The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (38 page)

“No,” he answered and took his sword.
“Staying here would be too painful. I must bring those responsible
to justice. Besides, you don’t need someone like me bringing more
trouble to this place.”

They smiled meekly. He spotted his chest
plate and nabbed it, too. The women glanced at Labolas, but said
nothing and let them be on their way. From his house, he went to
see Dario. Marcus and Renus were also present. They were trying to
build a manikin for Ylithia’s armor.

“Oh, Scar,” Dario heaved. “You poor, young
man.”

“No more apologies from anyone, please.”

“Of course, of course…what do you think?” the
Fafnirian asked with a wave of the hand towards the wooden manikin.
“A proper headstone?” Scar smiled and nodded. “Make sure you see
Rothbert…he, uh, he’s got something for you.”

Again, Scar gave a nod and moved out to find
the tanner. He walked in to see him polishing some blackened,
leather armor. The Slibinish looked rather pale, even for an ice
man.

“Scar,” he coughed. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough apologies,” he interrupted. “I’m off
soon, but Dario sent me to see you.”

Rothbert smiled weakly, saying, “Ylithia made
this for you.” The Slibinish tanner laid out a set of blackened
leather fitted for Scar. “I would like to see it on you…as I’m sure
she would have, too. Your lady worked very hard to make this out of
the hides you provided.”

Scar looked over the fine craftsmanship. He
handled the individual pieces. Fresh tears stung his eyes as he
sighed, smiled, and started trying it all on. Rothbert helped him
slide the cuirass on first. It was adjustable and had a great many
straps and buckles for added comfort and protection. The leggings
were next. They came in five parts; simple pants, thigh pads that
buckled over the hamstrings, and shin guards that buckled over the
calves. The shin guards extended up over the knees, but didn’t
buckle in order to allow for extra mobility. Scar then slipped on a
pair of black riding boots that strapped over the shin guards.
Rothbert buckled a leather bracer over Scar’s right wrist before
sliding a leather gauntlet with steel plating over his left
hand.

“It’s plated so you can parry blows as though
you wore a buckler,” the tanner whispered. “I had told her it was
foolish…little did I know you would be out for blood.”

Scar moved and stretched. It was a fantastic
fit, but the crowning touch was the black, leather galea; a helmet
that slid over his head heavily protecting his forehead, ears, and
the back of his neck. In place of a standard horsehair crest was
the antlers of a great hart. The tanner took a step back and a
breath to witness the masterpiece.

“You should have a look,” he said, and walked
Scar over to a full length mirror. “That is how Ylithia saw you
every time she looked your way.”

He was the very definition of intimidating.
Scar prodded at his cuirass.

“Rothbert, I…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, it was Ylithia’s doing in
her own spare time.”

He nodded before asking, “Can you make an
addition?”

“Of course,” the tanner said with a slight
bow of the head.

“Will you attach this chest piece?” Scar
said, and walked over to his old armor.

“It will take me a moment, but yes. Leave the
cuirass here and come back in an hour or so.”

Scar agreed. It was enough time to see
Jordana and ask for forgiveness. Night had settled onto Othnatus,
and he marched over the snowy streets to the house across the lake.
He knocked on the door, but no one replied.

“They’re probably off to Ylithia’s grave,”
Labolas whispered.

“Mm,” Scar grunted. “I’ll have to see if
anyone’s at Curval’s. Then we can be off.”

“Sure,” Labolas agreed.

At the pub, Scar found Christina and
Bridgette trying to have food and drink ready for the others’
return.

“Will you stay tonight?” Bridgette asked.

“No, I just wanted to ask everyone’s
forgiveness.”

“My dear, for what?” Christina asked.

“For bringing a gruesome event to wonderful
homes. I won’t hear of anyone telling me it isn’t my fault…so
please, I just want you all to tell everyone I’m sorry, and that
you won’t be seeing me again.”

The women consented, forced him to take food
and drink along for where ever he was heading, and said their final
goodbyes. Outside the pub, as fresh snow softly fell, Scar made
back towards Rothbert’s. It hadn’t been quite as long a wait as
anticipated, but the tanner received him warmly and strapped the
armor to his chest. He had replaced the old brown straps with new
black ones and added a new buckle to hold his sword in place. Scar
slid it over his back and rolled his shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Scar. Goodbye, and may
Slibinas aid in delivering the wicked to a frozen Hell.”

Then Labolas and Scar marched to the stables,
mounted shaggy horses, and rode out of Othnatus.

Chapter Twenty-Two- The long haul

The Captain of the Legion of Archers argued
with Scar that a direct ride west from Othnatus and out of Closicus
was not the best course of action. Kulshedrans were currently as
hated as Zmajans because Gilgamesh had tried to flush out the
remnants of explorers by sending scouts into Malababwe, Closicus,
and Balroa. Furthermore, when none of Gilgamesh’s men returned, he
claimed that those countries’ leaders were spitting in the face of
peace and called them traitors.

“He has gone mad,” Scar commented.

“He blames you, of course.”

Labolas then outlined the supposed plan
Gilgamesh had had in mind. All of Scar’s and N’Giwah’s parties were
to have been slain seemingly by Khmerans. That act of shifting
blame was supposed to unite Balroa, Eltanrof, Sudai, Closicus,
Malababwe, and Qing-Sho. On top of that, there were never any
Zmajan infiltrators as General Sulas had proposed. Instead, the
idea that Zmajans were prowling around all of the countries
surrounding Alduheim was meant to refocus the warfront to the
south.

“With the Gyosh and Dracos setting aside
their differences long enough to wipe out Usaj, Gilgamesh had
planned to reparcel the southern peninsula figuring that if Donovan
took on a portion of Usaj, he’d stop fighting Munir in the north.
Brokering peace between those two, he’d have the entire southeast
ready to mount an attack on Sahni, but since none of that has
happened, I have to try to keep my head on my shoulders…and so do
you,” Labolas claimed.

Scar agreed, but was upset over wasted time.
He wanted to mount a mad dash straight for Tironis. That’s when
Labolas proposed they ride southeast to the port town of Ithlica,
purchase passage on a vessel, and skirt the eastern shores around
Sudai into Eltanrof.

“Are the Dracos still allies?” Scar pried
during their ride through the Closic countryside.

“Yes, fortunately,” Labolas answered.
“Donovan is an angry, young man, and so long as he has enemies to
slay, he is content in supporting Gilgamesh. Besides, he is already
at odds with Munir and Zoltek. Jagongo and Longinus bear him no ill
will. If Donovan went to war with Gilgamesh, he’d have to contend
on three fronts and with no allies; he’s a rabid dog to be sure,
but he’s not quite as crazed as Zoltek.”

“How long will it take to reach Eltanrof by
sea?”

“If there’s no bad weather it should be about
five days.”

“Damn…that’s a long time for my blood to
boil,” Scar grumbled.

“I know how you must feel.”

“No you don’t,” the mercenary cut him short.
“No, you don’t, but I appreciate a good strategy…besides, a ride
directly through Closicus and into Satrone would twice as long, and
that’s without opposition.”

“Which we’d have,” Labolas interrupted.

“And then all the opposition in Satrone on
top of that,” Scar added.

“Right, this way we have five days of dreary
sailing. Then we’ll anchor in Aldurstun. It’ll be a quick ride from
there to River Rock. I’ve an old friend there who should be able to
get us all the way into Tironis without much effort.”

“How?”

“You’ll see….”

Half a day was spent riding through meadows,
over hills, and leaving tracks in the snow. When they reached the
port town of Ithlica by first light, they paid little attention to
the townsfolk’s on goings and made a straight march for the docks.
After questioning a few workers, who were reticent to speak before
a seven-foot giant in menacing armor, they learned that no vessels
were sailing for Eltanrof, but that one man calling himself Captain
Valiant might be persuaded for the right amount of coin. Scar and
Labolas learned that he spent most of his time at a local watering
hole called
The Fisherman’s Bharf.

“Oh…like wharf,” Labolas joked when they saw
the sign.

Scar arched a brow and winced. He was not in
a joking mood. At the Bharf, they questioned one person regarding
the Fafnirian captain and were pointed to a withered, old fart in
perhaps his late eighties. The coot wore a blue coat, and a white
captain’s hat that pushed cotton hair down over his droopy ears.
Valiant gulped down cheap liquor and denied them passage when they
asked.

“The others said you’d go for the coin,” Scar
argued.

The bronze toned man adjusted his hat over
the scraggly hair and maintained that no coin was worth a trip that
long. “I gots ta’ get back here, too, don’ I?” he said in a shrill,
faltering voice.

“Fine, so we’ll pay for two trips,” Labolas
pressed him.

“Nope,” Valiant said and drank more
liquor.

Scar removed his helmet and placed in on the
counter next to Valiant. He took the man by the shoulder and turned
him forcefully.

“Look at me,” Scar said.

Valiant was too drunk to be scared and said,
“I’m seein’ ya’.”

“Some men killed my beloved, and I have to
get to Eltanrof. Please, if you won’t take us, help us find someone
who will.”

Scar let go the disheveled captain and slid
his galea back on. The old man wet his lips, and then dried his
bushy beard with the back of his hand. He huffed once, looked at
his empty glass, and looked back at Scar.

“Ya’ gonna kill ‘em in Aldurstun?” he
asked.

“They’re not there…they’re in Tironis, but we
can’t go straight there on account of the fact that my friend is
Kulshedran,” Scar replied.

Labolas nodded, but didn’t draw back his
cowl. Valiant winced and looked them both over. What scant few
people were also in the bar hadn’t overheard that Labolas was
Kulshedran. The archer looked about nervously anyway.

“I had a wife, once,” Valiant mumbled. “Died
at sea, she did…miss that ole’ bony face every day, I do…all right,
young man. Fifty coins ta’ Aldurstun, an’ Fifty ta’ get me back
home.”

At the end of his rumination, Valiant held
out his hand. Scar looked at Labolas, and he fumbled around with
his belongings.

“I’ll give you fifty now, old man, but you
aren’t getting the other fifty until we get there in one piece,”
the Kulshedran asserted before handing him the money.

“Fine by me,” Valiant agreed.

They left the Bharf immediately and followed
the scruffy captain as he stumbled all over the docks to a less
than immaculate sloop. Valiant staggered into his vessel. Reaching
over the sides, he started undoing the ties from the cleats.

“Oh, no,” Labolas recoiled. “You can’t be
serious. You’re taking us around three countries for five days in
that thing?”

“Hey now,” Valiant snapped. “The Mighty
Shanowa is a fine vessel…I mean, sure, she ain’t quite…eh, what do
ya’ call it?”

“Seaworthy?” Labolas sniped back.

“Flamboyant,” Valiant corrected.

“I think you mean she isn’t quite
buoyant
,” Labolas argued.

Scar grumbled at them to stow it and hopped
onto the sloop.

“See, your friend’s got the right notion,”
Valiant chuckled. “’Sides, we’re jus’ goin’ to skirt the shores. We
ain’t takin’ the deep sea. Now, get in and nab one o’ them
paddles.”

Labolas begrudgingly boarded, so they
painstakingly took to the waters. Almost immediately, the old man
started rambling about rigging, types of boats, kinds of fish,
bait; if it had anything to do with the sea, he yammered about it.
When he wasn’t talking, he was drinking, and when he was talking
and drinking, Labolas was arguing with him.

Most of the first day was a great deal of
paddling. Then Valiant instructed Labolas on how to take the sail;
Valiant wanted to sleep off his liquor.

“I know how to sail, you old fool,” he
snapped.

“Then how come you’re only catchin’ half the
wind, heh?”

The archer acquiesced, and by the time the
sun set, and Valiant dozed, they were off at a full twelve knots,
keeping the coast to their starboard.

“You’ve been quiet,” Labolas mentioned while
the salty wind whipped his hair about.

“Not in a talkative mood, I suppose…I miss my
sweet Ylithia.”

Labolas gave him a polite moment of silence
then said, “Those kinds of contemplations won’t do you any good,
friend.”

“What am I supposed to think about?”

“I was thinking about your sword,” Labolas
said without missing a beat.

“It’s going to cut the head off Gilgamesh’s
body.”

“No doubt, but I mean the holes. They’re
diamond shaped like that man’s lance…the one who killed that fire
Dragon.”

“Drac, that man slayed Drac.”

“Yes…anyway, I’m wondering why you have a
sword designed to hold those gems. You must be here to kill the
Dragons…it’s the only explanation,” Labolas wondered aloud. Scar
gazed over the sea. The stars were specks glittering in a vast
expanse of blackness. “Scar?”

“What?”

“I said, if only you could remember who you
are…if you had known from the beginning,” Labolas sighed. “You must
have known something after all. You always knew about the Gods and
Dragons, even if you can’t remember.”