The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (30 page)

“I worked with the general under the orders
of Gilgamesh himself,” Scar stated. “No doubt you’ve heard the
Master General of Strategies has eyes and ears everywhere. Why, it
was only recently I had to kill an assassin in Malababwe.” The
mercenary neglected to inform them of the fact the assassin had
been Bakunawan. “These are dangerous times, especially for
traders.”

The brothers were shocked. It was a known
fact that Dracos often raided the towns bordering Sudai, but it was
practically unheard of that a group of them had made it so far
north. Still, the name Sulas held some sway, and no Gyosh was going
to doubt the white man who had abandoned Zoltek for service in the
name of the esteemed Gilgamesh. After all, even though the Gyosh
disagreed with the premise that Kulshedra was the one true God, it
was a well known fact that Kulshedrans sought peace and hardly if
ever lied; the prime reason for the alliance between Munir and
Gilgamesh.

“You’ll make a fine Fafnirian after all,”
Ylithia joked.

It was just as much a well known fact that
Fafnirians were masters of the spoken word, generally peace loving,
and a Paladin of Mekosh with no helmet certainly had to be telling
the truth about her casting aside her so called God. There had
never been tale of a Paladin of Severity showing his or her
face.

“Well,” one of the brothers started. “I
suppose having you two along for extra security is worth a free
ride.”

“Are you sure?” the other brother asked.

“Better free labor than expensive labor,” his
brother replied.

So they agreed to provide passage figuring
Scar and Ylithia were easily worth four guards or more. The two
climbed on the back of the cart once the brothers were ready to
move out of town. The three Gyosh guards who were already employed
by the traders introduced themselves. That was how Scar met Risha,
Halhalu, and Atbar, and the two brothers called Jehu and Samir.

As it turned out, the Gyosh were even more
interested in storytelling than the Tiamatish. Ylithia was quick to
provide a story regarding her days as a night patrolman in Genova.
While they rode southeast to trade throughout neighboring towns,
she regaled them with the time she had to escort an old man who
enjoyed exposing his genitals during festivals, the time she
patrolled the shipyard and two boys caught the biggest fish she had
ever seen, only to see a dock worker steal it from them. She
promptly arrested him and joked about how he kept saying, “please
don’t tell my mother, please don’t tell my mother
.
”

The days progressed and when night fell, the
moonlight glistened off the scimitars the Gyosh guards carried.
Finally, they demanded stories from the mercenary. After sharing a
hookah filled with home grown tobacco, Scar told them stories about
what he witnessed in Usaj like General Dumar’s axe turning into a
spinning blade, and the Kulshedran bandit who knocked Relthys onto
his hindquarters. Ylithia called him a speaker of horror tales, and
that’s when Scar realized how turbulent the last few months had
been. The only lighthearted story he had was about Brandine, and
that just ended with a fat woman puking.

“I wonder if I had any good times before I
lost my memory,” he mused. “Probably not.”

“Plenty of time to make new memories,” Risha,
a dark woman with short, black hair said.

“Happy memories,” Ylithia reassured.

“I think I’m making one now,” Scar
smiled.

After a week of riding through Gyosh
settlements, sharing hookahs, and eating dates, Scar and Ylithia
were dropped off in a town bordering Closicus called Turletima. It
was nothing special, but it being so close to Closicus, the terrain
and climate were much more comfortable for travelers on foot.

The desert sand and sparsely growing cacti
had gradually morphed into rolling hills and rocky expanses. Along
with the lower temperatures, higher elevation, and blowing winds,
came game birds, varieties of fruit trees, and fat squirrels which
Scar managed to knock out of limbs with hurled stones. The
travelers ate well, rested in the shallow depressions of immense
stones, and drank from cool streams.

During the slow passage of a few very
comfortable days, they simply discussed their likes, their
dislikes, people they had met, and occasionally pondered over the
people they had left behind. With a dwindling regard for the past,
they both found that traveling without saying a word was just as
enthralling as lengthy conversation. They truly enjoyed one
another’s company.

“I never dared to think life could be like
this,” Scar mused.

“Truth. It has been so long since I had the
pleasure to just enjoy life without the burden of someone’s death
looming overhead.”

Early one morning, Scar found himself waking
up. He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the hazy light in the
morning mist. They had slept side-by-side in a fragrant meadow, and
as he stretched his stiff muscles he realized he had slept without
dreams- the word Sarkany, half forgotten, floated about his
mind.

With a wipe of his mouth, he looked around to
find himself alone. Ylithia’s heavy tracks had flattened the grass
and brightly colored flowers, so he followed the tracks to a
rippling stream. The fallen paladin was fumbling with the straps
beneath her armor to undo her breast plate.

“Must have been quite the ordeal travelling
about for weeks with that heavy armor strapped to your figure,” he
said.

She looked up and smiled at him, saying, “It
isn’t heavy at all, actually.” He smiled back. She had not caught
on to the fact that he was only joking, and she went on to tell him
about the armor the Paladins of Severity wore while he helped her
undo the straps. “The Friars of Tolerance have a special sect of
smiths that mine the frigid mountains of Wuulefroth. As part of
their training in the principle of tolerance, they spend many
months removing an ore they call cladsteel.”

“Cladsteel,” he echoed. “It is light,” he
added when the chest plate slid off her body into his hands.

Under the armor she wore padded rabbit furs.
The smell of sweat was rather heavy as it wafted from the garments.
She laughed and apologized for the odor, but he disregarded it with
a flick of his hand.

“Certainly, I smell no better,” he said.

When they were both nude, they waded into the
stream to clean themselves and whatever attire was washable- his
boots and trousers, her bustier and sub regalia. As she splashed
water and used some grit from the bottom of the stream to scrub
herself, he watched her pert breasts bounce. His coming to
attention was duly noted.

“You are a big man for sure,” she said
coyly.

He grinned, waded to her, turned her around
and massaged her breasts while kissing her neck softly. The
foreplay quickly led them to the dry bank where they explored each
other’s curves and creases. Moans and grunts frightened the nearby
animals. A flock of birds violently rushed from branches during
their climax.

At the end, he held her close to his body.
She rested her chin on his chest, and he pushed strands of auburn
hair from her eyes. Placidly looking upon one another, they enjoyed
that morning as much as anyone enjoyed life. They were both very
happy together.

“There is still so much I don’t know about
you,” Scar whispered.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“I was born to a well-to-do musician in
Genova,” she started. “My mother, Ulathia, worked in the university
teaching the piano.”

“Really?” Scar smiled. “Music is important in
Closicus?”

“Well certainly,” she chirped in disbelief.
“Musicians—the good ones—can go on to play in the emperor’s court,
lead in the parades, and entertain in festivals. Fafnirians are
widely known for their musical talents.”

“I had no idea…so what about your
father?”

“He died when I was young. I was twelve and
still learning the violin, my second instrument, when he died of
pneumonia. He only heard me play once, but it made him very
happy.”

“Your mother still lives?”

She smiled sadly, saying, “I don’t know. She
was alive when I left Genova to pursue the teachings of severity…I
have not had words with her since…I have not been back home in ten
years.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up sad
memories.”

She readjusted her body on top of his and
placed her head against his chin before continuing her tale. “I’m
not sad. I followed my heart and the voice of Mekosh. During my
time under his guidance I was filled with such a passion you would
not believe it. The only time I’ve been sad is when he stopped
speaking to me, but now you speak to me, and in place of passion I
have contentment, well…there is still some passion,” she
giggled.

“What was it like being a paladin?”

“Like a dream,” she whispered. “A dream where
you feel like you’re awake and everything is always the right way.
It’s a dream wherein your beliefs are beyond contestation, and the
fervor that comes with it radiates throughout your body, but now
that it is over. I feel like I’ve woken from some drunken stupor. I
have only my own thoughts in my head, and I like it better that
way.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear you’re happy with
me.”

They napped a bit before waking hungry. There
was little to eat in the area apart from a handful of walnuts and
more squirrels. Scar volunteered that if he had a bow and arrows
they could certainly have had something more filling like boar or
deer, but roasted squirrel filled their bellies sufficiently for
more travel.

Geared up and back to hiking, they wandered
eastward for the better part of the day. In due course, they came
upon a beaten path, the kind of trail hunters followed. Taking it
yielded only the sound of bounding deer. They found a dry rotted
arrow shaft protruding from a tree, but no deer and no hunters.

Later that night, laying down to sleep next
to a crackling fire in a clearing, Scar asked if they would go to
Genova before Othnatus. Ylithia was hesitant to reply. She furrowed
her brow considering the matter carefully.

“You can imagine my departure was not well
received,” she started. “We can always visit Genova after we’ve
started our life.”

“You don’t want to see your mother?”

“She may no longer be alive, and I’m not
ready to find out one way or another.”

“I wish I could offer some advice, but I
don’t know anything about families,” Scar admitted.

“That’s alright.”

They slept soundly that night. The next day
was laden with more traveling of the hunters’ trails. Finding
people would certainly have been a boon. Directions to a town were
always welcome, but there was no one. Still, they believed the
trails had to originate from some kind of settlement, and so they
travelled, ate fruit, more squirrels, and drank from a small pond.
During their journey, they conversed over hopes of finding a
town.

The days were growing short, blustery, and
the sun set earlier each night. Brown leaves fell from twisted
branches and crunched underfoot. Where ever they were was quite
hilly with fewer trees. Replacing the dense canopy was an open sky.
Clouds streaked the zenith. Below the hill were oceans of
dandelions. Winds blew tiny puffs every which way.

“A majestic sight, no?” Ylithia whispered.
“This is truly a scene from my childhood.”

They were busy appreciating the beauty under
an orange sky. The two sat together at the top of a hill, the white
puffs whipping beneath them, and when the sun finally went down,
Scar noticed a glow off in the distance. He pointed it out.

“A fire?” she asked.

“Hopefully.”

“We should make for it and see who it
is.”

“With any luck it’ll be a town.”

“Even a group of bandits would be a welcome
sight,” she scoffed.

He laughed, asking, “Do you think they’d be
so kind as to point us to a town?”

“If not, you can always beat one of them
until they do.”

“Maybe it would be better if I let you do the
talking,” he joked.

She rolled her eyes, and off they went into
the direction of the glow.

“Those hunters’ trails didn’t appear to
originate from anywhere after all,” Scar mused.

“Likely, they’re either abandoned or utilized
by a group of nomads, or perhaps only used at a specific time of
the year. Regardless, we have a clear path now.”

Scar nodded. They hiked over tall grasses in
an effort to discern the nature of the fire before it vanished as
the temperature quickly dropped. The fire had been moving about
erratically for some time. Trading ideas on its origin, they ended
up figuring it was a torch carried by a lone traveler or inhabitant
of the area. It was during their conversation that dog barks echoed
from that same direction.

“I’ll bet it’s a sheep herder,” she chirped
and took off at a slow jog.

Scar trailed her a few paces behind. He
noticed that for the first time in his recollected life, he wasn’t
expecting a fight. Ylithia had stopped at a slat fence and worked
herself over it without bothering to locate a gate or an open
space. He strode right over it, and the two continued over short
grasses toward a squat, brown building. The pale glow of candles
illuminated closed shutters. Bleating sheep and more barking
announced their arrival, but they didn’t mind the warning, and Scar
followed his lady friend to the front of the thatched roof house.
She knocked on the door.

A moment eased by without anyone answering.
She knocked again and heard some grumbling. Then some feet shuffled
over a wooden floor.

“Who goes there,” the voice of an aged man
asked.

“Greetings, I am called Ylithia. My friend
and I have been traveling from Malababwe,” she announced. “Would
you be so kind as to open to the door and have us inside?”