The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (20 page)

“No, Tarvin has a stutter. He is not as
scared as he is making himself out to be,” the shieldman corrected.
“Rest assured, when it’s time to let the arrows fly, he is brave
and precise.”

“You’ve know him long?”

“All of my life.”

“You all know each other then?”

“To some extent…Tarvin and I…well,” the man
smiled his gap toothed grin and raised his eyebrows repeatedly.

Scar relaxed again and smiled. Closing his
eyes for just a moment he hoped sleep would come. Though the brute
was not physically exhausted, he was emotionally strained.
Soon
we ride to Alduheim, and I will see it with my own eyes. Pray it
somehow leads us all in the proper direction.

Chapter Fourteen- Beseeched

It was quiet that night, too quiet for Scar.
Listening to the crew’s peaceful snoring, he got up to stretch his
legs. After a moment of walking from the encampment, he turned
around to orient himself with the glow from their torches. Then he
turned back and moseyed a few dozen more paces into the thicker
trees. A shiver in the darkness drew his attention.

As the mercenary squinted into the darkened
woods, an effervescent light began to show. It magnified its
brilliance, and before he uttered a word, the most beautiful naked
woman coalesced from the light. She strode over to him. He gawked
in return, wide eyed, barely even able to take a breath.

“Greetings, unknown one,” she whispered and
placed a hand on his chest.

“Wh-who are you?”

“You do not know me?” she asked coyly and
smiled. “I am Silwen, the Lover.”

Surprise was written all over his face. He
suddenly wanted to ask so many questions, but he was too awestruck
to formulate them cogently. Silky strands of her blonde hair flowed
about her as though some soft wind continuously whirled. The
woman’s eyes appeared green before slowly turning blue-green then
blue and slowly back to green. The mesmeric change was reminiscent
of rings expanding over water.

“I have come before you to ask a favor,” she
said and walked a circle around the awestruck brute before placing
her head to his chest.

With her silky palms moving to his biceps,
she looked up into his eyes. He inhaled her sweet aroma, one like
wildflowers, and only stammered for a moment. She giggled.

“A favor?” Scar heaved.

“Yes. As you are well aware, the Dragons are
vying for men’s souls, and we Gods—the real Gods—are trying so hard
to stop them.”

“Why me? What can I do?”

“You are unknown to us all, and though your
prowess would see it fit to draw the attention of Mekosh, the
Severe, he apparently has his own designs…mine are not so
brutal.”

“Of what do you speak? He sent his paladin to
kill me.”

“And yet you bested him, Lovenhaad. I have
another way.”

“Your words are incomprehensible to me,” he
mumbled. “You called me unknown. Kulshedra doesn’t know me either.
What can this mean?”

“Peace, Scar, I will tell you that in
Alduheim there is another paladin, Ylithia. Mekosh, the Severe, has
sent her to halt your progress. When you face her, look upon her
countenance. Do not kill her. Only then will everything be made
clear to you.”

Scar remained silent, simply gazing on the
gorgeous form of the Goddess before him. She pulled her soft,
creamy breasts from his body and smiled again.

“My seeing her face will help you, how?”

“It will be the fall of the Dragons. I assure
you.”

“You speak in riddles,” he said and shook
cobwebs from his mind. “Yet if I may, I would like to know
something.”

“Yes?”

“If you Gods are real, why do you not make
yourselves known to everyone? Why only the paladins?”

“Oh, Scar, we do make ourselves known, all
the time, to everyone, but they are deaf and blind to our pleas.
The Dragons have seen to that.”

“And why do you wish to see the Dragons
defeated?”

“We love our people and loathe to see the
Dragons claim their souls. Those poor men and women believe they
fight for truth, or life, or whatever other lies, and that if they
serve their Dragon Lords, they will rest in the safety of their
havens, but this is false. The Dragons keep only the souls of the
defeated, those bested by the blades of their followers, and they
use those souls to increase their power in an effort to one day
walk the land again.”

“I don’t understand…those who die in the name
of their Dragon don’t go to the realms of that Dragon?”

“They do not.”

“But the realms are real?”

“In a manner of speaking. They are a likeness
of that Dragon.”

Suddenly the barrage of questions cleared in
Scar’s mind, and he gripped the Goddess’s shoulders gently.

“Where are the Dragons? How can I defeat
them? Tell me, what is Alduheim, really? Is your power stored
there?”

“Peace, warrior,” she warned with a tilt of
her head. “What you will experience in the ruins of that old castle
is more than ample to answer all of your questions. Just grant me
my favor; do not kill Ylithia.”

“Why?” he begged.

“I beseech you…do not kill her.”

Silwen slowly backed away, shimmered, and was
reclaimed by the darkness. Scar stood motionless and more mystified
than ever. He let out a sigh of desperation when the dry cracking
of a twig snapping pulled his attention. Upon spinning around, he
spotted another figure.

“What are you doing?” Borta asked.

“Nothing,” Scar barked.

“Oh?”

“I thought I had heard a noise…it was
nothing,” the mercenary replied with a smile then patted Borta’s
shoulder as he walked back to the others.

Borta followed behind him.
I wonder if he
saw or heard any of that,
Scar thought. He turned once to look
at the scholar, but his emotionless, gray face gave no indication
that he had witnessed the Goddess nor overheard the
conversation.

“Why did you come to find me?” Scar asked
when they were both under the light of torches.

“Johan and Leera have returned with venison,
so Poland told me to find you. As soon as they prepare the meat for
travel we are to be off.”

“That is good news. I wish to see
Alduheim.”

“They say that it is your home.”

“That is what they say…what do
you
say?”

“I say that there were no people of Alduheim,
and that you are a ghost sent to test us.”

“I appreciate your candor, Borta,” Scar
chuckled. “I am no ghost, and I wish to learn the truth of my
origins just the same as everyone. In fact, I would ask you
something about your knowledge on the matter.”

“My beliefs are no longer relevant.”

“Why do you say that?”

Borta sat down next to Poland and observed
the archers neatly slice the dead animal. They placed strips of
meat onto sticks over a small fire. The scent wafted onto the
group. Mouths started to water.

“By Kulshedra, my stomach rumbles,” Rauls,
the swordsman, cried out.

They shared a chuckle and commented amongst
one another of just how delicious the meat was going to be. Scar
returned his attention to Borta, who then leaned in to whisper.

“What I believe is immaterial because the
truth will be learned soon. I am here to suspend judgment. Sirokai
granted my presence to Gilgamesh in an effort to solidify our
people’s allegiance.

“Death levels the field, we are equal in that
regard for certain. Life and death cannot exist without the other,
and that is primarily our reason for an allegiance with Khmerans. I
don’t care who takes control of Alduheim, you see? It is just a
heap of rubble, and whether or not Dragons were defeated there is
also immaterial. I am concerned only with the present, and to
report back to Sirokai on whether or not there is any knowledge
worth seeking in that confounded place.”

“I see,” Scar said. “Do you know why
Gilgamesh requested your presence?”

“If nothing else, he appears to be a solid
ruler, one who cares for his people and does in fact seek peace. I
am told he wanted my presence only to bolster his allegiance with
Sirokai. If Scultonians lend their full support to one side or the
other, it certainly spells doom for the opposition, yet these are
all the boring war games of rulers.

“I agreed because I am loyal to Sirokai, and
I have studied Alduheim in our texts in Balroa because I, too, wish
for peace. History has much to teach us, not about who won what and
why, but about which mistakes to avoid repeating.”

“I am always amazed to find out just how
resolved for peace and knowledge all of you are,” Scar said. “My
experience with the Zmajans had geared me for the certainty that
everyone is simply out to slaughter one another, yet I have seen
just the opposite on so many occasions. I can only ask why you
don’t all band together and defeat the Zmajans.”

“Exterminating them would unquestionably be
beneficial to all, but Zoltek has ever been the cunning one, and
ransacking Usaj is no simple matter. Their shores are heavily
protected, and the only means of attacking by land is via Satrone
and to a very small extent Eltanrof, but that would cause alarm
between territories unless all the nations’ leaders come together
and support such an effort.”

“And that won’t happen so long as they are
squabbling amongst each other over matters of borders or which God
is the true God,” Scar asserted.

“Correct,” Borta sighed.

“And Sirokai? Does he contest any of the
nations?”

“Dosvetyulia. He has no good will towards
Yuroga.”

“Their king?” Scar interrupted.

“Their Witch Queen,” Borta corrected. “She
supported an attack from Qing-Sho on Balroan territory.”

“Why did they attack, and why did Yuroga
support them?”

“Yuroga and Hashnora are allies,” Poland
interceded.

Scar looked at the old strategist then at
everyone else. They had all grown quiet to listen to the
conversation. Leera lightly slapped Johan and scolded him for not
paying attention to the meat. That led to an argument about who was
supposed to keep an eye on it. They all shared a chuckle before
Marlayne chimed in regarding which rulers were doing what and
why.

“Hashnora claims to see the future, and his
contention was that Balroa was growing in power. He sent spies into
Balroa because he believes the Scultonians are evil,” she was
saying.

“He sent a squadron of Light Bearers to
destroy a small village near the western shore, and Yuroga provided
them with Assassins of Darkness!” Borta hissed.

“That is not the way I have understood it,”
she countered.

“Then you are an imbecile!” the Scultonian
spewed.

“Peace, gentle comrades,” Poland begged. “Let
us not turn on one another. Rulers always hide their intentions
from their people, from their enemies, and from their friends,
too.”

“I have nothing more to say,” Borta huffed.
“
This
is why the leaders of the nations do not come together
for council.”

“Because they are too arrogant to have their
beliefs questioned by others?” Scar debated. “Such hurt feelings by
leaders of nations who claim to be wise.”

Scar was blatantly unimpressed with the
childish behaviors of those whose claim it was to secure peace. His
snort of derision was evidence of disapproval.

“Truth,” Marlayne acquiesced. “If our rulers
would but come together and forget past grudges, they might come to
some form of alliance and actually make a collective effort towards
peace…Longinus has attempted to do so, and so has Jagongo in her
way.”

“An’ you think that makes you better?” Rauls
asked as he helped the archers pack the meat and ready the
horses.

“That is not what I said. You hear what you
want…your leaders also hear what they want. If Hashnora
could
see the future, he would not have attacked Balroa, and
if Gilgamesh was privy to truth, he would know to leave the power
inside Alduheim alone,” the Fafnirian asserted.

“Now hold on just a minute,” one of the
Kulshedrans started.

“I do not claim that Fafnirians are correct,
better, or have all of the answers, but we do have peace on our
borders, and we war with no one,” Marlayne cut him off.

The Kulshedran mumbled something derogatory.
It drew small spurts of laughter from his compatriots. Marlayne
looked at Scar and shrugged.

“It would seem you question the leaders’
motives and intentions,” she said to him.

“I just want answers. Decisions made upon
opinions can only lead us down a dark path,” he replied.

“Yes, that is true, but the answers are
coming,” Poland interrupted. “Now, we are ready to move on from
here. Let us mount and ride,” he added in a cheery tone.

“Ever the jubilant one, Poland,” Marlayne
joked.

Scar looked over everyone, frowned, and
shrugged to himself. Then he gathered his blanket and sword and
mounted his horse. The dim light of early morning provided ample
visibility, and the riders left the peat for travel through more,
thick trees.

Chapter Fifteen- The Malababwen border

A strained silence prevailed for the better
portion of the early morning’s ride. With debates over what role
exactly Alduheim had played in history momentarily quelled, the
riders engaged their tongues in another activity; eating the deer
slain by Johan during the previous night. The sun’s yellow light
burst through the broken canopy of tall trees creating thick beams
of gold.

“The snout is the best part,” one Kulshedran
claimed.

“That’s disgusting, Pater,” a sword maiden
squawked.

“Why, what’s wrong with the snout?” Rauls
asked. “Personally, I like the tongue.”

“J-j-just be norm-ormal,” Tarvin stuttered.
“And, and, and, eat the b-back ssstrap.” His speech impediment sent
everyone into a roaring laughter to which he replied, “up-up
yours.”