Dragon In The Darklands Read online

  Flynn pointed at the eight warriors rushing toward the party. “Those others are fast approaching!”

  The man lying on his back next to the Lump bounced back to his feet and attacked the big Aard again.

  The Lump blocked the axe attack with his small sword and shoved the smaller man to the ground. He shouted, “We need to huddle up!”

  Flynn nodded and ran to Meena’s side. The Lump did the same.

  Meena gripped her staff in both hands and held it across her body. Blood was visible on her left arm.

  Flynn bent his knees and gripped his bow at each end. He held it in front of him as a sort of makeshift shield.

  The Lump twisted his thick neck, and it cracked. He balled his left hand into a fist and held his sword down by his hip with his right. He stepped forward to brace for the impact of the charging warriors.

  An earsplitting boom thundered through the air and everyone stopped, shocked at the sudden, deafening noise.

  The Lump looked to the west to find the source of the unexpected sound. His jaw dropped at what he saw.

  A line of men marched forward. There looked to be at least a score of them, each armed with a spear and shield. They shouted some words the Lump did not comprehend as they approached. The new group of soldiers were organized in a very straight line and marched in lock step. The spears they carried appeared overly long and rose at least an arms length higher than their helmeted heads. Each carried an oval shield larger than a man’s torso with a yellow triangle painted on it. The shields overlapped one another and formed something akin to a mobile wall.

  The soldiers bearing the shields wore red tunics with no breeches beneath them. Their legs were bare, save for strips of bronze armor covering their shins. Their feet were shod in sandals and the men wore aprons of heavy, white fabric that looked very much like breastplates, though not made of metal. The bronze helmets the men wore were not unlike the silver ones men-at-arms wore back in Aardland.

  The strange men who attacked from horseback also took notice of the row of approaching spearmen. Their mustachioed faces grew a shade lighter, and they hastily fled to the north.

  The Lump turned to face the line of spearmen and raised a hand to his mouth. He shouted, “Who are you, now? Are you planning on killing us too?”

  Flynn nudged the Lump with his elbow. “I think we should lower our weapons. Surrender may be our only option against these spearmen, they look like an army.”

  The Lump nodded and put his sword back in its loop. He raised his hands shoulder high and called out, “We ain’t trying to cause no trouble, we’re just lost!”

  The men shouted several strange words back. What they said made no sense to the Lump, but Molgatong was repeated several times.

  The spearmen stopped marching and their shield wall parted. One of their number stepped forward and laid his spear on the ground. He removed his helmet and walked closer.

  The man said, “I Molgatong talk not good.” He waved a hand in a wide, sweeping gesture. “You people safe now.” He pointed to the spearmen behind him, then at the three travelers. “Us safe you, you safe.” His face dropped into a frown. “Molgatong not good.”

  Meena looked at the Lump. “They seem friendlier than any other group of armed men we have met.” She tilted her head. “Is it possible for people to actually be nice?”

  The Lump shrugged but said nothing.

  The man smiled and said, “Come, go to Ylam.” He pointed over his shoulder, back to the west. “Sutton keep safe, Templar talk good Molgatong.”

  The Lump grimaced and walked toward the man. “What is this chip-flipping Molgatong?”

  The man pointed at the Lump. “You talk, words Molgatong.”

  The Lump crossed his arms. “Which way are we going?”

  The man pointed over his shoulder. “Ouesto, Ylam.”

  Meena walked to stand beside the Lump. “What do you think? Should we go with them?”

  The Lump grinned and cocked his head to one side. “They’re going the right direction, I can’t figure why we shouldn’t.”

  Flynn joined the Lump and Meena. “So we’re going with them then?”

  “Yep,” answered the Lump. He smiled at the man in front of him. “Lead the way, the ghost of the meanest old lady I ever knew told me that’s where we need to go.”

  The man frowned and put his helmet back on. “Molgatong, no talk good.”

  11: Ylam

  The Lump and his two companions marched westward across the windy steppe. The big man took a great measure of comfort from the spearmen’s escort. Though he was unsure where they were going, he preferred to get there securely.

  The company of spearman sent a runner ahead to announce their impending arrival. Apparently the folks at their mysterious destination would want to make arrangements to receive the trio of travelers.

  The lone runner could move much faster than the body of spearmen who remained in a rigid formation. The patrol of soldiers was also encumbered with a large piece of cargo. A canvas tarp covered something that looked large enough to be a cartload of turnips atop a pair of wooden wheels. This large object was pulled by men, two at a time, rather than an ox or mule, which would seem more proper given its size.

  The Lump pointed at the covered device. “What is that?”

  The only spearman who seemed capable of engaging in conversation said, “No talk good Molgatong.”

  The Lump tilted his head and looked at the spearman. “Is that what made the mud-kissing boom to scare away those wild warriors?”

  The spearman shook his head. “Molgatong no talk good.”

  “Hmm…” The Lump stepped closer to the strange cargo and reached for the edge of the tarp.

  The conversant spearman jolted his shield toward the Lump to block his access to the tarp.

  The Lump held his hands wide as he marched along. “What? I’m not allowed to look at it?”

  The spearman lowered his eyebrows and shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak.

  The Lump spoke before the spearman could get out his words. “I know, not talk good Molgy-tong.”

  The spearman said, “Sprecho vu fassis Ylatong?”

  The Lump wrinkled up his forehead. “What?”

  The spearman laughed. “Molgatong no talk good.”

  Meena sighed. “Lump, leave these men alone. I am curious to see where they’re taking us.”

  The Lump suppressed his curiosity about what lay beneath the canvas tarp and marched along with the troop of spearmen. Great gusts of wind appeared without warning from time to time and blew all manner of debris at the marching body of people. The absence of trees on this vast plain allowed the wind to blow with tremendous force. The spearmen did not respond to these violent gusts, clearly acclimated to them over the years of their duties.

  After a quarter day’s march, the Lump saw a large city beyond a row of low, rocky hills. This city was encircled by great stone walls, built from impossibly large blocks of yellow stone. There was a grand, yellow pyramid rising in the center of the city, and an archway at the center of the wall before them. In all likelihood the was the city gate, and the pyramid some type of castle. As the escort of spearman brought the Lump and his companions up to the gate, he could see four, large block letters carved on the face of the archway. They spelled YLAM.

  A spearman shouted some strange words to the guards at the gate and it opened to allow entry. Inside the walls, the city was abuzz with activity. All manner of folks dressed in colorful garb were conducting business beneath canvas tents. The Lump looked around wide-eyed at all the sights.

  The spearman with minimal Molgatong vocabulary said, “We go temple, Templar talk good Molgatong.”

  Meena nodded. “Yes, that sounds nice. Thank you.”

  The spearman smiled. “Yes. Thank you.” He looked at the Lump. “You say thank you?”

  The Lump shrugged. “Sure, thank you.”

  Flynn put a hand to his chest. “My thanks as well, sir.”

&
nbsp; The spearman furrowed his brow. “You say thank you?”

  Flynn frowned. “Yes, thank you.”

  All the spearman left the party except for the one who spoke. He led the Lump, Meena, and Flynn through the busy tents and toward the great pyramid at the heart of the city. A few paces before the pyramid stood a wide structure with a dome rising from the rear portion of its roof. It had a large entryway adorned by fine, bronze ornamentations fashioned after an array of spheres and swirling lines that bore a resemblance to waves of water.

  The spearman beckoned. “Go in temple. Templar here.”

  Meena nodded and walked toward the door. “Come on, I’m eager to meet someone with whom we can speak.”

  The Lump and Flynn followed dutifully into the temple. They stepped into a wide, open room containing only a lone man and an altar. One one wall of the room was a painted mural of the sun fashioned to bear a man’s face. The other wall displayed a mural of the moon, fashioned after a woman.

  The man stood before the alter. He had dark skin, much darker than that of the spearmen. In stark contrast to his skin, a tuft of white hair sat atop his head. He didn’t look old enough for his hair to be white from age, it must have always been this color. His face sported a broad and welcoming smile.

  The man was clad in a simple robe of blue, but a much lighter shade than those worn by Solsons. It was a shade of blue that closely approximated the color of the sky on a clear day. White cords ran down either side of the robe, almost seeming like clouds when sat upon the sky-blue robe.

  The man spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “I am Azoupi Drososazeraks Oikonailanimosa… but people call me the Templar.”

  The Lump laughed. “I think Templar’s all I’d be able to muster.” He buried a thumb in his chest. “I’m Oliver, but people call me the Lump.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Templar.” Flynn smiled and gave his head a slight bow. “I am Flynn Flint, formerly of Silverport.”

  Meena bowed her head respectfully as well. “I’m just Meena.”

  The Lump arched an eyebrow. “Don’t sell yourself short.” He looked at the Templar and held an open hand toward Meena. “She’s Meena, the foundling of old Molgadon, champion of the Common Folk, the Dragon of the Needles, and chief of the Dragonblinder clan.”

  The Templar raised his eyebrows. “Quite an impressive list of titles.”

  Meena narrowed her eyes into a disdainful glare she cast at the Lump. “I’m just Meena.”

  “Of course,” said the Templar. “Just Meena, like justice.”

  “No.” Meena shook her head. “Like simply Meena, or only Meena.” Her face grew a slight shade of red. “Please, call me Meena.”

  “Yes,” said the Templar. “I am the best speaker of Molgatong in Ylam, but I do struggle with words that have two meanings.”

  The Lump grinned. “I think we all do.”

  The Templar clasped his hands and let them hang in front of him. “I didn’t believe it when the messenger said our patrol found Molgatong speakers.” He tilted his head. “I hoped it was the return of the Molga people, as prophesied.”

  “We nearly didn’t make it.” The Lump pointed in a vaguely eastward direction. “That war party of wild warriors that attacked us would’ve killed us for sure if the spear-fellows hadn’t shown up.”

  The Templar chuckled. “That wasn’t a war party, that was only a scouting party. If a full war party of Skythe attacked you, our patrol would have been unable to help.”

  “What did you call them?” asked Flynn.

  “Skythe,” answered the Templar. “They are nomadic people who survive by raiding and taking from others. They have no cities of their own, choosing instead to live under felt tents.”

  The Lump rested one hand on his hip, in a relaxed posture. “They were certainly vicious enough.”

  “Yes,” said the Templar. He wrinkled his brow. “The spearmen reported the Skythe attacked you on foot, that is very odd. They spend every waking hour on horseback, the Skythe feel their horses are extensions of their bodies.”

  Flynn gave his head an enthusiastic nod. “They did attack on horses, then—”

  “Their horses threw them,” interrupted Meena.

  “I see,” said the Templar. “That is something that doesn’t happen. Do you have any idea why?” He held his hands wide again. “That knowledge could save many spearmen’s lives.”

  Meena shook her head. “They were simply unhorsed.” She asked, “How is it you come to speak our words better than anyone else in your city?”

  The Templar returned his hands to their clasped position. “Molgatong is the language of the temple. All the ancient and sacred texts are written in Molgatong, the religious rites are spoken in Molgatong as well.” He bobbed his head to one side. “Molgatong is also called Templatong, the language of the temple.”

  Meena asked, “Can you tell me anything about the Molga people?” She lowered her eyes for a moment, then returned them to the Templar. “I have recently become interested in their history.”

  “I was hoping you could tell me about them.” The Templar walked behind the altar and leaned against it. “I am happy to share what I know, after all, it is a part of my duties.”

  The Lump looked around with an arched eyebrow. “You aren’t trying to give us religion, are you?”

  Meena’s mouth became a hard line. “Lump, let’s listen to the man, we might learn something.”

  The Lump grunted and nodded.

  The Templar stood tall behind the altar. “The Molga people once lived in the dark jungle, how they survived amongst all those beasts remains a mystery.”

  “What’s a jungle?” asked the Lump.

  Meena elbowed the big man sharply in the ribs. “Don’t interrupt!”

  “Please,” said the Templar. “I invite questions, it is the best way to learn. The jungle is the dark forest east of here.” He continued his story. “We know about the Molga because they were the first people to create writing, and they left us many texts that are now sacred. But many, many years ago they ascended.”

  “Ascended?” repeated the Lump. “Ascended to where?”

  The Templar smiled. “They ascended to Cielo, the land of the Sun and Moon. They disappeared from the jungle all at once.” He held up a finger. “But the texts teach the return of the Sophia.”

  “Who is that?” asked Flynn.

  The Templar returned his hand to the altar. “The Sophia is the daughter of the Sun and Moon.”

  The Lump smirked. “Sol and Luna have a daughter? That’d have people in fits back on the Egg.”

  “This… Egg,” said the Templar. “What is it?”

  “It’s where we came from,” answered the Lump. “We call it the Great Egg.”

  “Oh,” the Templar furrowed his brow. “I was told you came from the jungle, where the Molga once dwelled.”

  “Sure, we passed through there,” said the Lump. “But it’s not where we’re from.”

  “I see,” said the Templar. “And I will assume you’re not from Cielo either.”

  “Nope,” answered the Lump. “We’re from the Egg, just came to return a dragon to its home.”

  The Templar gasped and opened his eyes wide. “You say you traveled with a draconotis?” His eyebrows lowered to their resting position. “That sounds… difficult to believe.”

  “Well, it was a wyrm, actually,” said Flynn. “Its wings were withered.”

  The Templar nodded. “That is the case with all draconoti, they were stunted some time after the ascension. The Temple suspects the Molga asked the Sun and Moon to cripple the creatures so the Ylamites could build our cities and have an opportunity to inherit the lands.” He frowned. “It’s unfortunate the Skythe weren’t dealt with in the same fashion.”

  The Lump crossed his arms across his broad chest. “I don’t think the Molga went to the land of the Sun and Moon.”

  Meena’s eyes shot to the Lump. “Don’t be disrespectful of the man’s beliefs in
his own temple!”

  “No, questions are fine,” said the Templar. “The Molga went somewhere, for they disappeared from the jungle.”

  The Lump nodded. “I’m with you on that point.”

  The Templar held his hands up by his shoulders. “Perhaps, wherever they went, by definition it is Cielo.”

  The Lump raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “I have to admit, you’ve got me there. I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

  “Logic is one of my many disciplines,” said the Templar. He put his hands at either side of the altar and leaned forward. “To have three people, native speakers of Molgatong, delivered mysteriously…” The white-haired man asked, “Do you agree that is a miracle?”

  The Lump nodded. “If you told me a year ago I’d be here today, I wouldn’t have believed it.” He grinned. “I think that counts.”

  “I think I could learn much about the language from you three travelers,” said the Templar. “May I ask you questions?” He placed a hand upon his blue-robed chest. “I will try my best to answer your own in return.”

  “Of course,” answered Meena. “Ask anything you wish.”

  The Lump added, “Fire away!”

  The Templar wrinkled his forehead. “Oh, no. We do not use fire in this way.”

  Flynn waved a hand. “It’s just a figure of speech, pray continue with your questions of language.”

  The Templar smiled. “Oh, I see. I think I have learned something already.” He looked around the altar until his eyes rested on a ceremonial chalice. He lifted it and asked, “What words would you call this?”

  The Lump pointed at the chalice. “That’s just a chip-flipping cup.”

  “Yes, I see.” The Templar sat the chalice back upon the alter. “I would have called it only a cup. What is this chip-flipping?”

  Flynn frowned. “It is fine to call it a cup.” He looked at the Lump. “I wouldn’t be too concerned with my friends colorful choice of words.”

  The Templar asked, “Words have colors to you?”

  “Well, no.” Flynn cocked his head to one side and pondered the question. “Maybe when the Lump speaks they can.”