Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4

by Kirill Klevanski

  Nobody had these kinds of rings in Lidus, not even the Imperial Governor. To outlying kingdoms, Spatial Rings were fiction, tales brought by wanderers and merchants from the distant and mythical Empire.

  In Darnassus, Spatial Rings were absurdly expensive. Not even every cultivator could afford to buy such an artifact.

  Hadjar’s breathing quickened.

  For almost two years, he had been wearing something that he could’ve been killed on the spot for. By the gods, if he hadn’t left most of his belongings with Lian before visiting the capital for the final part of his plan, then... He was scared to even think of how that adventure would’ve ended if the Governor had seen the Spatial Ring hanging around his neck.

  On the other hand...

  “Do you know how to open it?”

  Einen’s lips twitched slightly.

  “Do I look like a member of the imperial aristocracy to you? Or maybe the son of a mighty Patriarch of a great sect or school? Even in Darnassus, these kinds of rings are very rare. Very few practitioners can handle using the amount of energy required to control them. I don’t know how you, Northerner, got a hold of such a treasure, but I would advise you to hide it as best you can.”

  Hadjar nodded, agreeing with the islander. Nevertheless, he didn’t remove the ring from his chain. It had hung there for a long time now and nobody had noticed it, so there was no reason to change where he kept it. He had plenty of time to figure out where to hide the artifact.

  Yet, his curiosity and greed was tormenting Hadjar — what had the Patriarch stored inside this ‘portable safe’ of his? Certainly not a couple of spare pants or an extra scabbard.

  Suddenly, Hadjar realized something.

  “Why did you stop me?”

  Einen turned to Hadjar.

  “I don’t know much about these things, but I know one thing for certain: if you don’t bind it to yourself, then it’ll harm you. Maybe you would’ve just lost a finger. Or maybe even your life.”

  It was a good thing that Hadjar hadn’t tried to put the ring on before then.

  “Thank you,” Hadjar said sincerely.

  Einen just shrugged.

  “It was just a coincidence, Northerner. I can’t sleep when there are so many stars in the sky. I wanted to talk to you, but now I can see that you will be preoccupied with your thoughts. Try to get some sleep. I’ll finish up your shift.”

  Einen turned away and gazed at the stars. What did he see up there?

  Hadjar returned to the fire. When he fell asleep, he had no doubt that he was safe. He trusted the islander, not completely, but enough.

  Chapter 280

  After seeing the sand fountains, Hadjar had thought that he would rarely be surprised by anything anymore. As it turned out, the world had just begun to show him its miracles and mysteries.

  On the third day of their hurried journey, they reached the Dead Mountains. They first spotted the high, white mountains on the horizon, which were so white that it was impossible to look at them for long because their eyes would water.

  The closer the four of them got to their destination, the more distinct the mountains’ silhouettes became. They looked like titanic trees. Hadjar could even discern the bark, branches, and even a few hollows in the ‘trees’. However, this was all a trick of the light, as these were still mountains that rose up from the sand. They were topped with flat, oval plateaus. What had seemed to be branches from afar turned out to actually be numerous natural bridges connecting the mountains, and the ‘hollows’ were caves, made by people or by the wind, sand, and time.

  A tent city had sprung up at the foot of the mountains, consisting primarily of a huge number of round tents. Weirdly dressed people scurried between them. Their caftans were draped over white robes. They wore tight, wide belts with large metal plaques on them. Their turbans weren’t tied off, but secured with short, curved daggers. Everyone seemed to carry weapons around here: from small children, proudly walking with knives tucked into their belts, to the old women, leaning on spear-canes. Hadjar hadn’t thought he’d ever see a sharp dagger atop a walking cane.

  Despite everyone being armed, Hadjar didn’t feel any especially strong auras. Only the echoes of some true cultivators’ presence. This made him far less happy.

  An ordinary cultivator could easily send a couple dozen strong practitioners to the next world. In their caravan, only Shakar and Rahaim were cultivators. That made Hadjar and the others nervous.

  “By the Great Turtle,” Einen gasped suddenly. “Take a closer look at these mountains, Northerner. May the high waves have mercy on me...”

  Hadjar snapped out of his musings. Passing by the Bedouins, Hadjar was able to look at the mountains more closely. He strained his eyes and was astonished.

  The Dead Mountains transformed before his eyes once again. In fact, the ‘Dead’ part of their name was quite literal. Most of the caves weren’t caves at all, but pores. The plateaus at their tops were joints. Their bright, white color could be explained by the fact that the damned mountains were actually a skeleton.

  The damned Bedouins were living in the remains of a gigantic monster! This beast had once been capable of flattening the entire capital of Lidus with a single wave of its paw! The mountains stretched out for many miles, and it was difficult to imagine the size of the creature back when it had still been alive.

  “You win, Shakh,” Ilmena grumbled, throwing two coins to the boy. “I’d hoped that they wouldn’t be impressed.”

  “All the strangers are impressed when they first realize what these are,” Shakh shrugged, then put the money in his bag. “Uncle said that some even faint.”

  Einen and Hadjar swore, each in his own native language. This made the desert dwellers smile, but not for long. Soon, Hadjar felt like someone was watching them. He looked at the sky, covered his eyes with his hand, and saw a gigantic falcon soaring through the air. Although, compared to the enormous skeleton, the bird didn’t seem all that big.

  A couple of minutes later, its owner appeared. He was still riding his huge lizard. Kharad rode in on his desert raven.

  “That was fast,” he remarked instead of greeting them. “We’d presumed you would take a couple more days. Where did you get the frogs?”

  “We borrowed them from the bandits,” Shakh smiled smugly, as if he’d personally stormed an incredibly fortified enemy camp, heroically killed all the bandits, fought their leader off, and along the way, saved several princesses and also been crowned the king of a small oasis and was now reaping the benefits.

  “Since we’re now all here, we won’t waste any time. Sular’s falcon brought a message from the caravan. They will soon pass through this region of the Dead Mountains. I’ve already scheduled an appointment with one of the leaders of the local tribe.”

  “When will the meeting be taking place?” Einen asked.

  Kharad frowned slightly. Apparently, he didn’t really like what was happening.

  “Now,” he said bluntly.

  Suddenly, Kharad turned his raven around and galloped off toward the rest of his squad. To Hadjar’s surprise, Sular didn’t join them. In the same silent manner, the man saluted the four and went off into the desert.

  For some reason, Hadjar didn’t like the look of things. Still, there was nothing to do, he had to follow his commander. All sorts of people scurried about. Not only the Bedouins, but scouts and negotiators from other caravans as well. Gradually, Hadjar learned to distinguish them from the local tribe. Looking closely, he could spot some unique, distinctive features.

  “Doesn’t this seem strange to you?” Einen asked Hadjar quietly. He used the language of the islands, which made Ilmena and Shakh glance at the two of them, but they were soon no longer paying attention to what was happening behind them.

  “What exactly?”

  “That he sent us after the bandits. Didn’t Sular see that they weren’t strong fighters?”

  Hadjar had thought the same thing. Indeed, there was something suspicious a
bout what was going on. As if Kharad was trying to get rid of them, and Ilmena and Shakh weren’t helping them, but instead keeping an eye on them.

  “You’re right,” Hadjar nodded. “But I don’t understand why they needed to separate us from the squad?”

  “To get here before us.”

  “Why?”

  Einen didn’t answer. He just ran his hands along his staff and looked at Hadjar.

  “I don’t know, Northerner, but it’s better for us to stay alert. There’s something wrong here. The Great Turtle as my witness, it seems like this caravan has some odd motivations, beyond just reaching the Empire.”

  Hadjar shared the islander’s concerns. Moreover, when they rode up to the local leader’s tent (the largest and most ornate one), they saw too many guards stationed there.

  Hadjar’s experience allowed him to discern that this was due to fear. Otherwise, why would the leader have placed three dozen guards at the entrance, all at once? There was only one answer — he was afraid of something or someone.

  Einen and Hadjar looked at each other and nodded silently, putting their hands on their weapons.

  Chapter 281

  The guards didn’t search them and let them into the tent with their weapons. Their mounts were left nearby, with the Bedouins who were clearly nervous.

  Just as Hadjar had expected, an atmosphere of bliss and relaxation reigned inside the tent. Half-naked young girls lay on the pillows. Clothed only in transparent, silk outfits, they lit pipes, then passed them over to the men.

  The Bedouins’ skin color was slightly different from the desert dwellers’ own. It was darker, rougher, and often covered in long, wide wrinkles. All the men had broadswords and sabers tucked away behind their belts. They emitted an aura of practitioners at the Transformation stage. Thanks to such an overt demonstration of power, it was quite easy to determine who their leader was. He wasn’t sitting in the center, but somewhere off to the side.

  Two beauties sat on either side of him. The girls were as attractive as Ilmena, or even more so. The leader’s gold-embroidered turban was secured with a curved, silver dagger. His expensive caftan spread out on the ground like a fan, but he had a real, deadly weapon on his belt, without any frills on the handle. He emitted the aura of a true cultivator.

  Kharad stepped forward, holding a small mahogany chest. Bowing low, he uttered something in a gruff language that somewhat resembled the desert dialect. Hadjar was fluent in the local language, but didn’t understand this variant of it.

  The leader waved his hand lazily. Two strong warriors rose from their pillows and took the chest. They silently examined it for a while. Hadjar guesses by their slightly glazed looks that they were using meditation to peer at its energy currents.

  After making sure that the offering wasn’t dangerous, the chest was handed over to their leader. He didn’t open it, just put it down next to him and waved his hand again. This time, the gesture was directed at Kharad.

  The head scout bowed and sat on the pillows next to the leader. They began a leisurely dialogue.

  “Do you understand them?” Hadjar whispered to Ilmena.

  The girl glanced at Hadjar and nodded. ‘They’re discussing the conditions for the caravan being allowed to pass through,” Ilmena began to translate. “Kharad offering ten young camels, forty liters of water, and gold.”

  The leader stroked his sharp, thick beard thoughtfully. With another wave of his hand, he called one of his men over to him. They spent some time whispering about something. Finally, he answered, and Kharad’s face changed. There was no need to translate this time.

  “The leader doesn’t agree,” Ilmena whispered. “He says they have enough water and camels this season. And that his people don’t really need gold.”

  Wow, could such people really exist? In all seriousness, it was easy to explain. They were a nomadic people. They only returned to the Dead Mountains at the end of the season. Why would they bother to carry shiny metal across the desert? Everything they needed, they either made themselves or took from others.

  Kharad had been ready for such a turn of events. He was the one to wave his hand this time, calling for one of his squad members. They whispered to one another. Hadjar tried to follow their lip movements, but it wasn’t easy to ‘read’ a foreign language that you’d spoken for only several months. Soon, the scout nodded and left. For some time, a blissful silence hung in the tent. Hadjar and the others were seated on the pillows. Slender, dark-skinned beauties immediately clung to the men. They offered the guests wooden pipes and hookahs containing a whitish liquid. Hadjar refused. He’d heard that these Bedouins usually smoke tobacco, but a light drug, and at the moment, he needed to keep his wits about him.

  The rest, including Einen, accepted. Although, Hadjar soon noticed that the islander was only pretending to smoke. In fact, he had no intention of letting his mind get hazy due to the drug.

  The leader and Kharad chatted peacefully about something. Ilmena didn’t translate for him, which meant it wasn’t anything serious.

  Suddenly, Hadjar realized that he had a terrible headache. He’d never loved dealing with the intrigues and intricacies of other people’s plans. He’d always acted quickly and boldly, snatching what he considered rightfully his from the clutches of fate. Now, Hadjar felt helpless and stuck. It was a vile, unpleasant feeling.

  Hadjar looked at the sword lying across his lap. If he’d been stronger, would he have tried to simply carve a path forward?

  When the scout returned to the tent, Einen put his hand on Hadjar’s shoulder. Kharad’s subordinate held a metal chain with seven people on it. Each of them had a slave collar. Four men and three women. Sular was at the back of this procession. It was now obvious why he’d gone off on his own.

  “Kharad offered the leader these slaves in exchange for letting the caravan pass,” Ilmena translated.

  The girl gazed into Hadjar’s cold, blue eyes with slight concern. He did his best to contain his rage. His sword was still too weak to cut through all the chains in its path. He couldn’t even decide his own fate, let alone the fate of other people.

  The leader once again commanded his people. This time, the only woman among them also stood up. She was fully dressed and hadn’t cozied up to anyone. She had a wide scar across her face, and instead of her right eye, she had a bandage embroidered with pearls. This showed the woman’s high status, as pearls were extremely rare in the desert.

  An unpleasant-looking man came up to the four male slaves. He touched their shoulders, examined their teeth, and then cut their cheeks slightly and tasted their blood. He nodded at one of them, and immediately rejected the other three with a powerful jab to their stomachs. The slaves bent over, wheezing as they fell to the sand, but nobody seemed to care.

  The woman suddenly tore off the female slaves’ clothes. She carefully examined their hair and teeth. She felt their breasts, and then slid her palm between their buttocks, digging her fingers into the hair just below their waists.

  The girls were about seventeen springs old. They blushed, barely held back their tears, and tried to cover up their nakedness. Two of them passed the inspection, but the woman examining them spat in the third one’s face.

  “The leader doesn’t accept ‘unclean’ girls into his harem,” Ilmena explained. She also saw what was happening as quite normal. There wasn’t even a flicker of female solidarity on her face. “Two virgins. The third will be used by all. The three rejected men are too weak, they wouldn’t be able to do the work.”

  For some time, the leader and Kharad argued about something and bargained with all they had. Hadjar couldn’t take his eyes off the slave collars. For some reason, his neck hurt — right where his slave brand had once been.

  If not for his own decade spent as a slave, Hadjar probably wouldn’t have paid any attention to what was going on. However, he’d felt every poke and prod, every humiliation. His hand grabbed the hilt of his blade...

  At that very moment, a prolon
ged meow sounded, and Azrea jumped out of Hadjar’s turban, attracting everyone’s attention. She landed on the lap of her two-legged friend and looked into his eyes. Hadjar’s breathing evened out. His fingers unclenched and released the hilt of his sword. It wasn’t the right time yet...

  “Chekhars,” Ilmena swore.

  Hadjar snapped out of it and saw the Bedouin leader standing over him and poking Azrea delightedly. It wasn’t difficult to guess what he’d just asked for in exchange for granting the caravan safe passage.

  “Do you value your pet greatly, Northerner?” Kharad asked.

  Chapter 282

  “Try to take her from me and you’ll find out,” Hadjar seemed calm, but his eyes showed that anyone who took a step toward him would immediately feel the blade of his sword.

  “Calm down, Northerner.” Kharad raised his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “No one will try to steal your property.”

  Azrea turned to the chief scout and hissed angrily.

  “She’s not property,” Hadjar lifted the kitten and put her back under his turban. “She’s a friend.”

  “A friend?” Kharad asked. “You barbarians are a strange people. And what if, in exchange for this friend...”

  He looked at the leader of the tribe, the man nodded, and Kharad continued: “I offer you twenty liters of water, and these three slave girls,” Kharad uttered the last two words with a slight squeamishness, which pissed Hadjar off.

  “Screw you.”

  “Use a civilized language, Northerner. I don’t understand your barbaric jabber.”

  Hadjar had used Lidish on purpose. The moment the leader had pointed at Azrea, Hadjar had gotten an idea. He hoped that he’d correctly understood the Bedouins’ manners and customs.

  “Translate into the Bedouins’ language for me, Ilmena,” Hadjar commanded the girl.