uneasy glance. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“I hope you don’t go sounding like an idiot
when you meet Gilgamesh. Now c’mon, there’s much ground to
cover.”
They marched in silence for another hour. By
the time they came upon a steady incline over a rock bed, the
chilly air settled. Labolas led them over boulders, through rocky
paths, and ever higher. The archer was in fine shape; they only
stopped to rest once.
“Will there be many Dracos?” Scar asked. “At
this boardinghouse, I mean.”
“Plenty, yes. They are our allies, and the
Draco territory, Eltanrof, borders the east.”
“I do not like them.”
“Because they attacked you? Kulshedrans
attacked you,” Labolas trailed off hiding his smile with a fake
scratch of his cheek.
“I’m not sure I like you either,” Scar
joked.
“Well you can go to Hell.”
They started towards the northeast after the
quick rest. Both men chuckled while maintaining pace. Uphill in the
cold, and with the night soon to loom overhead, the two marched on,
joking of battles with Zamajans, discussing the virility of Draco
women versus Kulshedran, and other silly matters. For a time, mist
seemed to amass on the horizon, but it quickly dissipated; the arid
climate even so far east in Satrone held too little moisture for
foggy nights.
Hours later, with stars glittering in the
darkened sky, they arrived at a wooden building. It was long with a
curved roof, not unlike an overturned boat. The craftsmanship was
sublime; white walls of painted wood were adorned with colorful
tapestries lining the exterior. Lanterns glowed on either side of
thick, wooden doors. The doors displayed expertly crafted etchings
of men warring.
“This does not look like the buildings in
Usaj, or Satrone, if the outposts are any indication,” Scar
remarked.
“Draco architecture,” Labolas replied. “Let
us rest inside.”
The sound of laughter and cheer spilled
through the closed shutters of windows. Labolas pulled open a door.
A bright, orange glow from the interior fires shone onto the
travelers. The scene inside was quite jovial considering there was
a war going on.
The main room of the longhouse was centered
around an immense bonfire. Naturally, the roof was created with a
hole to let smoke out. Encircling the warm flames were tables,
chairs, a bar, and closed doors leading to sleeping rooms, as well
as many men and women crowding for warmth.
Though Scar took in the sights with awe, the
longhouse grew quite; they were taking him in with awe. Whispers
followed a momentary silence. Labolas ignored the on goings and
made his way to the bar. Scar followed.
“That’s him, innit?” the bar tender
asked.
Labolas addressed the tall, portly Draco,
asking, “Who?”
The bar tender’s orange eyes never looked
away from the enormous, white mercenary. “He’s that one hired by
Zoltek to take down Satrone, the Ghost of Zmaj.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him if I were you,”
Labolas replied.
“I ain’t serving him!” the bar tender
grumbled and walked away.
Labolas turned to Scar who sat down next to
him. “A good start, no?”
Scar grinned. A hand grabbed his upper arm.
When he turned, he saw three young Dracos. Two were branded with
triangular patterns along their arms, legs, and faces. The other
one was a stout woman. Her arms and legs were branded with linear
patterns, and she wore studded leather armor. All of them had those
strange fiery eyes and hair. Freckles splotched their skin.
“What do you think you’re doin’ in ‘ere?” the
woman shrieked.
Her voice was mean and shrill. Scar opened
his mouth to answer, but before he did one of the men spoke.
“Best be on yer way.”
The other added, “Scotch ain’t made fer
you.”
Scar raised a brow, and unable to hide his
jubilation, laughed openly at them.
“I’ll knock that shite eatin’ grin right off
you!” the woman said.
“Easy, Brandine,” a Kulshedran patron said.
“He
“I’m not really sure.”
“I hope you don’t go sounding like an idiot
when you meet Gilgamesh. Now c’mon, there’s much ground to
cover.”
They marched in silence for another hour. By
the time they came upon a steady incline over a rock bed, the
chilly air settled. Labolas led them over boulders, through rocky
paths, and ever higher. The archer was in fine shape; they only
stopped to rest once.
“Will there be many Dracos?” Scar asked. “At
this boardinghouse, I mean.”
“Plenty, yes. They are our allies, and the
Draco territory, Eltanrof, borders the east.”
“I do not like them.”
“Because they attacked you? Kulshedrans
attacked you,” Labolas trailed off hiding his smile with a fake
scratch of his cheek.
“I’m not sure I like you either,” Scar
joked.
“Well you can go to Hell.”
They started towards the northeast after the
quick rest. Both men chuckled while maintaining pace. Uphill in the
cold, and with the night soon to loom overhead, the two marched on,
joking of battles with Zamajans, discussing the virility of Draco
women versus Kulshedran, and other silly matters. For a time, mist
seemed to amass on the horizon, but it quickly dissipated; the arid
climate even so far east in Satrone held too little moisture for
foggy nights.
Hours later, with stars glittering in the
darkened sky, they arrived at a wooden building. It was long with a
curved roof, not unlike an overturned boat. The craftsmanship was
sublime; white walls of painted wood were adorned with colorful
tapestries lining the exterior. Lanterns glowed on either side of
thick, wooden doors. The doors displayed expertly crafted etchings
of men warring.
“This does not look like the buildings in
Usaj, or Satrone, if the outposts are any indication,” Scar
remarked.
“Draco architecture,” Labolas replied. “Let
us rest inside.”
The sound of laughter and cheer spilled
through the closed shutters of windows. Labolas pulled open a door.
A bright, orange glow from the interior fires shone onto the
travelers. The scene inside was quite jovial considering there was
a war going on.
The main room of the longhouse was centered
around an immense bonfire. Naturally, the roof was created with a
hole to let smoke out. Encircling the warm flames were tables,
chairs, a bar, and closed doors leading to sleeping rooms, as well
as many men and women crowding for warmth.
Though Scar took in the sights with awe, the
longhouse grew quite; they were taking him in with awe. Whispers
followed a momentary silence. Labolas ignored the on goings and
made his way to the bar. Scar followed.
“That’s him, innit?” the bar tender
asked.
Labolas addressed the tall, portly Draco,
asking, “Who?”
The bar tender’s orange eyes never looked
away from the enormous, white mercenary. “He’s that one hired by
Zoltek to take down Satrone, the Ghost of Zmaj.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him if I were you,”
Labolas replied.
“I ain’t serving him!” the bar tender
grumbled and walked away.
Labolas turned to Scar who sat down next to
him. “A good start, no?”
Scar grinned. A hand grabbed his upper arm.
When he turned, he saw three young Dracos. Two were branded with
triangular patterns along their arms, legs, and faces. The other
one was a stout woman. Her arms and legs were branded with linear
patterns, and she wore studded leather armor. All of them had those
strange fiery eyes and hair. Freckles splotched their skin.
“What do you think you’re doin’ in ‘ere?” the
woman shrieked.
Her voice was mean and shrill. Scar opened
his mouth to answer, but before he did one of the men spoke.
“Best be on yer way.”
The other added, “Scotch ain’t made fer
you.”
Scar raised a brow, and unable to hide his
jubilation, laughed openly at them.
“I’ll knock that shite eatin’ grin right off
you!” the woman said.
“Easy, Brandine,” a Kulshedran patron said.
“He
Similar Books
