by Aaron Dennis
“We should stay close and rest only for as long as the horses need it,” Poland suggested.
“Nuts to that, old man,” one of the archers exclaimed. “There’s deer in this region. I’m off to hunt.”
“Johan,” one of the sword maidens called.
“What?” the archer griped.
“Can’t let you go alone,” she claimed.
“Well you’re not coming with, not with that loud armor you’ve got on ya’!”
“Take Leera,” the woman suggested.
Leera, a female archer, had only just sat down cross-legged. When Johan ran knobby fingers through his short locks giving her an imploring stare, she rolled her almond eyes and returned to her feet.
“The two of you best be careful out there. Don’t tread too far,” Poland warned.
“You think someone will attack?” Scar asked.
Poland let out a belly laugh then coughed as he caught his breath, saying, “Oh my, no, Brandt. There will not be anyone around here, but there could be all manner of wild animals. Forest cats are quite dangerous and are the only cats to attack in packs.”
“Glarings,” Johan hollered over his shoulder as he and Leera skulked off into the darkness.
“Glarings?” Scar asked.
“Eh, a pack of cats is called a glaring, apparently” Poland remarked with an overly exhausted demeanor.
“I see,” Scar whispered. “How long are we going to stop here?”
“Not too long, I think,” the old man said.
“Have we time to camp?” one of the burly shieldmen asked
“No…no time to set up a full camp, but light a fire if you wish, if you can. Nap against your travel pack,” the strategist suggested.
The big man covered in armor removed his plate helmet to reveal a young and round, bronzed face. He smiled widely. Scar saw he was missing a tooth.
“What is your name?” Scar asked.
“Lortho, shieldman of Kulshedra,” he answered with a swelling of the chest.
“What is a shieldman?”
“We have been blessed by Kulshedra with a special power. We not only control power over our armor, but our shields as well. They are our weapons.”
“Yet you carry axes?”
“Yes…those damned Khmerans don’t die unless their heads come off…so,” the man frowned and made mock hacking motions with his hand.
Scar nodded and Lortho turned to his supplies. Marlayne had relaxed against her horse, as it had kneeled from stress, and she opened a book, which she perused under torchlight. Poland sat on a log, then stood up and pulled at the rear of his robe before performing an overly dramatic roll of his eyes; the log was soaked and muddy. He plopped back down in resignation and started to eat. While everyone made themselves as comfortable as possible, Scar also tried to relax.
The mercenary pulled a blanket from his travel pack, which had been given to him by Poland at the outset of their trip. After spreading the blanket on the ground, Scar placed his sword beside him then laid his head on his pack. No sooner had he exhaled and closed his eyes that someone let out a horrific scream.
“What is it?! What’s happened?” Scar asked, coming to his feet and grabbing his sword from the ground.
Two of the Kulshedrans were laughing at another who was sort of running in place and rubbing at his legs. His rapid lifting of the knees while batting at his shins was a hilarious sight.
“It’s nothing,” Poland laughed.
“A s-s-spider was on m-my l-l-leg,” the archer stammered.
Still everyone was laughing. Even Borta and Marlayne were sprawled out holding their sides.
“It’s-ss, not f-funny,” the man stuttered.
He walked around to calm himself before lighting his own torch and working the burning staff into the branches of a tree, but away from the leaves. He shook his head and took some calming breaths.
“Heh,” Scar chuckled. “Perhaps you’ll want to sleep atop your horse, mate.”
“Wh-why?”
“There are certainly more spiders all along the ground and even in that tree. You don’t want one descending from the branches and crawling onto your face, do you?” Scar joked.
Everyone shared a hearty laugh at the poor archer’s expense, who looked around and up into the foliage before deciding that sleeping on his horse was probably the best way to go. He walked off a ways from the group to do so.
“Tarvin certainly does not like spiders,” Lortho laughed.
“He must be really spooked to stutter like that,” Scar commented.
“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 o
f 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…Lo
nginus 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.
