The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (9 page)

“This world is unknown to me,” Scar
sighed.

They remained quiet for a time. Huddled
beneath the boardinghouse’s awning for shade, they heard muffled
voices from inside bleed through the shutters. The mercenary looked
around. There wasn’t much to see other than the rocky ground and a
few small, puffy clouds in an otherwise blue sky.

He felt a nudge against his ribs. Labolas was
looking down the trail to the east. A small shape loomed in the
distance. After a moment it became evident that it was the horse
drawn cart. Labolas was pointing.

“I thought he was already here,” Scar
mumbled.

“Well, he’s here now, what difference does it
make?” Labolas retorted.

That time it was Scar’s turn to give an
uncaring shrug.

“I’ll get our supplies,” Eileen stated.

Alistair said nothing, but joined her. They
entered the longhouse.

“I have much to learn,” Scar said. “The
Zmajans are a bloodthirsty people by comparison.”

Labolas nodded and smiled. His expression was
one of patience, understanding.

“A good king does more than order his
subjects around. He does more than wage war. It will be good for
you to comprehend the intricacies of trade,” he said.

“You really believe that I am meant to be
King of Alduheim?”

“What I believe is inconsequential. I follow
my orders, but Gilgamesh is a good ruler.”

Scar frowned and tried to search his
feelings, to arrange his thoughts. His mood was a bit somber though
he did not know why.
Zoltek, Dragons, Gods, to be King…what is
this place…who am I, really? Do I want to be a king?
His
thoughts were cut short when the Draco siblings exited the
longhouse with crates of pelts. Most of them were small. Scar
assumed the animals of the area, Satrone, Usaj, and Eltanrof, were
smaller animals like rabbits and foxes. He had not seen many
animals except for some goats in Usaj, and some birds on the road.
By then, the cart was nearly upon them.

Two, tall, wiry horses of white, thin fur
pulled a long cart built of wooden planks. Behind the cart was
another car, also built of similar planks. The two men guiding the
horses wore tan robes with cowls over their heads to protect
themselves from the scorching sun. Upon scrutiny of their hands,
Scar noted one had bronze skin, a Kulshedran, the other had
slender, light hands. Scar looked at his own skin, it was still a
few shades lighter in pallor.

“Greetings,” Labolas said to them.

“Aye,” the Kulshedran said and pulled his
hood back.

He was an old man with a ring of long, gray
hair pulled neatly back. Though the top of his head was bald, the
pony tail hung down inside the robe. His eyes were the color of
walnuts and showed very little life.

“Are you all seeking passage?” the cart
master asked.

“We are headed to Tironis. I am Captain
Labolas Sulas. These two Dracos are traders, Alistair and
Eileen.”

“We’re goin’ as far as Oros,” Alistair
announced.

The old Kulshedran smacked his lips. Scar
noted the silence and wondered about the implication. For a moment
it seemed as though the old man was displeased. He looked at the
mercenary and a furrow creased his bronze brow. Then the other
person on the cart leaned to the old man and whispered something.
The old man nodded.

“Ten pieces for each of the Dracos for a ride
to Oros,” the Kulshedran started. “Twenty pieces for a ride to
Tironis, but…this other one…who, what is he supposed to be?”

Scar arched a brow.

The robed figure spoke with a deep whisper
loud enough for all to hear, saying, “A paladin probably. Looks
like one of Garnabus, the Mad.”

“I’m no paladin. My name, my name is Brandt,”
Scar said with uncertainty.

“He’s coming with me to Tironis, so forty
pieces?” Labolas asked.

The robed figure finally removed his cowl to
reveal yellow hair and very faint facial features. He was a man,
yet he lacked the strong jaw and chin shared by the Dracos and
Kulshedrans. Slight wrinkles creased his flat brow. No hair grew
beneath his small nose. His eyes were sky blue with a sort of fold
over the top eyelid. They were slightly slanted.

“Money is money, Relthys,” the light man said
to the Kulshedran.

Again the old man smacked his lips before
replying, “I don’t like trouble, Shinji. You’ll handle that aspect
should it present itself, I presume.”

Shinji smiled and added, “I don’t think there
will be any trouble.”

“Why would there be trouble?” Scar
demanded.

“The unknown usually presents trouble,”
Shinji retorted as he slid thin fingers through his short hair.

Scar grumbled and looked to Labolas for a
clue, but he was busy counting out forty copper coins. He handed
them to Relthys. Eileen paid him as well, and the Dracos
immediately set about loading their crates on the rear car. Relthys
gave a motion to climb on back. Once they all loaded the crates,
the four travelers sat on benches built into the sides of the front
cart. A thin cloth tied to the four corners of the car shaded them,
but the day was stifling hot.

Before taking back to the road, Relthys
climbed off with some difficulty and disappeared inside the
longhouse. Shinji looked up at the sky and pulled the cowl back
over his head. He mumbled something to the horses.

“Who does Shinji follow?” Scar asked Labolas,
who sat across from him.

Eileen was next to Scar and Alistair was next
to Labolas. While Labolas looked over the cart’s supplies, mostly
dried fruits, salted meats, water, cloths, and oils, he answered
the mercenary’s query.

“My guess is Naga.”

“Who is Naga?”

“Those who follow Naga claim that their
Goddess is the true creator of life as it originates in water and
all must have water to sustain it,” Labolas said.

“They are not our enemies,” Alistair
added.

“Why would they be?” Scar asked.

Labolas frowned as he shrugged.

“Because each tribe believes that their God
is the true God,” Eileen confided.

“I am still having some trouble understanding
all this,” Scar admitted. “The Gods, or those who claim to be Gods,
blessed their followers, no? Each of you are distinct in appearance
and presumably custom. Do the Gods not also grant you powers and
magic?”

“You sound like a paladin!” Shinji shouted
from his seat upfront.

Scar winced, Labolas chuckled, and the Dracos
shook their heads while smiles manifested. Prior to any new
revelations, Relthys exited the longhouse retrieved a few boxes,
disappeared into the establishment again, then returned, climbed
back onto his seat with some difficulty, and finally took the
reins. He shouted, “Haa!” and the horses started a slow gait
towards their first stop, Oros.

“Anyway, I’m just trying to understand,” Scar
muttered. “If I am truly to be this King Brandt, I must know these
things.”

“Sure,” the captain paused for a while to
gather his thoughts. As the slow cart ride crushed gravel and gave
the occasional jostle, Scar leaned his head back and waited for an
explanation. Hot winds blew providing little relief. “Alright,”
Labolas agreed. “Yes, the
Gods
do seem to bless their
followers with power.”

“Some of their followers,” Alistair chimed
in.

Scar arched a brow, but kept his eyes closed.
He was in a state of relaxation.

“Yes,” Labolas conceded. “Some of their
followers. It appears that the more one does in the name of his
Lord, the more blessed one becomes, though in most cases, should
one begin bidding for powers or blessings, his Lord shuns him.”

“That is not the case with Drac,” Eileen
stated.

Her tone gave way to her level of growing
aggravation. Labolas looked at her and curled his lips inward. He
had not meant offense, but then that was the main reason for the
war; so many took offense over things that were not meant to be
personal.

“I confess that I do not know enough of
Drac’s teachings, as such I can only relay what I know based on the
teachings of Kulshedra,” Labolas clarified. “At any rate, it is
true that all the Gods offer some form of blessing, but what of
it?”

“Well,” Scar said and gave a pause for
inhalation. “I just don’t understand how everything fits
together.”

Labolas rubbed the stubble growing over his
chin. Alistair maintained a gaze over the open land. They were
heading northeast by then, and the sun had begun its descent.
Eileen maintained a shifty gaze on Labolas.

“Look,” the captain said. “You can ask
Gilgamesh whatever you like, but I think it may be best, in the
interest of peace, if we don’t dwell on these matters here and now.
Perhaps we could talk about something else.”

“If I am to be king then it is necessary to
make others uncomfortable when I need information. It would be a
shame if these good people here grew agitated over such a simple
discussion,” Scar alleged and looked at the Kulshedran. He then
turned to Eileen. “Does it really upset you and your brother?”

“Speaking of our beliefs does not upset me,”
Eileen replied. “Tryin’ to say that my Lord, Drac, is not a real
God does.”

“But why? It is just his belief. You should
not be concerned with how he feels, so long as he is not imposing
upon you,” Scar countered.

“And yet when people are at war everythin’ is
an imposition,” Alistair added.

Everyone grew quiet. Scar winced and laid his
head back again.
Dracos are quick to anger,
he thought.
Sweat was pouring over everyone. The others started to eat and
drink, but even in the sweltering heat Scar was concerned only with
his thoughts.
I don’t know what to believe. It seems I am not
blessed by anyone. Perhaps after these two are dropped off in Oros,
Labolas will be more inclined to speak.

Chapter Seven- A prelude to war

Progressing ever eastward through Satrone’s
dusty landscape, the group of travelers found quiet refuge in
eating and drinking. With the day almost at its end, the sun was
low on the western horizon, and cooler winds had blown for the
better part of an hour. Labolas and the Dracos dozed while Scar
leaned forward on his seat to gaze at the far away eastern peaks.
The setting sun gave them an ominous appearance, black and
inhospitable. The imposing man pushed out his lower lip a bit. A
furrow creased his brow, yet it was not the world that held his
attention.

Gods and Dragons…I can’t get over
that,
Scar was yet consumed over the possibility of either.
I’m hard pressed to believe that things are so cut and dry; only
one God, or thirteen of them just as the number of Dragons. Then
that crazy paladin and claims of true Gods. Paladins obviously
believe that everyone is falling prey to something other than Gods,
and they must believe in multiple Gods…I wonder if paladins wage
war on each other over religion….

A bump in the road pulled Scar from
rumination. Labolas stirred, opened his eyes, and wiped his
mouth.

“Mmf. Looks like I drifted off, eh?” he
asked.

Scar smiled at his friend, but the darkness
was encroaching and reading facial expressions was increasingly
difficult. Labolas yawned, stretched his arms, turned in his seat
from side-to-side a few times, and gulped down some water. After
rubbing his face, he ran fingers through his hair and refastened
the leather strap, which held the black locks in place.

“Wagoneers,” the captain called out.

“Aye?” the old Kulshedran asked.

“How far to Oros?”

“We’ll be there by nightfall.”

“Thank you, Relthys.”

Raised voices had roused the Dracos. As they
came to, grumbles and murmurs escaped dried mouths. They tried to
stretch their stiffened joints. It was at that moment, while
smiling at the siblings, that Scar realized he was not sore or
stiff in the least. That tinge of bewilderment brought back the old
gnawing feeling of confusion, which drove him unwaveringly to
discover anything at all about himself. The mercenary turned to
Labolas, who was staring intently at him. The look on his face,
even in the semi darkness, was one of obvious mirth.

“What?” Scar asked.

“You, uh, you don’t have any eveningwear, do
you?”

“Eveningwear?”

Everyone chuckled at Scar’s expense.

“No, I don’t have any
eveningwear
. Why
the Hell is that so funny?”

“Heh,” Labolas stopped laughing enough to
explain his question, saying, “I can’t take you before Gilgamesh in
scorched boots, singed trousers, and no shirt, can I?”

“I’m certain there are linen salesmen in
Tironis,” Scar replied in a dismissive tone.

“Oh, sure, but we have such fine pelts right
here.”

“We’ve got nothin’ that can fit that massive
frame, I tell ya,” Eileen chirped.

They chuckled again. Scar smiled and shook
his head.

“Ah, well, I tried,” Labolas conceded.

“Perhaps you could kill a bull and then just
cut some arm holes in it,” Alistair suggested.

That time Scar was able to join in the
laughter. Their idiotic musings about his size and appearance had
dispelled a bit of his gloom. Resting his head back on folded
fingers he gazed to the road ahead. A glow had grown visible in the
darkness to the northeast. Their ride was also much smoother; the
path was a bit more packed, keeping the cart from jostling quite so
much.

“Looks like the light of fires,” Scar
mentioned.

“Oros is a town of wealth,” Labolas said.
“Being practically on the Iles, the inhabitants can provide many
exports to other towns within Satrone. Due to its wealth, Oros can
afford to maintain a stock of yuclid gas. What you’re seeing is
light of gas lamps, which keeps the town illuminated during the
night.”

“Truly?” Scar smiled. He liked that idea, and
for a moment he simply enjoyed the thought. Then he wondered why it
struck him as so affable.
Does it remind me of something?
“Yuclid gas? You say Oros can afford it. From whom?”