The Dragon of Time Two, Dragon Slayer

An amnesiac mercenary called Scar appeared in the middle of the territorial disputes of Tiamhaal. He brought a whirlwind of change, the kind of change no one expected. That man was in actuality the avatar of Eternus, the Dragon of Time, a being outside the realm of human comprehension. Eternus was the universe, it was the ineffable creator of all that was, but having taken a liking to a particular world, it sent a portion of itself to the world of men.

Crafted from the clay at the edge of the world and fashioned from the eight guiding principles of man, Scar, the mercenary, was sent to slay the Dragons, and so he was named Sarkany, the Dragon Slayer, yet his fashioning was not without flaws, and he lost his memories. Finding himself traveling aimlessly, seeking only to learn of his origins, Scar was beset by Dracos, the followers of Drac, Dragon of Fire, and then he was manipulated by Zoltek, Negus of the Zmajans, followers of the Dragon of Destruction, and finally, the warrior was sent by King Gilgamesh of Satrone, a worshiper of Kulshedra, Dragon of Truth, to the ruined kingdom of Alduheim where a forgotten memory lay buried in darkness.

It was there that he and his men found a paladin, a warrior named Ylithia, who fought in the name of Mekosh, a true God, the God of Severity, and even though paladins had always maintained that Dragons were posing as Gods, most people of Tiamhaal had never believed them ingenuous, yet what was witnessed beneath the rubble of Alduheim united them in their efforts to reveal the truth to their kings and queens. The leaders of every tribe had established their own countries under the name of their Dragon Lord posing as God; constantly, they fought for territory, supremacy, religious beliefs, and even peace. Things changed when warriors of Kulshedra, Scultone, Fafnir, and Tiamat joined forces with Scar and Ylithia, but their plan to bring to light the lies of Dragons was short-lived; Scar and Ylithia fell in love and left kings and pawns to squabble among themselves.

The two abandoned Gods and Dragons for a life of peace, but the spurned King Gilgamesh had other plans, and he sent his men to kill Scar, yet he was away, and it was Ylithia, who was cut down without mercy, and for that act of betrayal, Scar took his sword, joined his old friend, Labolas, invaded the impregnable palace, Inneshkigal, and killed Gilgamesh before all the Kulshedrans of Tironis. Upon the king’s death, Scar was transported to Drangue, where he battled the mighty Kulshedra, a misty whorl of a Dragon, and the Dragon Slayer took the beast’s soul.

Since then, the Kulshedrans have lost their powers—the ability to augment their armor through Dragon’s magic—and they struggle to maintain their borders, their culture, their lives, but Scar is far from finished; he owes someone a debt of blood, and so he has journeyed back to Usaj, the land of destruction ruled by the mighty Zoltek. In Meshoptam, capital of Usaj, Scar, the pale skinned, seven foot giant, in black, leather armor, has slain the Zmajan royal guards and come face to face with an old foe….

Chapter One- Zmaj, the All God

The Dragon Slayer smiled. A pile of bloody corpses were strewn over the deer pelts covering the stone floor of Zoltek’s palace. Since the guards were dead, and Zoltek had yet to show his face, Scar plunked down on the blackened, wood throne; the seat of power within the walls of Urr. He watched shadows cast by burning braziers dance along the gray stone. An eerie quietude was all that remained of the opposition. Dead men told no tales, but dead Dragons were a different story. A gust of chilly night air brought forth sparks and crackles from the fires. Scar clicked his tongue.

Zoltek, he taunted.

The warrior frowned, crossed his legs, and strained to listen. Only embers chirped when more gusts circulated through the throne room. None of the guards had dared chase the Dragon Slayer into the palace, and inside Urr, Scar had already hacked to bits anyone who wasn’t fleeing for their life. Zmajans were nothing if not fearsome, but the Dragon Slayer was practically invulnerable; such was the blessing of Eternus, the Dragon of Time.

Think of your son, Zoltek, Scar yelled. I killed the little brat when he tried to backstab me. What was his name? Oh, yes, Urdu.

The fight inside the palace had lasted less than an hour. After charging in, Scar easily mowed down the dark-skinned fighters. Their leather armor proved ineffective against the brute’s great sword, a blade forged by Eternus for the specific purpose of slaying Dragons. They tried to fight back with their magic weapons—swords and axes that changed into spinning blades; they were self-propelled saws. Some of the Zmajans, ones with crossbows, turned their weapons into machines that fired bolts at an unprecedented rate, yet the projectiles did little damage. Scar’s newest wounds had already healed over.

Don’t make me hunt you down like a dog, Zoltek. You’re Zmajan. You are brave, and you are angry. You should come find me and accept my challenge rather than cower in some darkened corner! Scar goaded. Come prove to me that Zmaj, the All God, holds you worthy.

A clanking of metal bled through the vaulted ceiling. Scar looked up. There were still people in there somewhere, but he wanted only to gut Zoltek, take his Dragon gem, and show Zmaj his blade. Capturing all of the Dragons’ souls was his quest, the single reason for his creation, and though Scar detested being ordered around, and by a Dragon, no less, he was still upset over the death of his lover, Ylithia. Such was his wrath, an insatiable thirst for blood.

Killing her attackers in Othnatus had not been enough. Cutting down King Gilgamesh, who commanded them, had not been sufficient, and slaying the Dragon, Kulshedra, had only whet his appetite for Dragon’s blood.

Zoltek, Scar called; a constricted tone revealed his intolerance. It was less than a year ago that you promised me answers. Remember? You hired me to fight for you, to kill Kulshedrans, and in return, you were going to tell me who I was. You were going to ask Zmaj…tell me, have you asked him? Has he told you?

After having slain Kulshedra, the mercenary’s memories flooded his mind, and so as he sat upon the negus’s throne, taunting him; he knew all too well Zoltek feared the truth. The sound of bare feet coming down stone steps drew Scar from self-reflection. He looked to his right, where a set of stairs led up to private chambers. A thin figure wearing shiny, purple and gold robes descended. Zoltek held a metal staff in his left hand. Its top was a purple gem in the shape of a diamond. Zmaj’s gem, Scar thought. At the base of the stairs, his face shrouded in shadow, the Negus of Usaj glared at the Dragon Slayer.

I do not fear you, ghost, Zoltek breathed. His voice was unearthly, something reminiscent of rustling leaves caught in the wind. You are no one, nothing. Zmaj does not claim you. None of the Gods do.

None of the Dragons do, Scar corrected.

You are a fool.

I owe you for your betrayal, Scar said and came to his feet.

I did not betray you. You failed your mission. You killed my son.

You lied to me, Scar growled.

Never, Zoltek breathed. It is not my fault the Gods shun you.

Dragons.

Zoltek struck the ground with the bottom of his staff. It made a strange sound like that of a bell. Scar smiled.

Tell me, what manner of God speaks only to one man. What manner of God requires a gem for commune? the Dragon Slayer demanded.

Why do you even argue? Did you not come here to fight?

I need you to know just how foolish you are before you die.

Zoltek snorted in derision, You are the fool. You think you killed a Dragon, and now you come into my country, and lay my people to waste. Tell me, ghost, you think yourself a hero?

No, Scar heaved. I think myself the Dragon Slayer.

With that, he leapt across the room to strike at Zoltek. The Negus of Usaj stepped forwards and lunged with his staff. An arc of purple lightning exploded from the gem and sent the warrior reeling into corpses.

All that hatred, Zoltek breathed. You aim it in the wrong direction, yet I hold Cabazalus, and with it, I will destroy you.

Scar quickly recovered and attempted a slightly different tactic. First, he snatched a spear from a dead guard. He chucked it then quickly leapt at Zoltek again. Before the spear connected, a web of purple electricity arced off the staff and disintegrated the weapon. By the time Scar closed the distance, the web expanded and remained a barrier between him and his opponent. Steel and magic clashed as muscles tensed.

Your Dragon magic won’t last, Scar growled as he struck the barrier with his blade. Gilgamesh thought Kulshedra would save him, too, but I made quick work of him.

Then, Kulshedra is weak, Zoltek howled in a booming voice that reverberated throughout the keep. The God of Truth is nothing compared to my God, Zmaj! The All God will reduce you to ashes!

The web of lightning curled inwards and then wrapped around the Dragon Slayer. It was a sparking sphere of pure energy that blistered his skin and busted the antlers off his helmet. Growling and thrashing, the brute continued to hack at the magic. Realizing that such an approach was useless, he tried to run, and although the energy was bound to his form, he was able to charge his opponent. When they collided, the lightning shot off in various directions. Chunks of stone were knocked from the palace’s walls. Both men were sent to the ground.

Scar came to his feet first. Zoltek was in a crouching position, his face still hidden by his cowl. The Dragon Slayer looked over his wounds and laughed as they healed.

Your people do nothing but kill, Zoltek. Your Dragon demands it and gives nothing in return.

You call this nothing? Zoltek howled and blasted Scar again with a bolt of energy.

The arc tore through the warrior’s shoulder. He yelled out in pain, but did not falter and charged again. Zoltek stood at the same time Scar’s blade came down. He parried the slash, but it sent the old Zmajan to the ground. His hood slid back, and Scar saw that his color streaked face had been ravaged by fire, or perhaps lightning. The negus pulled the cowl back down, and started to work himself to his feet by rolling over onto hands and knees, but Scar came up behind him and kicked him hard in the backside. The blow made the Zmajan kiss the floor.

Yes, I call it nothing, Scar said. You’ve spent your entire life in servitude. You bend to the will of a Dragon, and not because you have to, and not because you want to help people, but because you wish only to kill everything around you!

Zoltek scurried away and tried to stand once more, but the warrior swept his feet out, and the old man rolled onto his side. Do you not see, the negus heaved. Do you not see that if everyone were united under the banner of one God, there would be no more fighting? Why is it wrong to pursue such a dream? Do the others not wish the same? Who made you judge?

You wish to unite no one, Scar spat. That is why you keep slaves, pillage, raze, and attack. Had Gilgamesh and Donovan not kept you cornered, you would have done worse to other countries.

So where is your allegiance, Zoltek barked.

From his back, he aimed Cabazalus at his opponent and blasted him with another bolt of lightning. It caught Scar’s sword, and the two marveled at the display. The energy swarmed about the blade like snakes. Little, violet sparks popped off and vanished, leaving thin trails of smoke. Zoltek focused his might and doubled the size of the bolt, but Scar spun and whipped his sword over his head, keeping the lightning from his skin. Once he completed a circle, he stabbed into Zoltek’s belly. The Zmajan cried out in pain, thrashed against the ground, and let go his staff. It rang like a bell again when it struck the hard floor. Wispy crackles of energy sizzled away into nothing.

Scar knelt next to the dying, old man and whispered, You will not go to Pozoj, and be glad of it. The Dragon uses men’s souls to increase its power. They wish to walk Tiamhaal again and wreak havoc across the land. I have been sent here to stop them.

How? Why? Zoltek coughed.

Some questions do not have answers, his tone betrayed grief.

The Dragon Slayer stood upright. He looked down at his foe, who was curling into fetal position. No doubt, his grievous wound was painful. Scar showed mercy and lopped his head off rather than leaving him to suffer. He frowned and shook his head in dismay. At least, that will quench my thirst for vengeance. The rest was just business. He was going to kill the Dragons because if he didn’t, thousands were doomed; killing Kulshedra had been an act of providence, but killing Zmaj was an act of war.

Scar took a knife from his belt, pried the gem out from the top of Cabazalus, and worked it into the second hole in his blade, above the one with Kulshedra’s Dragon gem. Vertigo immediately overtook him. When the spinning subsided, he found himself in Pozoj, the realm of destruction.

****

There was but a swirling chaos of colors. Misty shapes swished around. The warrior tried to gain his bearings; the realm of destruction was even more convoluted than the realm of truth.

Eyes darting in an effort to catch a glimpse of anything familiar, Scar saw a blue orb of wavering light. It vanished after he noticed another orb of pulsating, orange light. Then, he saw there were orbs everywhere, dozens of them.

Zmaj, he called out. Show yourself! I have killed your brother, and now I will kill you, too!

A chorus of musical voices accosted the warrior’s ears. Whatever language the Dragons spoke was indescribable, yet the Dragon Slayer was an extension of the Dragon of Time, and so he comprehended the mysterious speech.

"Worthless humans are no match for the immortal. We Dragons are the everlasting breath. Zmaj has created everything!"

You have created nothing!

Scar held his sword over his head. Much to his dismay, nothing happened. Well, it worked against Kulshedra. He resorted to swinging around blindly. Through crippling darkness that took his breath away, and the brightest lights that forced his eyes shut, the giant raged in an impotent fury. Then, a blow from sights unseen knocked him away. Since there was no ground, or walls, or anything physical in the Dragon’s realm, he simply kept moving until the energy of the impact subsided. From his new position, he caught a glimpse of the beast. Zmaj was comprised of several serpentine creatures. The orbs were pairs of eyes that glimmered, glowed, shone, and wavered.

"You are the false hope of a weak people, whelp. My son was weak, but in death, he has given his siblings strength. Kulshedra, Dragon of Truth, will be avenged here," the melody of booming thunder claimed.

Scar furrowed his brow, gripped his sword in both hands, and held his gaze on the Dragon. While gossamer shapes whizzed by his vision, he propelled himself towards Zmaj.

Kulshedra was not your son, you liar. I know the truth of things.

One of Zmaj’s heads—a purple creature resembling a lizard’s maw—struck him from behind and sent him sailing into another head, a shiny, blue snake. Scar balled up in the air. Zmaj was ready to swallow him, but he was prepared. Upon reaching the beast’s, moist breath, the Dragon Slayer gripped Zmaj’s nostril, pushed both feet into the opened, bottom jaw, and worked his shoulder underneath the top jaw. Zmaj laughed with another head, as yet another came slithering through darkness from behind. Before the speeding head made contact, and the blue one chomped down, Scar thrust his blade through Zmaj’s pallet.

That head shook with a force that knocked the bladesman free. He turned, swiped at the oncoming head, kept his spinning momentum going, and slashed at the shiny, blue snake’s throat. As it reeled back, a lifeless heap, the warrior waited for blinding light to pass, and made his move before the darkness thwarted his endeavor; he dashed into the area where all the necks were connected. Like a whirling dervish, he sliced, slashed, and hacked through scaly mass.

"You cannot kill me. I am the Dragon of Destruction, creator of all that there is."

I am killing you, Dragon. You are but a lie created in the void, Scar howled. Eternus, the Dragon of Time, has beckoned your end, and I am the instrument of your death.

With the fall of each head, Scar noticed the scenery stabilized; there was less darkness, fewer flashes of light. The new consistency made dodging swipes an easy feat. Scar shoulder rolled over orange scales, stabbed into a silvery throat, pulled out, and hacked into a gray, eel-like snout. All that remained was an abundance of lifeless serpents.

Zmaj, Scar breathed. I’m taking your soul back to your creator.

Colored winds of varying degrees of light and dark zipped around Zmaj’s Dragon gem. It glowed brighter and brighter purple until the entirety of the beast disintegrated.

"What are you?" the Dragon demanded with its dying breath.

Sarkany, the Dragon Slayer. I am the embodiment of all principles, yet fashioned as a man to deliver peace. I am Eternus—his avatar…the age of Dragons has truly come to its end.

At the culmination of Zmaj’s death rattle, the colored winds subsided and an unbearable pressure began crushing the warrior. He screamed in agony and passed out only to awaken breathless on a cold, stone floor. Inside Urr, he gave a forceful exhale and worked himself upright. With one final glance at the throne room, Scar nodded and marched out.

He walked through corridors decorated with paintings of Zmajans felling members of other tribes. The destructive people in the service of the false All God weren’t going to wreak anymore havoc. As with the Kulshedrans, Scar knew the people were going to feel an overwhelming loss; their magic was gone, the swirling marks of the beast had already vanished, and when he exited to the courtyard surrounding the palace, he witnessed the people of Meshoptam gazing at their limbs by the fires of torches.

Zmajans, Scar called out. They looked at him, imploringly. I have killed your Dragon Lord. You are now free to live in peace. Let your slaves go. Cast your hatred aside. It was never your burden to bear.

What have you done to us? a man cried.

We will surely fall to the Dracos now, a woman claimed.

Scar, another growled. The warrior turned to face the man who called his name. General Dumar stood some thirty feet away. He slid the ram’s horn helmet off his bald head; the swirling marks of the beast had vanished. The stocky Zmajan dropped his helmet onto gray, dusty soil, and tightened his grip around the handle of his axe. You have cost us everything.

I have set you free.

Clouds parted overhead. A bright, full moon shone down, revealing worn faces. The aged general growled and charged the brute. Scar did not move, not even when cold steel sank into his flank. The Zmajan bared his teeth, aiming all of his hatred at his enemy’s gray eyes, but his axe did not change into a magnificent, killing machine as it had done in the past.

I was going to kill you, Dumar, Scar whispered, but I think letting you live is a more appropriate punishment. Look on as your people fall to their knees.

How dare you, you impudent pup? Dumar yelled. To arms, people. To arms! The ghost has killed our God, and now he will kill us all. He is a bloodthirsty devil!

To Scar’s chagrin, the general’s insane ravings rallied the Zmajans. Civilians snatched the weapons of deceased guards and swarmed. He eyed them curiously.

I had not planned for this. Quickly, he shoved Dumar away, thus freeing the axe from his flank, parried the thrust of a spear, and kicked down a lanky Zmajan. I can certainly kill them, but that will make his claims true.

I am not a beast, Scar shouted. Stay your hands. Zoltek and the Dragon have lied to you, twisted your minds and hearts. Be peaceful, and help one another. Soon, all the Dragons will fall, and you will see peace wash across Tiamhaal.

Dumar raged and repeated that the ghost was a God killer, a dangerous man that had to be killed on the spot. Instead of cutting down the opposition, Scar took off at a full run. He bowled over men, women, and tried to avoid the children. A goat crossed his path on the stone streets of the capital, and he booted it out of his way. Running blindly from a frothing mob that grew in numbers as Dumar shouted orders, Scar found himself in a predicament. He bore no hatred for the citizens, yet they were out for blood.

Grunting for breath and passing dark-skinned warriors in drab garments, he darted behind a flat roofed building, dove into an alleyway, and tried to reason out a course of action. He wanted to get out of there before they left him no choice but to defend himself, yet his thoughts were cut short when he heard the unmistakable sound of galloping hooves. Zmajans on horseback were bearing down the darkened alley. Scar gripped the closest horse by the muzzle and wrestled it to the ground, thus forcing the rider off in the mix.

Get away from me, you fools, he yelled and took off again.

Sprinting by more riders with long spears and javelins, the warrior bolted down the streets as chickens cackled and fluttered by. Finally, he set his eyes on Meshoptam’s western entrance. All he had to do was make it through the arched opening in the wall surrounding the city, and he was home free in the freezing desert, but someone shouted orders to stop him, and guards blocked the exit while another sent a javelin over his head. Scar impaled the left guard, picked him off the ground, and slung him into the other guard before fleeing beyond the gates. Riders gave chase, but the horses didn’t fare well in the dusty dunes of Meshoptam. Certainly, the mounts were quick, but they easily lost their footing, and the soldiers were unable to strike the warrior.

Scar gutted a horse that managed to close the distance, lopped the head off a second, and amputated the foreleg of another. More were enroute, but he took off again. Barreling through the chaparral, Scar fled into the night, leaving the people of Usaj to find a new purpose in life.

Chapter Two- The Perseverants

Under a clear night sky, Scar gazed at the rolling dunes and valleys. It was an endless sea of bleak gray pitted against a backdrop of twinkling blackness. The thin chaparral was rife with intermittent buzzing. All manner of insects flew rampantly, searching for moisture. Swatting gnats from his eyes, the warrior pondered his newest obstacle.

Well…roaming out here will do me no good. I need to get to Alduheim and meet up with Labolas.

General Dumar had effectively galvanized his people. Since the Zmajans had not taken the loss of their God or blessing lightly, and they had no intention of allowing Scar ease of travel through Usaj, he needed to stay off the roads while treading north.

Will that be enough, he questioned, marching between cacti with budding flowers of red. Beyond Usaj is Satrone, and I am no more welcome there than here…. Scar then wondered about the possibility of moving east into Eltanrof. That’s still a long haul without a horse. He started moving aimlessly in the direction he faced. Maybe, I can steal a horse in the night…of course, I’m not too far from the ocean. I wonder if I can manage to sail around Satrone and into Zetsuru….

The chilly winds of the desert night nipped at his nose. He felt the cold, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. Taking a deep breath as he came to stop near a squat boulder, he sat and removed his helmet to rub a hand over his smooth head.

Damn, I probably won’t be able to make it into any town around here or the coast before word gets out, he mumbled. I should’ve killed Dumar. Then, maybe, these people wouldn’t be after me….

The story of the pale-skinned giant who killed Kulshedra had already spread throughout the whole of Tiamhaal. The welcoming committee in Meshoptam had proven that, and with the Zmajans left powerless, Scar didn’t feel right cutting them down just to serve his own goal, even if that goal was world peace. As he stood and meandered again through the desert, his immense footprints quickly vanished beneath waves of sand. The Golgor desert blew powerful gusts on a daily basis. Tiny grains of gray peppered the warrior as gales grew potent.

Of course!

He decided to maintain his heading, knowing that somewhere amidst the expansive desert there was a road marked by stones. Unlike Satrone, the roads of Usaj weren’t hard packed soil, but the roughly hewn posts guided travelers when desert winds covered tracks every single night. Once I get on the road, I’ll come across someone on horseback…or camelback, or something eventually.

He picked up his pace and jogged along; his intention was to find some riders, simply knock them unconscious, and steal their mount. Usaj’s southern region was mostly arid, but there were many traders moving to and from the capital; someone was sure to pass by. Recent tribulations left him irritable, though, and he cursed the sands.

Scar plodded for hours. The ability to move for great distances without tiring was indeed a boon. He dashed by tall, thin cacti, short, round ones, and some reddish shrubs with very thick leaves. Before the predawn twilight, fluffy, gray clouds rolled overhead. The insects stopped buzzing, and Scar ran in relative silence; the only sound was the soft crushing of sand underfoot. Another hour passed before the eastern sun blasted the cloud cover to bits. Morning light erupted over a huge, sandy hill, and that was enough to reveal a stone post in the distance. Scar heaved a sigh, veered off to his right, and ran straight for the road.

The stones were visible in the daytime. Each craggy marker was placed about one hundred yards from the next. They wormed all over the desert; over hills, through dunes, around the scant, few, large boulders. Since the winds had died down, he clearly saw a row of markers like inanimate, stone soldiers in single file, disappearing into a valley.

Slowing to a walk, he kept a steady pace for hours. The sun worked its way overhead. Warmth prickled the skin. Winters in Usaj were dreadfully cold, not that it affected Scar much, but the midday warmth was relaxing. He closed his eyes, still walking, and the image of Ylithia flooded his mind; traipsing through meadows in Closicus under the brightness of a clear sky. Her emerald eyes were so full of bittersweet longing. He wanted nothing more than to make her feel safe, loved, happy, but that had been taken from him, and revenge had left only cold fury. He stopped abruptly, glared at the endless, gray desert, and spat in the wind.

Even killing these Dragons won’t bring her back…I wonder if anything can, he murmured. Emotions invaded him. Silwen! You made me look at her! That’s how I fell in love, and you knew, didn’t you, that she would die, and that that would make me kill Dragons?! His seething mounted to an inordinate level, and he howled at the sky. Why couldn’t you leave us in peace? Scar remained still, his fists clenched, hoping for an answer. You came to me of your own accord when you needed something. Now, that I need you, you won’t show! Why?!

No one answered. The hours of plodding in silence had his blood boiling, his mind racing, his emotions bubbling. He stared in a quiet rage over the stretch of land. The winds of the Golgor whipped sheets of sands far off into the distance. Little, gray wisps trailed the gales over tiny, sandy peaks. With a shake of the head, he grunted and moved on. The fury had passed as mysteriously as it had arrived, and after fury was only longing, emptiness, and determination.

By the time the sun was setting, he was so far removed from vegetation that there were no insects, only more wind. Then, he saw another row of markers that spanned at an angle in conjunction with the row by which he was traveling. He jogged over to find a sign at the juncture.

Etched in a rectangular tablet, Scar read that the southern row of stones were markers for Meshoptam, which made sense. Continuing north led to the town of Shuul. To the southeast, the markers guided travelers to an oasis town called Parapay, and to the northwest, the markers ran all the way to the only town near a river, a place called Inloth.

That isn’t too far from the Usaj-Satrone border, and certainly the river Inliil spills out into the sea, he huffed. It’ll still take me forever to get there on foot, though…of course, standing around won’t get me anywhere.

He opted to move northwest, and ran off in the new direction. As the evening progressed, visibility in the Golgor rapidly diminished. Scar grumbled. Another hour into his journey, and it had become impossible to see any of the markers. A haboob whirled the sand all over. The flurry stung his exposed skin, embedded itself in the folds of his leather armor, and though his ears were protected by his black galea, the sound of the raging winds stifled out everything else.

With no logical alternative, the warrior plunked down on the ground. Sand amassed over his legs within minutes. He hoped the storm was soon to pass, but it did not let up.

Damn it! He cursed his luck. Trying to take little peeks resulted in eyefuls of grit. Groaning, he sprawled onto his side and protected his head with folded arms. At least, once a layer of sand envelopes me, I’ll be alright. Such valuable time wasted…. The lull in progress allowed exorbitant time to ponder a plan of action.

After escaping Satrone with Labolas and Artimis, they had traveled by air to Alduheim. The Draco dropped off Labolas, giving him ample time to travel to Ch’Nako. The idea was for the former Kulshedran to track down N’Giwah under the guise of a man seeking refuge in a neutral country while Artimis flew Scar to Meshoptam. Upon their arrival, the Draco flew back home to refill his dirigible with artred gas and ponder what killing Drac might bring. He had said nothing on the matter, but his overly cheery demeanor had grown somewhat sullen, and Scar knew the pilot was conflicted. That matter