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

by Kirill Klevanski

  After they’d come back from the Dead Mountains, all the guards had been gathered by Shakar. He’d told the newbies and reminded the veterans about the rules of the oasis.

  In spite of the obvious barrier, anyone could enter the oasis. As long as their intentions were peaceful, everyone could remain in Kurkhadan for as long as they wished. They could drink at any table (if they had the money to pay for their drinks), eat, have fun, and walk around everywhere. They could even start a family here, buy a house and settle down. It wasn’t forbidden. In Kurkhadan, there was no such thing as a ‘stranger’.

  However, there were a few rules that everyone had to follow. The local chieftain, king, sultan, etc. — any of these titles might’ve been used — was considered to be a divine figure. When he walked down the street, everyone had to fall to their knees and press their foreheads to the ground.

  Nobody was allowed to speak in the ruler’s presence.

  Carrying a weapon wasn’t forbidden, but no one, except for the oasis guards, had the right to draw their weapons.

  The last and most strictly enforced rule was this: under no circumstances, under penalty of death, was anyone allowed to climb to the top of the oasis.

  “Darkha-a-an,” a whisper came to him on the wind.

  Hadjar raised his head. He could swear he’d seen a blurry silhouette among the fir trees.

  Chapter 292

  Nobody paid attention to the caravan’s arrival to Kurkhadan. Rahaim’s ‘desert ship’ wasn’t the only one visiting the oasis. Even an inexperienced traveler such as Hadjar noticed the other caravans as the locals were quite different from the newcomers.

  Shakar was often absent, attending the council of the caravan drivers. At first, Hadjar had felt uneasy about the fact that everything was being decided without his input at these councils. It was his Mad General side rearing up. His concerns soon faded.

  Hadjar Darkhan was now a simple traveler navigating the Sea of Sand, headed toward the Empire. He didn’t care about the caravan leaders’ intrigues and concerns. He just wanted to survive and eat.

  In fact, Hadjar had been planning to eat right before all the guards were invited to a meeting.

  There weren’t too many guards attending. Hadjar now understood that you didn’t need a lot of people to protect a thousand travelers in the desert, just good commanders.

  “Kurkhadan is well protected,” Shakar got straight to the point. “We will rest here for three days and you can do whatever you want, but remember that you mustn’t get expelled by the local guards. If a caravan guard is kicked out, the entire caravan will be driven out with them.”

  The fact he could hear light breathing behind him confirmed Hadjar’s earlier guess that he was now able to sense Einen’s approach.

  “Rahaim went to see the local sheikh,” Einen whispered.

  Hadjar was certain that the islander had already scouted everything. If he’d had such a scout working for him during the wars in Lidus, he would have earned the nickname ‘Brilliant General’ instead.

  “Why was a simple caravaneer granted an audience with the sheikh?” Hadjar asked aloud.

  He’d posed the question to himself rather than his companion. However, Einen also mulled it over. Shakar continued to instruct the guards, but the two of them weren’t listening to him.

  “I don’t like this, Northerner,” Einen sighed. “First of all, that story about Sankesh and the ridiculous coincidence of our caravan’s route crossing paths with his army. Have you heard about the other caravans traveling through the Sea these days?”

  Hadjar just nodded. He’d spoken a lot with those in the Bedouin tribe who’d understood the desert language and he’d found out that the number of caravans passing through the Dead Mountains had decreased several times over... By the gods, it had gone from hundreds to just a few. The fact that Rahaim’s caravan was among those remaining few couldn’t possibly be just a coincidence. And now he had been granted an audience with the Kurkhadan sheikh.

  It didn’t matter what they were discussing. All that mattered was that they were discussing something. To put things into perspective, this was the equivalent of a common trader, albeit a successful one, working in any ordinary city square, suddenly getting Primus’ or Haver’s attention.

  “Can you get into the palace?” Hadjar asked without moving his lips.

  Einen shook his head.

  “The spells that surround it are too strong for me.”

  “Spells...” Hadjar repeated curiously.

  “Sorry, Northerner,” Einen smiled slightly. “I’m not the right person to tell you about the true path of cultivation.”

  The true path of cultivation... Hadjar was tired of trying to figure out what that was. None of the practitioners he’d met that knew about these strange mysteries had agreed to reveal the secret. All of them insisted that he needed to find a mentor to guide him on this ‘true’ path. If they said one wrong word, everything would be ruined, both for them and for Hadjar. Blah, blah, blah.

  It was a pity that his first Teacher, South Wind, hadn’t lived long enough to share the knowledge he’d gained in Underworld City. May the ancestors be kind to him and his rebirth calm and joyous! By the way, given how long had passed since his death, South Wind had already left his forefathers’ house and set off on the cycle of rebirth. Hadjar’s parents had as well...

  Fending off these morose thoughts, Hadjar turned to the islander. “Can you scout the palace?”

  Einen thought about it for a moment.

  “I can if there isn’t a Heaven Soldier there. Practitioners at the lower stages don’t notice me.”

  “So, do that, please. I’ll wander around the city and find out what the local gossip is. Maybe I’ll come across something useful.”

  The islander nodded and, before disappearing into the shadows, added, “Keep your frog saddled.”

  When Shakar finished his speech (most of which Hadjar hadn’t listened to), he went to explore the city. Passing by the caravan, he noticed that it wasn’t just his frog and Einen’s desert raven that were still saddled. Zurkh also hadn’t unpacked.

  The strange, suspicious man watched the guard walk past and turned to Serra, his daughter. She waved her hand frantically at Hadjar and shouted something.

  “Well that’s odd,” Hadjar muttered and kept walking.

  Kurkhadan, just like every other settlement in the Sea of Sand apparently, was celebrating something as night fell. Or maybe they were just greeting their evening stars. The beautiful companions of the moon were revered by all desert dwellers, regardless of their origin. They served as the locals’ only guide and, therefore, helped them survive, and everyone appreciated that, without exception.

  Music poured out from small teahouses. Barefoot girls and boys danced in the streets. Aromatic puffs of smoke filled the air and Hadjar almost succumbed to the temptation to join the smokers.

  Instead, he took out his pipe and lit it. His thoughts immediately settled and his heartbeat steadied. The pipe always reassured him and sharpened his thinking.

  Fireflies flew out of the lake. They fluttered among the paper lanterns, looking like stars falling from the black velvet heavens.

  “I know you’re there,” Hadjar grinned, feeling more breathing behind him.

  He turned sharply, but didn’t see Einen, only an empty street that ended somewhere among the lights of the central avenue.

  “Catch me if you can,” someone whispered hotly in his ear.

  Hadjar turned back and saw two green, female eyes and a wide, roguish smile. Then a dagger’s blade flashed and his inconspicuous wallet that held the bracelets was torn from Hadjar’s belt.

  Hadjar was incredibly fast and an enraged Hadjar, a dragon stirring in his eyes, was even faster. However, even his speed wasn’t enough to catch the thief.

  As light as the fog, she moved several yards ahead and waved the wallet at him.

  “Come on, catch me,” she repeated.

  In absolute silence,
Hadjar pursued her with dogged determination. He turned into the shadow of five ravens, but each time, the thief slipped away from his grip.

  They flew over the roofs of the houses, pushing off the tiles with only the toes of their feet. They surged across the street, and the wind kicked up by their passage closed the shutters of the windows. They were so fast that passerby sometimes shuddered, thinking that they’d seen ghosts. Nevertheless, no matter how hard Hadjar tried, he couldn’t catch her.

  He ran after her all over the city, and then through the forest, stopping at the shore of the lake. The full moon was reflected on its surface, resembling a huge silver coin. Night birds and cicadas filled the air with their song.

  He didn’t see the girl. Only the barest flicker of movement.

  “You didn’t catch me,” came from behind him.

  Hadjar didn’t even manage to turn around. Someone unusually strong pushed him. Unable to resist the force, Hadjar fell into the water and immediately tried to swim back up, but it was futile.

  An incredibly strong current spun him around and carried him toward the foot of the upside down pyramid, to one of the four waterfalls. Then something that even Hadjar himself couldn’t believe happened.

  He was drawn toward and lifted up along that very waterfall. Through the water, he first saw the roofs of the many houses, then the palace, then the whole of Kurkhadan, and then, finally, the Sea of Sand, bathed in starlight.

  Suddenly, he was thrown onto the plateau, at the very edge of the strange forest. Hadjar was now hundreds of yards away from the lake. He remembered the strict ban on visiting this place.

  “Damn it,” Hadjar cursed.

  Chapter 293

  After spending a couple of minutes marveling at this twist of fate, Hadjar rose to his feet and brushed himself off. The wet silk stuck to his body, so Hadjar took off his kaftan, rolled it up, and hung it over his shoulder. Now clad only in his trousers and turban (he wondered how Azrea never fell out of it during all these adventures), Hadjar drew his blade and moved toward the depths of the forest.

  “Whoever you are!” Hadjar demanded loudly as he moved, “Show yourself!”

  As Kurkhadan’s lights dimmed behind him, Hadjar drew closer to the rocky hills. He had to admit, after the long journey through the sand dunes, something like his ‘native’ forests turned out to be a challenge for him. It felt so odd to place his foot down on a hard, even surface. Hadjar didn’t have to constantly balance and shift his center of gravity to stay upright. This was probably why the desert dwellers seemed so graceful to northerners. They’d grown up balancing on the sands.

  The thick forest was rather… strange. Hadjar couldn’t pick up the smells that helped him navigate even in unfamiliar areas. No birds were making noise, alarmed by the uninvited guest. The cicadas stayed silent as well. There were no rustling leaves and branches swaying in the wind. There wasn’t even any wind. With each step he took, Hadjar grew more convinced that he wasn’t in a forest, but some strange mimicry of one. The place where he’d ended up looked like a forest, but it simply didn’t feel like one.

  “Keep up,” the soft whisper came to him on the sudden wind.

  Hadjar turned sharply and swung his blade, but accomplished nothing. His attack, normally capable of cutting through at least three old oaks, was absorbed by the nearest birch. There wasn’t even a scratch on the tree.

  An inoffensive, cheerful laugh filled the air and fireflies spun around Hadjar’s legs. They created a glowing, winding path that went through the trees and bushes.

  Sighing and rubbing his nose, Hadjar swung his blade slightly (just to muster up some confidence) and followed the path made by the fireflies.

  Sometimes, they had fun with Hadjar. They deliberately went around in wide arcs, and a couple of times, Hadjar realized that he’d walked through the same place twice. Or maybe they weren’t yanking his chain. It was possible that there were places in the forest that resembled each other down to the broken branches.

  “You got me,” someone giggled.

  Hadjar stood at the edge of a small pond. The low treetops were bunched up so tightly above him that the starlight didn’t penetrate here. Nevertheless, it wasn’t dark, and he was able to distinguish every blade of grass.

  The water in the pond glowed softly. Hadjar would’ve once thought that this was caused by reflections or some other trick of the light. Now, thanks to his new perception and Awakened Spirit, he understood that to be false.

  Something really was glowing in the pond, but Hadjar didn’t know what it was. He only felt goose bumps running down his back and sweat rolling down his temple.

  Hadjar wasn’t necessarily afraid of it. He just clearly understood that the kind of power that the pond radiated could wipe him out as quickly and easily as the mighty Traves, the Lord of the Heavens, in his prime.

  “Who are you?” Hadjar asked into the void. After a moment, he corrected himself. “What are you?”

  He heard a slight laugh again, and then the fireflies rushed toward the lake and plunged into the emerald radiance of the calm water. Hadjar flinched at the amount of energy that spilled out at that moment.

  Gradually, the emerald light darkened. It swirled and the water boiled. The bubbles of light burst, sprinkling gold threads into the air. Out of this darkness and gold, a figure slowly appeared.

  First, a slightly torn but elegant dress could be seen. Darkness and gold shimmered across it, creating the illusion that someone had wrapped themselves in a fragment of the night sky, bottomless and full of bright stars.

  The belt on the dress was made up of fireflies that sat there calmly. It looked as if they’d frozen, turning into a golden chain.

  “Hello, Desert Wind,” a girl said.

  She had long, dark, curly hair, blue eyes, and dark skin. Her large, firm breasts were tantalizingly displayed by the neckline of her dress.

  The girl looked as if she’d come from Hadjar’s dreams. She was the most beautiful and perfect woman that he’d ever seen. Any man would’ve immediately stopped breathing if she’d touched his cheek. Everything about her was perfect: her slightly heaving chest, the swing of her hips, even her smile was incredibly seductive. For the first time in a long time, Hadjar was unable to calm his wildly beating heart, as the mere sight of her rendered him nearly helpless with desire.

  “What are you?” Hadjar repeated a little louder, grasping his sword with both hands in a desperate attempt to resist the unnatural attraction. A whirlwind of energy sprang up around him, a dragon’s shadow dancing within it. Even though he knew that he couldn’t hope to harm this creature which was equal in power to Traves, he wasn’t going to surrender without a fight. Even if he’d been facing the inhabitants of the Seventh Heaven, he would’ve still fought them.

  “You’re brave,” her voice would’ve opened the gates of any fortress, “and lonely, like a desert wind that has nowhere to settle. The shaman chose a good name for you.”

  She went to him... or rather, flew over to him. Without touching the grass, she glided over and stopped an inch away from the tip of his blade. Hadjar’s hand didn’t waver. He stared at the wallet hanging on the creature’s belt. For the contents of that wallet, Hadjar would go to war, even against the Emperor or a god.

  However, Hadjar’s sword remained locked in place. Its tip rested against the creature’s index finger, the finger as immovable as solid rock.

  “Young Wind,” the creature whispered. “Don’t you understand that you can’t even touch me?”

  Hadjar, his blood boiling with rage, only nodded abruptly.

  “Then why? Aren’t you scared of me?”

  The creature did nothing. He saw no sign, word, or burst of energy, but suddenly, the weight of the whole world fell on Hadjar’s shoulders. The terrible pressure was so great that the ground beneath him cracked.

  “You... took...” He could barely speak. Each word made his bones creak, and blood slowly poured from his nose. Each word he spoke also made the creature�
��s eyes widen in surprise. “... something... that… belonged... to me...”

  The creature blinked several times and then laughed. By the Evening Stars and the Great Turtle, her laugh was fascinating. Fireflies flew out of the darkness. They surrounded the wallet, picked it up, and it was soon back on Hadjar’s belt.

  “Even the ones you call Heaven Soldiers can’t speak under the pressure of my power. But you didn’t even lower your sword. I think I’ve made the right choice.”

  She was very quick. Hadjar didn’t even see her move, but suddenly, the creature’s hand was next to his right ear.

  “We don’t need any witnesses.”

  “Let me go, you bitch!” A thin, squeaky voice protested. “By the will of the Seventh Heaven Magistrate, let me go!”

  Hadjar turned slowly. His eyes widened in surprise. Not because the creature’s graceful fingers now looked like claws, but because those claws were holding a fairy tightly. A messenger of the gods.

  Chapter 294

  “Let me go, you exiled monster!” The fairy squealed.

  She looked almost exactly like General Atikus, Hadjar’s childhood idol, had described: a small creature with slightly shimmering skin, looking almost like a child, and with a sword at her waist. Despite her size, Hadjar felt the power emanating from the fairy. It wasn’t as great as the creature’s own, but it would’ve certainly been enough to send Hadjar to his forefathers.

  “What does a little fairy need from a mere mortal?” The girl tilted her head curiously.

  “That’s none of your business, fallen wretch! I am here on the Magistrate’s orders! Let me go right now!”

  Revealing an even row of sharp fangs, the fairy bit into the girl’s claw. She then screamed in pain and small tears that looked like diamonds ran down her cheeks.

  “I would advise that you collect those tears,” the girl whispered. “Getting a chance to bottle a fairy’s tears is as rare as the opportunity to meet a god.”