The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons (5 page)

Chapter Four- Assassin

The gong was still echoing across the land.
Each subsequent
bong
forced a chill up Scar’s spine. Upon
his return from scuffling in the desert, the mercenary found his
men still fighting the Kulshedrans. Clanging steel sounded from all
through the tower. He joined in slaying the remaining enemies
posted at the base floor. For the great bladesman, it took little
effort to polish off the opposition. With a wipe of sweat from his
face, Scar counted his men. Three remained. They were not in good
shape.

“How many have you killed?” he asked
them.

“I don’t know,” a man with tattered armor
grunted. “A dozen?”

Scar’s eyes darted around. The man before him
was splotched with blood, and as much of it appeared his own. The
battlement was a replica of the previous one; tables, chairs, food,
beverages. One difference was the ruined cart and dead horses. The
ambush had petered out miserably. Worse yet, the gong continued
ringing.

“Here they come,” a Zmajan shouted.

The sound of boots pounding over stone came
from the floor right above them. Enemy soldiers poured down the
steps; their ferocity knew no limit.

“Stay back,” Scar instructed.

He stormed over corpses to meet the
Kulshedrans at the stairs. With his great sword, he cut two down
with one slash. They bled and fell out of the way.

“Die, bastard,” an enemy cried.

A Kulshedran lunged with a thrust of sword,
but Scar parried then pulled back to bash the attacker with the
pommel of his blade. When the man collapsed, more heaved themselves
over comrades to force Scar from the stairs.

Their success was short lived. Scar’s men
came in from the flank and slaughtered them. After a nod of
approval, Scar took the stairs up. His men were not far behind.

Just below the floor, and still on the
stairs, Scar hugged the wall. He tried to get a good look at
whatever retribution sat in waiting.
C’mon, there’s certainly
more Kulshedrans up here.
Apart from the ringing gong, Scar’s
group heard nothing. They glanced at each other. Then the mercenary
ran up the steps with a mighty howl, but to his dismay, there was
no one.

“That may be it,” one Zmajan ventured.

“I have to stop that damned gong,” Scar
growled.

He ran up to the third floor. There was no
one there either, so he continued on to the roof, where one
bloodied Kulshedran kneeled from injuries unceasingly beat the
bronze gong with a rounded mallet. He watched Scar stride over to
him, but did not so much as flinch. Scar sank his blade deep into
the man’s flank. The final ring of the gong slowly died out.

“We must wait for the general,” Scar sighed.
“The whole of Kulshedra probably knows about our attack now.”

“I don’t think anyone else can hear that
gong. The other towers are too far away,” one Zmajan answered.

“You’re injured,” a rather dark warrior
remarked with a subtle pointing of his axe.

Silence washed over the squad when Scar
ignored him. After a second, the men puffed and heaved. The agony
of injuries washed over them; adrenaline wore off quickly.

“Let us clean this mess,” Scar offered. They
used cloths to wipe blood from wounds, armor, and weapons. “You,
what is your name?” Scar demanded of the largest Zmajan.

“Samu.”

“Pile the corpses outside…we won’t be leaving
for the next outpost as planned.”

Samu nodded and went to work. By the time
nightfall came, the Zmajans had worked to clear most of the mess.
They were extremely efficient, but exhausted and they passed out at
tables on the ground floor just after bandaging each other’s
wounds.

Scar was the only man awake. An eerie silence
was marginally dulled by cutting winds. Desert nights were chilly,
but Scar did not shiver, nor was he tired. He sat in a wicker chair
next to the long, wooden table. While he eyed the food, his mind
turned to himself.
What shall I do? Dumar will not be
pleased.

He took an apple and biting into it, relished
the sweet juices.
Should’ve seen this coming….
The cadence
of boots pounding the hard packed soil rallied his attention.
General Dumar and several Zmajans entered from the western
opening.

“Ah, Scar,” Dumar started. “We have another
victory thanks to your cunning.”

“Not quite,” Scar replied then stood and
rounded the table to meet the general.

Dumar’s crew readily made themselves at home
by sitting, eating, drinking, and turning to idle chatter.

“What do you mean?” Dumar asked.

Scar observed the soldiers. Kaviri and Shadri
were among them.

“The horses are dead,” she said. “What
happened?”

“If I can have a moment in private,” Scar
asked.

Dumar gave a nod and motioned with his hand
to walk outside the eastern opening. The two stepped out from the
tower to find one soldier relieving himself.

“A fine mess of Kulshedran trash out here,”
the soldier said while shaking out the last drops.

He had been urinating on the pile of enemy
corpses. With a grin, he walked out of sight. Scar gave his
attention to Dumar, who bore a worried look.

“General, an enemy fled. I presume he has
warned his superiors by now. Furthermore, they rang their gong for
some time. Assistance has yet to arrive but,” he trailed off.

Dumar stroked his chin. The frown on his aged
face showed evident disapproval.

“Yes, we all heard that infernal ringing,”
Dumar said and paced a bit. “In which direction did this man
flee?”

Scar shook his head, saying, “I can’t be
certain. It was a wild battle. We–”

The general held his hand up to silence Scar.
Nothing else was said for a minute. Scar’s jaw clenched
involuntarily a couple of times, but he rolled his shoulders in an
attempt to ease his stress. He looked up to watch low clouds float
across the dark sky. Many stars glittered.

“This is problematic,” Dumar sighed.

“They won’t bring an entire army to take back
a guard post,” Scar interrupted.

“Perhaps not.”

Dumar continued pacing slowly. Laughter from
the tower was clearly audible. Scar and the general saw well enough
from their position one of the less injured soldiers recounting his
fight with dramatic thrusts and flailing of the limbs.

“I may have a solution,” Scar offered.

“Oh?” Dumar paused in question, but before
Scar uttered his proposition the general spoke. “I think we should
hold off on whatever it is you think you know.”

Dumar’s eyes were like fierce chunks of
obsidian. Scar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The
old Zmajan nodded to himself. Finally, he spoke.

“Listen, all is not lost, but you have
blundered.”

“I have done no wrong,” Scar interjected.

He and the general locked eyes. Though Dumar
was powerful and angry, he knew well enough the strange man before
him was dangerous.

“Calm yourself, ghost,” Dumar hissed. “Like
it or not, you were placed in charge. You accepted that position
and even killed Urdu for it when contested. That alone makes you
responsible…and likewise…I am responsible. It will do no one well
to have Zoltek learn of failure; much less the death of his idiot
son amounting to nothing.

“Now…
I
have a solution. There is
enough oil stored at each of these outposts to set a small forest
aflame. Surely a squadron of Kulshedrans is already enroute, and
they may bring Draco reinforcements. You and a handful of men will
stay here tonight and cover this entire tower with oil.

“When the enemy comes—and they will come—you
will set fire and flee. You will, of course, have to remain hidden
on the top floor in order to be certain the enemy forces have all
made their way inside before igniting the blaze, so how you flee is
up to you.”

They scrutinized one another.
Is this a
sound plan?
Scar’s eyes narrowed in wonder.

“Well?” Dumar asked.

“Where will you go?”

“We will depart in mere moments to regroup on
our side of the Usaj-Satrone border. There are a few safe havens to
the near south,” Dumar replied. “Taking out a couple guard towers
is a sufficient blow for the time being, but there is a great deal
more territory to usurp before Zoltek’s ultimate plan can be set in
motion.”

“What of the other tower, the one we already
secured? Are there not Zmajans stationed there? They should be told
about–”

“Let me worry about my men,” the general
interrupted. “This war is from over.”

With that, Dumar turned to make his way back
into the tower.

“General,” Scar called. Dumar stopped, but
did not turn around. “What do you wish of me after the fires have
been set?”

“Why, make your way south.”

The general strode out of sight, and
presumably to inform his men. Scar winced.
Something is not
right.
The mercenary peered into the darkness towards the
south. He waited a moment before marching back under cover of the
tower. Kaviri came away from leaning against a pylon when she
spotted the pale faced brute.

Looking at him askew, she asked, “Want me to
stay behind?” Scar looked her over. His glance moved from her to
the lively men. Fighting had raised their spirits. Zmajans were a
very warlike people, and their brazen antics coupled with their
fantastic exaggerations of the previous scuffle seemed a catharsis
for them. Torch fires cast wispy shadows over the brown stone
structure. “You look like you can use some
good
company.”

Her offer interrupted his scrutiny of the
warriors. “Indeed, and Shadri, too…if you can find him,” Scar
agreed.

She arched a brow giving the impression of
confusion, but then quickly smiled showing her big, white teeth.
Scar returned the smile, and she scampered off to secure the help
required for the new operation. While they had been speaking, Dumar
finished addressing the partial failure to his men. Everyone knew
their role. Within minutes, those who were not helping Scar amassed
outside the tower. Shadri, Kaviri, and Samu approached the
mercenary.

“Ready?” Shadri asked.

“We had better be quick about this,” Scar
answered. “Shadri, stay posted as lookout. Find us if the enemy
comes. Samu, Kaviri, let us cover this place in oil.”

While they went to work, the remaining
Zmajans marched away south and into the night. It did not take long
to move the barrels of oil from the top two floors down to the
first. Samu was quick to handle the third floor alone. Scar and
Kaviri started at the base. They struck the barrels with Kulshedran
spears then rolled them around.

Once the ground was soaked with the dark,
viscous liquid, cloths were added for smoke. They destroyed the
furniture, too, and since it was illogical for the enemy to
approach from the south, they piled much of it there in an effort
to bar any escape route.

“Looks like our only way out of here now is
to use bed sheets and fashion rope,” Kaviri stated.

“We’ll have to make a quick descent and
flee,” Scar approved.

Kaviri looked him up and down. “You’re much
too tense.”

“Of course I am,” Scar growled. “Do you have
any idea what it’s like to know nothing of who you are? And to make
matters worse, I may have ruined my only chance to learn. I must
rectify this or Zoltek won’t help me.”

They stopped for a second to observe their
work. The base was ready. Scar glanced at Kaviri’s eyes as he made
his way to the stairs. She joined him on his way up to the second
floor. Samu was already there perspiring freely.

“The third floor is set, and I have left four
barrels up top so we can drop them to keep the enemy inside,” he
said.

“Good,” Scar replied.

“Why don’t you go keep Shadri company for a
minute,” Kaviri suggested.

Samu looked at her then at Scar. Her
intentions were obvious.

“Of course,” Samu smiled.

The large Zmajan left them to finish the work
on the second floor, which was not much; tossing about some linens
and smearing oil on shards of wood. Moments later, it was all set
and Scar took a burning torch from a wall sconce.

“You should grab one, too, and wait for
Shadri’s warning. We’ll need to let the enemy in to give us chase.
Once we make it up to the third floor, we can light the oil from
the base of the stairs. Everything should catch within seconds,”
Scar instructed.

“Relax,” Kaviri breathed.

She moved lithely behind Scar and placed her
hands on his large shoulders. With her lips to his back, she
massaged his muscles. He closed his eyes before rolling his head to
loosen his neck.

“We don’t–” he started.

“Shhhh. Let Kaviri fix everything,” she
purred.

Perhaps just for a moment…
Scar
thought. Kaviri slowly moved one hand away from his shoulder to his
belly. Her velvety lips continued kissing the creases of his back.
Then her other hand moved away from his shoulder. Like a flash of
light, a sudden realization cleared in Scar’s mind.

He snapped his eyes open and rolled forward
away from Kaviri while dropping his torch. With a quick spin of his
head he saw her holding a wicked, curved blade; she had just missed
slitting his throat.

“What are you doing?” he howled.

“Shut up, ghost! You were a means to an end,
but you already failed, you worthless idiot.”

Her words were poison. His face contorted in
rage, and he ran at her. She dodged his swipe, slashed at his thigh
while rolling behind him, and hopped onto his back in an effort to
stab the blade into his throat. Scar capitalized by leaping
backwards into a pylon. A whimper of pain escaped the assassin’s
lips.

“Die!” she cried out trying to stab
again.

Scar threw his right hand back over his head.
His thumb connected with her eye before her blade struck flesh. The
sharp pain and potent blow knocked her off the mercenary, so he
turned around, took a knee, secured her wrist, and by twisting it,
forced the blade from her grip.