“Besides,” Ramukhan continued, “It’s hard not to know the former sultan of the Pearl of the Sands.”
Hadjar almost cut himself with his dagger. Even he’d heard about the Pearl of the Sands in the first week of his journey through the territories bordering the Sea of Sand. They said that the Pearl was the largest city in the Sea of Sand. Surrounded by huge dunes, it boasted seven million inhabitants and was considered to be the capital of the desert. And if that was the case, then Hadjar had traveled in the caravan of the former king of the Sea of Sand for almost half a year. That was also why the sheikh of Kurkhadan and Sankesh knew Rahaim and why everyone had respected the old man so much.
“If it hadn’t been for Sankesh’s betrayal, Rahaim and his son wouldn’t have had to flee the city. I feel sorry for his granddaughter, little Serra. I saw her once. She was cheerful, like a flower that had somehow sprouted from the sand...”
This time, Hadjar was unable to avoid cutting himself. A myriad of thoughts flashed through his head. They clumped together, rushed around, took sharp turns, and rammed themselves against the walls of his skull, giving him a headache.
Emerging from a whirlpool of his wild theories, Hadjar clung to the only sure knowledge he had — Serra wasn’t human. She was the key to the library of Mage City.
“Rahaim raved about Mage City his entire life.” Ramukhan put a blade of grass in his mouth. He chewed it, grimaced, and then spat it out. “In the Pearl, thousands of books and scrolls about the topic were collected. It’s a pity that he died...”
Hadjar almost opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. Gods and demons! He’d almost been played. Damn it! He hated intrigue, and his hand was already holding the hilt of his blade. Alas, the blue amulet was still protecting Ramukhan.
Thanks to his mother — may the forefathers be kind to her, and may her rebirth ensure a happy life — Hadjar could sense intrigues and avoid them. Ramukhan was apparently trying to get any information he could out of him.
“What do you want from me, sorcerer?” Hadjar almost growled.
Ramukhan instantly dropped the pretense of amiability. The good humor and gentleness disappeared from his tone. He now understood that using the ‘honesty begets honesty’ principle and ‘sentimentality’ wouldn’t get him anything from Hadjar.
“You aren’t as simple as you appear to be, barbarian,” the Chief of Security of Underworld City said dryly. People didn’t reach such high positions easily. It was equivalent to the head of the General staff at the Royal court in Lidus. During the reign of Primus, at least five people had assumed the role. All of them had passed away against their will due to complications unrelated to old age.
Hadjar finished weaving his hat and, touching the surface with his palm, released his power. A little more than strictly necessary. The tree fibers dried up immediately, giving the item a finished look. The grass around them had also been cut. As a result, Hadjar and Ramukhan sat in the center of a neatly mowed lawn.
“I’m going to meditate now,” Hadjar said, restraining his anger, “If you have nothing else to say, leave me alone.”
“Don’t think for a second, Northerner, that I’ll treat you any better than Tilis would,” Ramukhan’s gaze could’ve bent nails, “Serra was dear to us all.”
“Leave,” Hadjar said, and felt a slight prick of pain coming from his amulet.
Ramukhan got up and went over to the boy who was cooking the porridge and eavesdropping on them. As he walked, he stopped and, without turning around, said: “I see that South Wind found his Prince... and his doom. You already have two worthy inhabitants of Underworld City on your conscience, don’t think that you’ll be able to add a third one to the list.”
So, Ramukhan had known Hadjar’s first Teacher. Damn it... Damn it! He was obviously trying to lure Hadjar into bargaining with him, but, by the gods, Hadjar would’ve rather eaten a live scorpion than bargained with Ramukhan or Tilis.
Putting his hat on his head, Hadjar set off toward the thicket of the jungle. He was going to find a place where he could meditate for a couple of hours. He believed that it was safe enough here. Karissa’s spells would detect any major threats, and he would be able to handle the minor ones without anyone else’s help.
After about twenty minutes of cutting through thick foliage, Hadjar came across a tree with many branches that he didn’t recognize.
Taking a seat at its roots, he plunged into deep meditation. Once he was inside the World River, he felt his exhausted body gradually heal up and recover. His proximity to cool, refreshing water only reinforced the sensation.
Over the past few months, after his many battles in the Pit, and after he’d purchased various pills and elixirs at the auction, Hadjar felt ready to dash to the final stage of the Transformation level. He felt like he understood the essence of his new soul.
He understood Traves’ ‘Path through the Clouds’ meditation Technique better now. Initially, the words ‘acquiring one’s true, but also one’s new soul…’ had seemed like utter nonsense to Hadjar, but now...
Hadjar dived even deeper, seeking the place where the energy of the world flowed through the meridians and gates of his body, where the little dragon slumbered and the black blade waited patiently. It was the deepest part of his soul. The place where the core of his power was gradually forming, not like a beast’s, not a physical thing, but something more ephemeral, something stronger.
Hadjar...
Interrupting a deep meditation was always accompanied by a second of disorientation. That was why it was such a dangerous prospect at times, because in that moment, even a true cultivator was no more dangerous than a baby.
Hadjar didn’t think that anyone could’ve approached him unnoticed, even if he’d been in a deep trance. Well, for the second time this month, he’d turned out to be overconfident. Still, nobody learned from other people’s mistakes, and he’d try to at least learn from his own.
Cold steel tickled his throat, and someone tried to pull Mountain Wind from its sheath. Realizing that they couldn’t do so, they simply cut through the strap holding the sheath attached to the belt.
Einen’s capture and subsequent torture had apparently taught Hadjar nothing.
“Don’t move or I’ll kill you,” someone whispered into his ear.
Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes. He saw a sand dog in front of him.
“Shakh?”
Chapter 363
“Be quiet, Northerner,” Shakh hissed.
He’d changed a lot in the past few months: he’d grown his hair out and woven tinkling steel leaves — pieces of daggers and swords — into it. A fresh scar crisscrossed his face. His cheekbones stood out sharply above his pointed goatee. His gaze had become heavy and intense. His sandy dogs had grown larger, more defined, and there was a lot of fury and power in their bestial growls.
Only a few months had passed, but Hadjar could hardly recognize the silly, jovial boy who’d held a grudge against him. Shakh was holding a long dagger at his throat. Hadjar was certain that the boy wouldn’t hesitate to use the weapon.
“Stand up.”
Still standing behind him, and holding the dagger too close to his neck, Shakh forced Hadjar to his feet and dragged him toward the bushes. The jungle wasn’t the kind of place Hadjar was used to. If it had been a simple forest, he would’ve found a way out, but as things stood…
“I’m not alone,” Hadjar said as he walked through the long vines. Like snakes, they hung from unfamiliar kinds of trees, scratching his face and hands. “My companions will look for me.”
“I doubt it.” Even Shakh’s voice sounded different, it was far sterner now. “I’ve been watching you since you came to the oasis. You’re not welcome in your group. Then again... what else can you expect from a traitor?”
Hadjar nearly tripped over a root. Realizing just in time that it was a beast that looked like a cross between a python and a caterpillar, he kicked it aside. This latest accusation of treachery amused him a lit
tle, but then it made him think.
“Where’s the bald man?” Shakh asked, pressing the dagger a little harder into Hadjar’s neck.
A trickle of blood ran down the blade. The drops, as they fell to the grass, created a slight echo. Well, maybe he’d changed over the past months, but some skills could only be acquired with enough experience.
“He’s busy setting up the camp,” Hadjar said, squinting at the blood behind him. How long would it take Einen to notice his absence and follow the trail?
“That’s good. I’ll kill him after you.”
“If you’re going to kill me, why draw things out?”
“I don’t know,” Shakh said, almost laughing, “Maybe I want to savor the pleasure.”
“You’d better go see the healers about that. They have special herbs-”
The dagger jerked again and more blood covered the ground. Some skills could definitely only be acquired through years of practice.
“Shut up and keep walking, traitor.”
They moved slowly through the dense undergrowth until they came to a cluster of boulders. Hadjar stopped. Cold and slightly damp, the stones lay in a mound, right in the middle of a wide clearing that was on the very border with another lake.
Even without knowing what to look for, it was easy to spot the spell cast over this landscape. It had been put up in a hurry, not particularly thought out, and very cheap. The talisman that had been used to cast it cost less than a quarter of an imperial coin and was very popular with the Bedouins. These kinds of stones looked more natural in the desert than in the centre of an oasis.
Without looking into the World River, Hadjar touched the surface of the stones with his palm. Instead of a rough surface, he only felt slightly condensed air.
Smiling at the fact his hunch had been correct, Hadjar stepped forward. He passed through the spell and came to the edge of a camp. Either the gods were mocking them or Ramukhan was an idiot, because they’d stopped just a quarter of an hour away from another group of hunters.
No wonder Shakh had ambushed him so easily. There was a stunning view of the slope they’d recently used to get to the oasis from this camp. And all the while, they’d been watched like naïve, bumbling schoolchildren.
“It’s nice to see some familiar faces,” Hadjar grinned.
By the fire sat a group of men with whom he’d had several perilous adventures. However, not one of them looked the same as they had three months ago.
Kharad, the caravan’s former head scout, had lost his arrogant demeanor. He looked tired. He fidgeted with his scarf and a necklace made from a Desert Raven’s claws. His Desert Raven’s claws…
Sular was the only other scout sitting around the fire. He was silent, as always. His falcon would most likely not be able to fly in the near future. It was sitting on a log, cleaning its bandaged, broken wing. There were other caravan guards there was well, ones whose names Hadjar couldn’t remember.
“Sit down,” Shakh ordered, kicking Hadjar in the back of both knees.
His legs buckled and he fell to the warm ground. He could’ve tolerated that kind of treatment, but the slap that Shakh gave him as he passed him… Hadjar’s eyes flashed, and the grass around him, as if being reaped by a huge scythe, was cut down and began to whirl around dangerously. Shakh had barely enough time to react, and so did the others, when grass blades rushed toward their chests. A few inches from the boy’s flesh, the grass sword was stopped by a glowing wall of golden energy.
“Calm down, Northerner, we mean you no harm” came a coughing, hoarse whisper.
“Speak for yourself, uncle,” Shakh spat out.
He was ready to fight. Not two, but three sand dogs prowled around him. Each of them had a dagger in its mouth instead of a tongue. He held two more daggers in his hands. He’d obviously changed a lot. In his eyes, there was neither fear, nor the desire to show off, only cold calculation. He looked like a desert wolf.
“I agree with Shakh,” Kharad said hoarsely. “This is the only way we can honor Rahaim.”
“Idiots!” Shakar shouted, then coughed wetly.
“Uncle!”
Shakh rushed over to his uncle and Hadjar could now see the man lying on the other side of the fire. Gods and demons, what had these past months done to the Heaven Soldier who’d once been able to send Hadjar flying back a dozen paces with a single swing of his saber? He was so weak now that he could hardly speak. He was lying on a makeshift stretcher. Shakh helped him get up to a semi-sitting position. Shakar covered his mouth with his hand, but dirty blood spurted through his fingers with every cough. And it was just that, dirty — red, but with black, oily stains.
Covered with a blanket, he tried to hide the stumps of his left arm and leg from Hadjar. Yellow bandages were wrapped around his once broad and powerful chest. Now he looked like a skeleton.
“It’s all right, Shakh,” Shakar whispered, settling back into his pillows. “Let the Northerner come closer.”
Shakh looked at Hadjar with hatred, jerked his head in his uncle’s direction, and walked away. Hadjar took a couple of deep breaths, calmed his inner dragon, and walked over to the former chief of security.
“Bend down so I can see you,” Shakar said.
Hadjar noticed that the cultivator’s left eye was missing. Instead, a black, scorched eye socket gaped open in its place. His right eye, which he still had, looked lifeless. It was almost a milky white.
“Just as I thought,” the cultivator said. “Hadjar didn’t betray the Contract.”
“He could have done it a thousand other ways-”
“Shakh,” his uncle interrupted him. “I understand your desire to take it out on someone, but the northerner isn’t the one to do it on.”
Hadjar felt a faint breath on the wind and saw the darkness thicken behind Shakh. As he’d expected, Einen hadn’t kept him waiting for long.
“Tell me, boy,” the islander hissed, pressing the boy’s own dagger, deftly drawn from its scabbard, to Shakh’s throat. “Does it feel good to have a dagger held to your throat?”
Kharad, Sular, and the other guards sprang to their feet, but Einen only pressed the dagger harder against Shakh’s throat. The first drops of blood fell to the ground.
“Another step and-”
Suddenly, Shakh turned into sand and vanished into thin air, only to reform a moment later behind the islander. The situation had turned upside down: now the young man was holding a dagger to Einen’s throat.
“You can answer your own question, baldy.”
Before Shakh managed to do anything, Hadjar blurred into the shadow of the Six Ravens. He snatched up Mountain Wind, which had fallen from Shakh’s hand when he’d done his sand trick. Standing behind Shakh, Hadjar held his blade above the boy’s head.
Utter silence fell over the clearing.
“Well, this is a rather familiar situation, isn’t it?” Shakh asked with a hint of amusement.
“We’re just missing Ilmena,” Einen nodded.
Shakh dropped his weapon first.
“You don’t have a mark on you either,” he breathed out slowly, showing his deep disappointment. “Damned Sankesh…”
“What happened to all of you?” Hadjar asked.
Chapter 364
“Tell them, nephew,” Shakar croaked.
He leaned back against his pillows. Surprisingly, Kharad sat back down as well. The former head scout said nothing. That was very unusual for him. Before, it had been hard for him to keep his mouth shut and not get involved in disputes at every opportunity. Shakh gestured for them to take a seat. Einen and Hadjar exchanged glances and accepted the invitation.
Once they were all seated around the fire, they were offered some very meagre food. Though times were hard for the caravaneers, the laws of hospitality were still respected.
“Ilmena...” Shakh whispered. “We found her body in one of the wagons. Sankesh’s daughter hadn’t even bothered to hide the body. She’d just kept it in her own coach, I mean, in Ilmen
a’s.”
“No wonder she never let anyone go in,” Hadjar said
One of the caravaneers rose and took a skin out of a bag. The guard shook it slightly and checked its contents, then passed it around. Each of them, after first spilling a little of the tart wine on the ground, took a sip. When the alcohol reached Shakar, they helped him complete the ritual of remembrance and tribute to the fallen.
“To be honest,” Shakh continued the story, “we didn’t understand what had happened. A strange black spirit fought in the sky against the dragon. The echoes of their battle killed not only the bandits and Sankesh’s men, but most of the caravan’s passengers as well.”
A shadow of fear could be seen in his eyes. The boy had changed in these past three months, but somewhere deep down, he still remembered the days when he could afford to be carefree. Now, apparently, he had to take care of the rest of Rahaim’s caravan.
Hadjar, after hearing that particular bit, got upset for a couple of seconds. After all, if he hadn’t used the fairy’s body and summoned the demon spirit who’d manifested in the form of the Black General, everyone would’ve died. It sounded cynical, but that was how the world worked. He couldn’t help everyone, only those who were ready to fight for their own lives.
“Old Zurkh,” Shakh sighed. “I’d had no idea he was hiding the power of a Spirit Knight.”
Einen and Hadjar looked at each other. They’d always suspected that Serra’s ‘father’ hadn’t been what he had tried to pretend he was. But it was still unbelievable that they’d travelled for six months alongside a Spirit Knight and hadn’t felt it… Although, now it was clear why he’d been keeping an eye on the ‘key’ to the library. Zurkh hadn’t been her father, but her bodyguard. Well, her key-keeper, to be more precise.
“After Rahaim died, he told us the true purpose of the journey…”
Then the long tale began. Hadjar had recently learned some parts of it from Ramukhan. For example, the fact that the inconspicuous, except for his strange Techniques, old caravaneer had once been the sultan of the Pearl of the Sands. Well, as far as it was possible to rule in this region. Serra had served as a sort of talisman for the Pearl of the Sands. She’d always stayed at court, from time immemorial. She kept the young princes company when they were children, then looked after their offspring, and so on, repeated endlessly for centuries, millenniums even.
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