labolas. He was checking the strings of his bow. Neither
he nor Artimis appeared overly worried by the proposed proceedings.
Scar wasn’t worried either. He just wondered about the way back
out.

“So…after Gilgamesh, we race back out to the
Plume and lift off?” the mercenary asked. “Artimis, how will you
secure the Plume?”

“I’m not securing anything,” he retorted. “I
told you, only you two are going in. I’ll be safely gliding about
until you’re all done.”

“I don’t understand,” Scar argued and made an
imperative gesture of distress by booting a crate.

Labolas took charge and answered for the
Draco, saying, “Just take a breath. All we need to worry about is
killing Gilgamesh. After that, we’ll race down into the sewers
before anyone even realizes what we’ve done. From there, I’ll lead
us back to Arty.”

“
You
don’t need to worry about
Gilgamesh,” Scar asserted. “I’m just trying to understand how we
hop out of a flying craft and then back in.”

“You won’t hop back in until you escape
Tironis,” Artimis said.

“You’re not going to be in the capitol?” Scar
pried with a furrowed brow.

“No,” Artimis smiled.

Scar looked to Labolas for another clue, but
he was unwilling to provide more information. By then, they had
soared over a few smaller establishments to which Scar had paid
little attention. At that point, Artimis started rooting through
crates. He pulled out two packs that looked like travelers’
rucksacks. He motioned to Labolas, who allowed the Draco to place
the pack on his shoulders. In the front of the pack, by the left
strap, Scar noticed a thin rope dangling. Artimis then motioned for
him to take the second pack.

“Just slide it over your sword. When you
land, you can just shrug it off and go to work,” Artimis
advised.

Scar turned and held his arms out for the
Draco to put the pack on and asked, “When I land?”

“Yep.”

Scar blinked profusely trying to grasp the
circumstances, but he could not think straight. There seemed to be
no logical way of landing. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was
too annoyed to ask anything else, and simply accepted his fate,
whatever it might have been.

“I’ll slow us down,” Artimis said and started
messing with the ropes again. “If you look below, you’ll see the
capital coming into view.”

From their bird’s eye view, they clearly saw
the sunset casting an orange glare over the sandy colored stonework
of Inneshkigal. Soon, the Plume tilted downward at the forecastle.
They slowed and started to lose altitude at a rather rapid pace.
Scar and Labolas both fought to keep their footing. Artimis finally
guided the airship to such a low height that heavy winds no longer
pushed the vessel. They were practically at a standstill, inching
forward to the courtyard while shocked Kulshedran citizens stared
in awe.

“After you jump,” Labolas said slowly, “pull
that rope by the shoulder strap. The chute will open and let you
land softly.”

“What do you mean
jump
?” Scar
yelled.

“Do it for Ylithia, Scar. Jump and pull the
cord,” Labolas said imperatively.

The Kulshedran approached the edge of the
keel, looked over the side, gave Artimis a nod implying they had
reached optimal height and their destination, and Labolas hopped
over the keel. Scar dashed over to see the archer’s pack had
opened. A great, oval chute of sewn cloths caught the wind and
Labolas descended clumsily, but at a safe speed, towards the
courtyard at Inneshkigal. The mercenary then glanced with gaping
mouth at Artimis, who winked and grinned. Scar nodded, took a
breath, looked at the rope then ran before diving over the
keel.

“Please, let this work,” he begged while free
falling.

Scar yoked at the cord near the strap. Almost
immediately he felt a tug from his armpits that forced the air out
of his lungs. The chute had unfurled successfully, and he was no
longer plummeting at a deathly rate. By the time he landed, Labolas
had wriggled out of his chute, magically deployed his armor, and
felled two guards. More were closing the distance, but Scar
shrugged out of his pack, drew his sword, and met them with
glinting steel. The entrance to Inneshkigal had been secured,
except for the sound of barking dogs.

“That was ridiculous,” Scar gasped.

Labolas nodded. They bolted over the pinkish
soil, ran past the serpent fountain, and into the formerly
impregnable palace. Pushing past the servants and down decorated
corridors was a simple maneuver. No Kulshedran had had time to
comprehend that two men were storming the keep. Passing some
statues and paintings, Scar and Labolas sprinted over the blue
carpeting to the end of one smoothed hallway and took the adjoining
corridor; the entrance of the throne room was protected by only two
guards. Wide eyed and confused, they were unable to protect
themselves from Labolas’s feathered castigation. An arrow struck
each man directly in the heart. Their armor was no match for his
mechanical bow.

Beyond the threshold, and inside the throne
room, were two more guards. They were the same shieldman Scar had
seen on his previous visit. Those two, menacing men immediately
slammed the bottom of their shields into the stone floor and
emitted a force that sent the attackers to the ground. Scar
scurried to his feet and dashed at the one to his right.

Prior to Scar thrusting his blade into the
guard, the shieldman unleashed more Kulshedran magic; his armor
grew plates and spread to cover his entire body in steel. It was
insufficient protection. The mercenary bent his elbow in order to
change the thrust into a slash, and hacked into his opponent’s
right shoulder. Another magic blow from Scar’s left sent him
slamming into the far wall. Labolas replied in kind. He quickly
fired an arrow into each guard.

The unpredictable attack felled one of the
shieldman—the one who had neglected to engage his armor—but struck
only the shield of the other. Labolas reached back behind his
pauldron to draw another arrow, but there were none. He fidgeted
about with a scowl to no avail.

“King Gilgamesh,” the man hollered.

“Shut up,” Scar shouted as he recovered.

The side of the mercenary’s head had busted
open from bouncing off the stone wall, but the wound had already
healed over. He bounded over the floor, leapt into the guard, and
they both tumbled over behind the throne. The man had not
relinquished his shield in the ensuing scuffle, so Scar straddled
the man before hacking at his shins, which parted the guard from
one of his feet. While he cried out in crippling pain, the
mercenary stood in order to dismember the shieldman with three
quick hacks.

“By Kulshedra!” a voice cried.

The invaders turned to see Ehrloime and other
servants gasping, covering their mouths, or simply pointing in
horror.

“Go back to your homes,” Labolas
implored.

“We seek only the king,” Scar added.

The servants were too dumbstruck to do much
anyway. Scar shook his head and glanced at Labolas while bolting to
and then up the stairs.
He’s got to be up there
, Scar
thought. It was from those stairs that Gilgamesh had descended
during their meeting.

Chapter Twenty-Four- Drangue

The invaders paused at the top of the stairs.
They had spilled out into a wide foyer. Suede couches, fine vases,
and many paintings adorned the room. It was brilliantly lit by gas
lamps. There didn’t appear to be any opposition, so the two glanced
at each other before turning to the double doors in the center of
the golden wall opposite them.

“Arrows?” Scar breathed.

“A moment,” Labolas answered.

He took a breath, which allowed his armor to
retract into the bracer. Before he concentrated to redeploy his
protection and weaponry, the doors opened, and General Sulas
emerged. He had a stern visage aimed directly at his son.

“You bastard,” Labolas growled.

“If you’ve never before listened to me, Son,
now is the time to set aside your pride and do as you’re told,” the
old man ordered.

Scar started to march toward the aged
Kulshedran, but he held out his palm, which was quickly covered in
steel from his bracer, creating a gauntlet, and floored the
mercenary with a rippling wave of energy. Labolas bared his teeth
and activated his own bracer.

“Just listen!” the old general demanded.

“Make it quick, old man,” Labolas said while
choking up.

General Sulas chortled and gave a quick shake
of the head as he looked down. Then he looked at his son.

“Think about what you’re doing,” Sulas
said.

“I’m here to kill the man who murdered
Ylithia,” Scar growled while working himself back to his feet. “You
don’t have to die, but I’ll be glad to part your head from your
shoulders as a warm up.”

“And then what?” Sulas scoffed. “You fight
Gilgamesh?”

“Let him show his face, Father,” Labolas
snarled. “We don’t have to fight each other. We are not
enemies.”

“Gilgamesh is not your enemy either,” Sulas
rebutted as he lowered his hand.

“He is mine,” Scar asserted. “And so is
Kulshedra.”

“The Dragon,” Sulas ridiculed.

“You knew?” Labolas said and contorted his
face with shock and revulsion.

“Will you listen now?” Sulas asked.

“You have precious few words left, General,”
Scar said. “My sword arm itches.”

The general nodded before saying, “The
Dragons…yes, they have lied and manipulated, but they have also
blessed. What do you think more bloodshed will bring? Peace?
Solace? Comfort?”