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The Dragon of Time Two

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Dragon Slayer by Aaron Dennis

dragon of time 2 dragon slayer

With the death of Kulshedra, Dragon of Truth, it has been revealed that Scar, the mercenary, is in fact Sarkany, the Dragon Slayer, a creature fashioned for the sole purpose of purging the Dragons from the world of Tiamhaal, yet such a thing is not so simple. Kings and queens yet war amongst one another. They, too, lie, connive, and coerce, and so, Scar and his friends must find a way to persuade those few, benevolent rulers to band together. In the midst of peace talks and dead Dragons, those still in the worship of the beasts grow more powerful. Some of them even doubly praise their oppressor in an effort to wield more magic. Now, united with his friends, Scar sets his gaze upon a hopeful horizon, but is strength in numbers sufficient to keep the Dragons from completing their machinations?

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Prologue

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….

The Dragon of Time

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Book One

Gods and Dragons

By Aaron Dennis

Gods, Dragons, a mercenary with a blade and no memory of his past…. The world of Tiamhaal is alight in war. Men ruled by kings slay their opposition in the name of their God, but there are others who claim the Gods are little more than scorned Dragons of ages past. Scar has come to find the truth, but is the truth an absolute certainty, or is it just the skewed memory of a forgotten kingdom?

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Gods, Dragons, a mercenary with a blade and no memory of his past…. The world of Tiamhaal is alight in war. Men ruled by kings slay their opposition in the name of their God, but there are others who claim the Gods are little more than scorned Dragons of ages past. Scar has come to find the truth, but is the truth an absolute certainty, or is it just the skewed memory of a forgotten kingdom?

Prologue-

Most people worship the Gods, if haphazardly, but there are some who claim that the Gods are liars, that they are not Gods at all. It is strange to conceive of an ephemeral voice, which grants magical powers, as anything but a God, and there is no proof otherwise. A great many men have gone to war over such a premise, yet the worst of war combines the arrogance of kings with the ignorance of pawns.

The nonbelievers are easily cast aside by dutiful worshipers of their respective deity, but all too often a man who worships Gyo, God of the Sun, finds himself staring down the blade of a woman who worships Drac, God of Fire. These contests have flared into a war that engulfs the entire world of Tiamhaal. There are many who wish for peace, yet there are many more who desire only destruction. Zoltek, Negus of Usaj, a country on the southern edge of Tiamhaal under the worship of Zmaj, the All God, threatens all those around him with his magic, his men, and his cunning.

Most recently, Zoltek has hired a pale mercenary to assist in waging war against King Gilgamesh of Satrone, a worshiper of Kulshedra, God of Truth. This mercenary calling himself Scar has no memory of his origins and seeks only to understand the world around him. In exchange for his unique talents with a sword and his sharp mind, Zoltek has promised Scar he will discern the truth from behind that hazy memory. Zoltek claims to speak to Zmaj on behalf of Scar, but only if the country of Satrone is felled in a bath of blood.

Chapter One-

Zoltek, tribal leader of the worshipers of Zmaj, the All God, ordered a small portion of his army to amass on the outskirts of the Kulshedran territory called Satrone. Small trees grew sparsely around a clearing. A tributary from the river Inliil sloshed over small stones. Urdu, son of Zoltek, stood before the tributary. The setting sun cast shadows over his form.

As with all the tribesmen in the worship of Zmaj, his was a swirling skin. The dark brown hue was enveloped in patterns of purple and blue melting into one another over his body. With his helmet off, the skin of his head and face held eloquent patterns, too, like colored water pouring over his visage. Urdu’s widely spaced eyes were fierce.

“I should lead this charge,” he grumbled.

Warriors clad in black leather, and gripping their menacing, steel weapons, chatted among themselves. One older Zmajan acknowledged the brash, young man’s words.

“Don’t be foolish, Urdu. Your father put Scar at the forefront of the vanguard for a reason,” the older man said in a raspy tone.

Portions of his color adorned skin showed over the unarmored areas of his body. His helmet, also black leather and with rams’ horns mounted on the sides, hid the patterns on his aged face. Urdu stormed over to the man with a scowl.

“You dare talk down to me?” he howled.

“Show the general some respect,” another man chastised.

Urdu glared at his fellow tribesmen then returned his attention to General Dumar.

“I’m the better fighter, not Scar.” Urdu judged the strange man sitting cross-legged on the ground.

The massive one called Scar did not so much as stir. Eyes turned to the only light-skinned man there; he was pale as a ghost. Sunlight glinted off Scar’s muscle creased stature. A great many healed over wounds were his namesake.

“This one does not even know who he is,” Urdu yelled to his kinsmen. “Look at him. What tribe is he? No hair on his body whatsoever. No marks. Those gray, lifeless eyes give nothing.” Turning to the scarred warrior, he barked. “Who are you?”

The hairless man still did not stir. He wore little armor; brown, leather leggings adorned his thighs. Worn boots covered his feet, and a chunk of steel protected his left shoulder across to his sternum. He was a frightening sight to behold. An odd blade stood—tip buried in the soil—before him.

“Answer me!” Urdu was practically frothing at the mouth.

“Hey, stop it,” Dumar growled. “The sun will set soon, and we march against the tribe of Kulshedra. There is no time for squabbling.”

“Not to mention your outburst will give our position away,” another tribesman advised. “If we want to break their perimeter, we require stealth.”

“I care not about such trivialities. We are strong, and we are many. We will wet our blades with Kulshedran blood. Zmaj has blessed us,” Urdu argued. Then, he approached Scar. “Tell me, mercenary, you don’t really believe you’re fit to lead this charge; a timid, Godless ghost.”