The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (4 page)

Scar grinned and taking a step forward, he
pointed his sword at the wagoneer.

“Look out!” the other wagoneer hollered.

Alarmed by Scar’s movements, he hopped off
the bench with sword drawn. The oldest wagoneer gasped in shock,
but Scar ran him through before he so much as locked fingers around
the handle of his short sword.

“Oh no,” the other wagoneer cried out.

He stood there distraught with blade drawn.
By the time the soldiers at the tables drew their weapons to slay
him, the Zmajans posted at the stairs ran down to swarm the cart.
Though the four Kulshedran guards tried to stab from the rear of
the cart, Zoltek’s fighters whooped and yelled as they struck
back.

One Kulshedran female bounded over the
covered supplies in an attempt to take the reins from the bench,
but before she managed to secure the horses, Dumar ran in from the
southern entrance howling like a madman.

“Rend their flesh!” the grizzled general
commanded and brought down his spinning axe.

She shrieked in horror, fingers just touching
the reins, but Dumar’s morphed weapon sawed clean through her arm.
When she fell from the cart, Dumar’s battalion circled. The
commotion frightened the horses, and they reared up ready to turn
tail. Scar quickly placated the whinnying beasts; the wagon was an
absolute necessity in maintaining easy victories.

The combined forces of Dumar’s and Scar’s men
finished dismembering the remaining Kulshedrans. All in all,
everything had panned out the way Scar promised Zoltek. With no
Zmajan casualties, he was certain it was only a matter of time
before Zoltek blessed his strategic efforts by providing him his
origin.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Dumar laughed. “Well, Scar,
your cunning has worked to our benefit so far.”

“Indeed. Now we pose as wagoneers and move to
the next outpost in the west.”

“Quickly, men,” the General commanded.
“Remove the supplies from the wagon so we may fit many inside.”

Following their orders, the warriors drew
back the cloth covering the supplies. Bolts, food, jugs of water,
and everything else was tossed from the wagon. Once cleared, those
wearing Kulshedran apparel scrunched inside the back of the cart.
Two more took the reins and four pretended to be guards with long
spears.

“Scar,” Dumar called. “This totals only a
dozen men, and surely the Kulshedrans will notice our skin when we
infiltrate the next tower.”

“Truth.”

Soldiers looked to their general waiting for
the assertion to be addressed. During the short interim, Dumar’s
axe stopped its spinning, and resumed its normal appearance. Scar
eyed the process in silence.
Such strange magic,
he
thought.

“Though we move in with only a dozen, I am
joining the fray,” Scar replied.

“I see,” Dumar stated, stroking his chin.
“You have not disappointed so far. We will wait for the flaming
bolt to fly then.”

“Excellent,” Scar said. “I’m certain my
strategy will play out with minimal losses. Today, we ride to
secure the second tower. After the bolt flies, the rest of you will
march to our position. By the time you have arrived, we will have
moved on to the third tower. No word will have reached Kulshedran
ears that we are on the prowl.”

Everyone was satisfied with the proceedings,
so Scar climbed into the back of the wagon. Seven men were arses to
elbows in there. Dumar flung the cloth cover over them, secured it
to the wagon’s frame then sent it off to ride west down the beaten
trail.

“Ya!” the new wagoneers commanded, and the
horses took off kicking up dust in their wake.

Chapter Three- Complications

Under cover of cloth, the Zmajan’s jostled by
the cart ride grumbled. The foul smell of sweaty men was
unbearable, but the current arrangement was a necessity to assure a
swift victory with a paltry number of soldiers. Chatter eased the
tension.

“This is a great ruse,” one whispered.

“Aye,” another agreed. “Perhaps there’ll be a
sweet piece to take as a love slave.”

“Always your mind on your cock, Eldru,” one
joked.

“What about you, Scar,” another asked. “I
heard you bedded Kaviri.”

“Word spreads quickly I suppose…yes. She was
sweeter than I imagined,” Scar answered.

It was during the chuckling that the cart
slowed. Cries of “Whoa”, and “slowly now”, were heard from the
wagoneers. A change in lighting through the cloth indicated they
had pulled into the base of the second tower, into the shade. The
men held their breaths.

Kulshedran guards were heard approaching.
While the Zmajan wagoneers’ armor gave them the look of allied
forces, their skin tone betrayed their true purpose. The emerald
eyes of one exceptionally smart Kulshedran went wide with
understanding and alarm. Quickly as he reached for his blade,
another howled “Ambush!” Scar’s plan had failed before it
started.

“Now,” Scar yelled and ripped the cloth from
his head.

The battle broke out in a bloody mess when
one Kulshedran struck a wagoneer with his long spear. Quickly, Scar
and his men hopped over the sides of the cart. Swings of blade,
axe, and spear resounded against one another. When the gong from
the top floor rang, a dozen Kulshedrans poured down the stairs and
into the fray.

“Steel yourselves!” Scar called out and cut
one man down with ease, shoulder rolled over a wooden table, kicked
another in the sternum then made for the stairs. “I will hold them
here,” he growled.

By ducking beneath weapons, and forcing two
Kulshedrans to the bottom stair, he did well to bottleneck the
coming masses. The enemies grunted, and struck at him with their
spears, but the mercenary easily blocked their attacks and slew
them. Unfortunately, his back was exposed and he received the
crescent blade of an axe across his spine.

“For Kulshedra!” the attacker yelled in
victory.

It was premature. Scar had indeed stumbled
forward in pain, and fell upon the opponents dead on the stairs,
but he was far from defeated. He turned over and slashed out the
attacker’s knees. The enemy fell to the ground crying.

It was pandemonium. The ambush had not gone
as planned, and the dwindling Zmajans were being obliterated.
Inevitably, more Kulshedrans turned their weapons on Scar, so he
bolted up the stairs. Knocking over a handful of enemies on the
way, he arrived at the second level in time to see a soldier hop
over the guardrail.
Damn, he’s making a break to report our
intrusion,
Scar reasoned.

Though he tried to give chase, several
soldiers ran down from the floor above. In the quickly cramping
stone quarters the Kulshedrans made their stand. The first soldier
to close the distance swung his sword from overhead. Scar thrust
his blade, and with his reach coupled with his blade’s length, he
stabbed into the man’s belly, spun around, and slashed at the chest
of two others who were in mid charge.

A brazen group dashed into him, bowling him
to the ground. They rained fists, pommels, shafts, and blades into
his flesh, but with a mighty bucking of his hips, Scar managed to
knock the assailants off. After throwing a left fist into the
closest, he ran to the guardrail and flipped backwards over the
edge.

Careening to the ground was far less pleasant
than presumable. As the wind escaped his lungs, Scar worked himself
to his feet only to have to dodge arrows from above, and more
soldiers spilling from the ground floor. He whipped his head to the
side. The escaped Kulshedran was fast, and had gained quite some
distance, but was still in sight. Thankfully, Scar’s body had
already recovered, and so he gave chase through the chaparral,
leaving the angry platoon of enemy soldiers in the distance.

Feet pounded the dusty ground. Scar
maintained a tight grasp around his blade’s handle as he pushed
himself to the limit. Stride for stride he covered more ground, but
the quick Kulshedran was still yards away. Gritting his teeth and
breathing in through his nose Scar held his speed with ease. The
Kulshedran, however, was growing weary and slowly losing momentum.
Twice Scar noticed the man faltered and peeked over his
shoulder.

During the chase, the fleeing enemy dropped
his sword and started stripping off his armor to allow for better
mobility. He stumbled about as he did, and lost his footing. He
tumbled over, pulled off his cuirass to reveal bronze skin gleaming
with perspiration, and managed back to his feet in time for Scar to
leap into him. They both crashed to the ground, the dust smearing
in with their sweat.

The Kulshedran grunted, kicked, and tried to
scurry away, bur Scar was relentless. He dropped his sword, latched
hands around the man’s head, and by using his legs to hold him in
place, he twisted the man’s neck until it broke. The body jerked
once then went limp. Scar tossed him aside, snatched his great
sword, and readied himself for the approaching soldiers. They were
screaming with battle lust.

“I’ll cut you down!” the mercenary growled in
warning.

Two Kulshedrans stopped short. It was not
fear that held their feet planted, but the need to steady drawn
arrows. A furrow creased Scar’s brow.
This won’t be easy
, he
thought.
Or will it?
More enemies were coming to assist the
archers. He sniffed once while his body relaxed. The previous
pounding of the heart and rapid breathing waned into a sublime
peace. Then the arrows came flying in.

It was a rather simple maneuver; Scar ran
forward with the understanding that the archers had aimed at his
previous post, and that once the archers’ bodies relaxed in
release, the arrows were on an unalterable course. In having
covered less than two yards by the time the projectiles arrived,
Scar was already out of harm’s way and crashing blade through the
shield of a soldier. The impact of steel against bronze shield
rattled the weapon in Scar’s hand, but the enemy hit the ground
with a thud.

The remaining men swarmed, Scar’s head
towering over them. Their proximity made it difficult to place
their attacks without injuring their friends, so Scar lifted his
sword straight into the air, thus cleaving a man from stem to
sternum. Following the strike with a blood curdling yell, the
bladesman delivered a booted foot into the bleeding enemy, and he
fell back hard into the others. That provided a pocket, which Scar
used to shoulder roll forward into the injured, as well as away
from the horde at his rear. After spinning his sword around his
head from a lower position, enough enemies were hacked at the knees
for Scar to dash away.

“Damn it,” he barked. Running wasn’t going to
solve anything; it only provided enemies a chance to warn their
brethren, so he halted and turned around. “Make your peace with
Kulshedra,” the mercenary spat and eyed the opposition.

An archer released a wicked grin and an
arrow. Scar deftly rolled at an angle from the projectile. It
zipped by leaving him unscathed. Again Scar ran in to greet the
soldiers with glinting steel. One slash and another cut through the
enemy.

Scar parried the spears without difficulty
and blocked an axe with his forearm. The blow resounded with a wet,
hacking sound and blood was drawn. It was painful, but too
insignificant to slow the mercenary. Scar spat in the soldier’s
face, head butted her then maneuvered her form between the others
by way of grabbing the flat of his blade and pivoting his sword
with his body. When she fell over, he followed up with a high cross
slash.

Only three more
. “Argh,” Scar cried
out when pain accosted his leg.
It was three soldiers and two
archers, idiot
!

There wasn’t time to complain; an arrow had
pierced Scar’s thigh, and he feared incurring real impairment- not
in matters of personal safety, but in regards to recovering from
the disastrous mission. Quickly butting a rushing Kulshedran with
the pommel of his sword, Scar back-fisted another, and finally cut
down the third melee fighter.

“Now you’re done,” Scar promised the
archers.

He stomped down on a bleeding Kulshedran and
made his approach. The archers glanced at one another before taking
off in different directions.
Damn, they’ll warn the others.
I–
His thoughts were cut short when a soldier wrapped her limbs
around his leg and jerked at the protruding arrow.

“Wench!” he screamed, and drew his foot up
high. She went sailing through the air. Her landing on her head
rendered her unconscious. “I have to kill them all or they’ll just
run off!” He worked fast to sink his blade through brown, leather
armor then looked up to find the archers had gained notable
distance and in opposing directions. “Which one do I chase?”

With a shake of the head in aggravation, he
chose the one heading northwest believing that one was to reach the
next outpost before the other reached wherever he was going. Scar
ran as quickly as his body allowed. Haggard breaths shot from his
mouth, but his tireless muscles prevailed. The archer glanced back
a few times, and knowing his fate was sealed, he grit his teeth,
dropped his bow, drew a short sword, and turned to charge at
Scar.

The hot sun beamed down onto both men. As
their muscles pumped with exertion, they drew closer to one
another. Their eyes met and the soldier screamed his battle
cry.

“Kulshedraaaa!”

Scar lopped his head off. “Damn,” the
mercenary cursed. He looked off into the sunny distance only to see
the other archer was but a shadowed speck far away. “No way to
catch him.”

Opting to return to the outpost and warn
General Dumar upon his appearance, he let the fleeing archer go.
Scar heaved a sigh, used the dead man’s short sword to cut the
arrow from his leg then jogged back towards the tower. His wound
was healed before he arrived.