Dragon Heart

by Kirill Klevanski

  The gates opened and a golden light poured out. Cheerful conversations and the general noise of a party could be heard. It seemed like a celebration was in progress inside the building.

  “Strangers,” Karissa grimaced.

  Throwing a quick glance at her mysterious flying book, she resolutely marched inside. This time, Hadjar was the first to follow the witch. Suddenly, he felt a breath of fresh, native air. He found himself in what appeared to be a cheap tavern on the outskirts of a Lidish border town. People scurried between tables and chairs, carrying drinks on trays. After setting them down on the table, they would sit and join in the fun. Some of them were fighting. Utensils and chairs soared through the air. Hadjar saw someone’s tooth fly past him and pierce the bone wall. In the left corner of the room was a bar counter, and a woman was beating two drunk men to death not three feet from it. In the distance, he spotted bunk beds. Most were empty, but people were meditating or sleeping on some of them.

  Hadjar smiled slightly. By the Evening Stars, if the barracks of the Moon Army had looked like this, Nero wouldn’t have lived in an officer’s tent.

  No one paid any attention to Karissa. Everyone continued minding their own business, sharing only one distinguishing feature —their blue bracelets.

  “Glen!” The witch shouted, trying to overpower the noise in the room.

  A minute later, after breaking through the crowd, a mug half-filled with beer in his hand, a short man with watery eyes and a bump on his nose appeared in front of Karissa. At his waist was a short saber and a long dagger.

  “Yes, beacon of my eyes,” Glen parodied the desert accent. “Honorable Karissa, mistress of all our worthless lives.”

  “If you don’t want your worthless life to end today, take care of the newbies.”

  Glen gave the five of them an appraising look. Hadjar realized he was merely pretending to be a slacker and overly amiable. Glen’s eyes emanated power. Hadjar even considered whether he could beat him without it costing him a great deal. It was easy to guess that this warrior, despite looking like a moneylender, was one of the most important people in the barracks.

  “As you command, queen of this eternal night,” Glen bowed.

  Karissa, completely ignoring the strange compliment yet again, turned around and went over to the door. Once she was almost out of the hut, she stopped, turned around, glanced toward Einen and Hadjar quickly, and then disappeared.

  “You are her favorites, aren’t you?” Glen asked.

  “I truly hope so,” the islander nodded.

  “I would advise you to stop doing that,” Glen shrugged, putting his mug down right on the floor. “Karissa’s favorites don’t usually survive past their first week. Now let’s go, we need to find you beds and make a plan for how we’ll get your things back from the quartermasters. Those blasted demons will fight to keep them like a mama bear fights for her cubs.”

  Hadjar knew very well how greedy quartermasters could be.

  Chapter 340

  As Hadjar had suspected, the bean counters were the bearers of the red amulets who wore white robes. They were in the same barracks as them, but in the farthest corner. Even the light couldn’t reach that far, leaving their sheltered room in the grip of an acrid gloom.

  The three servants, who had evidently left their youth behind long ago, were scribbling something in huge granary books with ink and sticks. To Hadjar, this was quite normal, but Einen was surprised. They still wrote with quills on the islands.

  “These five,” Glen said, waving behind him without turning around, “want their things back.”

  There was silence. Several moments later, the most meticulous of the servants looked up from his book. It was clear from his gaze alone that he had at least a tiny bit of power and clearly loved using it.

  “Not until noon tomorrow,” he said, and went back to his work. He continued to write in his greasy, stained book, dismissing them.

  “Let it be so,” Glen said.

  Turning to the newcomers, he made a face that said: ‘Sorry, I tried my best’.

  “That’s that,” Glen continued, “there’s nothing we can do about it. You’ll get everything back tomorrow.”

  “But we have to fight the beasts in the Pit tomorrow morning!” One of the youngest newbies objected.

  “Really?” The cunning barracks leader scratched his head thoughtfully. “It’s unlikely that you’ll have to fight against strong creatures on your first day... You’ll definitely be able to deal with them using just your bare hands!”

  With those words, he patted Hadjar on the shoulder, made a mocking bow, and, sipping from his glass, went over to the centre of the barracks, where the merriment was still in full swing. The three other newcomers, huddling together in a small alliance of sorts, started discussing what they should do.

  “It’s a tricky situation,” Einen said thoughtfully in the language of the islands. “I don’t think we’re the first ones they’ve cheated.”

  “Can’t say I blame them.”

  “Me neither.”

  After exchanging amused glances, they simply jumped over the counter and went over to the racks of boxes.

  “Hey!” The servant shouted. “What are you doing, you damned demons?”

  A gust of power surging out of Hadjar’s hand prevented him from saying anything else. Turning into a barely perceptible blade, it easily sliced through the man’s book and the counter as well. They crashed to the floor, kicking up clouds of bone dust.

  The servant didn’t really understand what had just happened, but the three newcomers momentarily held their breaths in disbelief.

  “Wielder,” they whispered in a discordant chorus, and took a few steps back.

  Hadjar flexed his wrist and continued searching for his belongings. He had no doubt that their things had been brought down here long before they’d arrived. It was unlikely that there were so many strangers in Underworld City that they would simply send them to get slaughtered without even giving them a chance... If they wanted to just kill people, they could always buy slaves from the Bedouins.

  “Found it,” Einen said.

  Their very large boxes, sealed with glowing hieroglyphs, were at the bottom. Einen recognized them by the designations written on the tops of the boxes in the desert language: ‘Islander’ and ‘Northerner’.

  Pulling them out of the rack, the friends thought about what they should do next. Then it dawned on Hadjar and he simply touched the hieroglyph. His blue bracelet flashed, and then the seal disappeared, melting away like a slight haze.

  The sword lying inside the box soothed his tense nerves better than any herbal tincture ever could. As soon as Mountain Wind was back in his calloused hand, confidence welled up in Hadjar’s soul: no obstacle in his path could stop him or even slow him down.

  The old leather wallet with his friends’ wedding bracelets reassured his aching heart. ‘The Black Gates’ Patriarch’s ring, the fairy’s tears, and little Serra’s gift were almost insignificant compared to those two most important things. Although, after looking at the sword, Hadjar tied the wallet to his belt first. There were many swords in this world after all...

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to do what you want here,” someone behind him said.

  Hadjar turned around. He realized that he’d been lost in his own thoughts for a while. The sounds of merriment had long since subsided. The central hall, which had resembled a tavern and a brothel at the same time, was now empty. All the practitioners wearing blue amulets had bared their weapons and crowded behind Glen. He was still lazily sipping from his mug, but his gaze was tenacious. The leader of the fifty ‘guinea pigs’, selected by Karissa, was ready to fight. To the death.

  Einen, who’d somehow managed to put his people’s traditional outfit on, stood next to Hadjar. In his hand, the spear-staff, which hadn’t exposed its deadly stinger yet, swayed dangerously.

  “Put those things back and go to bed,” Glen said bossily. “You shouldn’t steal from
people who’ve sheltered you.”

  “We haven’t stolen anything,” Einen snapped in reply, “we’ve just taken back our things.”

  “There’s nothing of yours here.”

  “The names on the boxes beg to differ,” Hadjar stated calmly.

  They met Glen’s eyes. By the Evening Stars, the undersized rogue was one of the few people who could withstand Hadjar’s gaze.

  “It seems that children from the north and the islands can’t count,” Glen said more forcefully. “I’ll give you one more chance. Put-”

  “Put a dog’s reproductive organ down your throat,” Einen spat on the floor. His friend’s cursing made Hadjar open his mouth in surprise. Apparently, the stress of the recent weeks had really affected the usually calm islander. “How many newbies have you cheated like this so far? You make them think that they can’t take their things back, and then you send them to their deaths.”

  “Shut up, fish-fucker,” somebody shouted from the crowd. “Nobody sends them to their deaths!”

  “Yeah,” another voice added, “we give them weapons.”

  “Rusty weapons...”

  There was laughter that sounded like the squealing of dogs.

  “Those who survive earn our respect and a place at the common table,” Glen continued. “This is a very ancient tradition, and you won’t be defying it.”

  Hadjar had suspected something like this was going on as soon as Karissa had kept her gaze on him. The witch had clearly wanted to hint at something, perhaps the fact that they should be ten times more careful around those who wear the ‘amulets’ than around the city’s residents. The witch had also said that someone who wore the amulet couldn’t do harm to a resident of Underworld City, as well as vice versa. However, Karissa hadn’t said a word about them fighting each other.

  “Dear Einen,” Hadjar said, “do you think that maybe these gentlemen don’t understand who they’re talking to?”

  “You’re right, barbarian.”

  Exhaling, Einen turned the handle of his staff, and the iron stinger shot out from the top. At the same time, a tornado of energy soared up around the islander, filled with darkness and shadows. The shadows, behaving as if they were alive, pooled from the walls and floor to converge into the silhouette of a huge, grinning ape’s mouth. Its soundless roar affected the light itself, which became dimmer.

  Hadjar, supporting his friend, grabbed his blade from its scabbard and swung it. A second tornado of energy, blue streaked with black, began to swirl in the barracks. It bent and wriggled, taking the shape of a curled up dragon lying at Hadjar’s feet. At the same time, everyone felt an invisible blade poised at their throats, as if an invisible army had appeared behind the northerner.

  “A Wielder...” The whisper surged through the crowd.

  “Demons and Gods, he wields the Sword!”

  “I’ve never seen anyone like this before...”

  “By the Evening Stars, they’re equal to cultivators...”

  “Shut up!” Glen murmured. Even as they panicked, this cunning warrior still possessed undeniable authority among the locals. “There’s fifty of us, and we aren’t as weak as we appear to be.”

  “We’ll test your might,” Einen nodded, “and many will die in that battle. Not even the Great Turtle knows who exactly. Maybe it’ll even be you.”

  To confirm his friend’s words, Hadjar turned his blade slightly. A flurry of power fell from the blade. It left a long, deep cut across the floor, stopping once it reached Glen’s feet.

  “Well,” Glen muttered through clenched teeth, “then you are on your own. Don’t you dare sit at the common table or take our food. If you’re so brave, then survive on your own in this damned hellhole.”

  After spitting on the floor, he turned around and, pushing his people out of the way, stormed off. He wasn’t a coward, but he understood perfectly well that Einen was right. A lot of people would die in their battle, and nobody could be sure of who exactly would be among the ones who wouldn’t live until the dawn. Even if there was no real dawn to be had down here.

  Following their leader, the remaining ‘guinea pigs’ left as well. Soon, only the servants, trembling with fear, remained at the broken counter.

  Chapter 341

  “Thank you.” The other newbies tried to thank Hadjar and Einen, but they left without even a nod. The trio stood around for a while, and then rushed over to look for their own boxes. In the practitioners’ world, this wasn’t considered impolite. Their paths had simply crossed for a short time, and they weren’t destined to travel down it together. Neither Hadjar nor Einen had thought about helping their three ‘companions in misfortune’. It was just a coincidence, simple as that.

  As they were walking toward the unoccupied beds, they both noticed the dangerous, dagger-sharp glances they were getting. The locals were used to getting new things from the weakest newbies. Strong newbies really could handle weak animals with the help of rusty weapons. Those who violated this tradition were hated by anyone who had taken part in it. Alas, thanks to mutual responsibility, all of the inhabitants of the barracks had done so. The servants were also partly to blame.

  “You know, at first, I’d thought we’d been enslaved,” Einen said thoughtfully, climbing up onto the upper bunk bed. They’d decided to use the farthest one. It stood in the corner, and two of its four sides were against the walls, so it would be difficult for them to be surrounded by a large number of foes. And neither of them doubted that most, if not all, of those present were their foes now.

  “Believe me,” Hadjar smiled a little sadly, “our situation is nothing like slavery.”

  “Believe me,” the islander mimicked him, which was completely uncharacteristic for him, “it’s like being in prison.”

  Throwing an annoyed glance at the rest of the inhabitants of the barracks, Einen sat down in a lotus position and plunged into a deep meditation. Hadjar, after making his bed as best he could, hung a small bell up on a string.

  He hadn’t needed these kinds of tricks since that time long ago, back when he’d just ascended to the Transformation level. However, old habits (especially if they’d saved him a couple of times already) were sometimes so deeply ingrained that it was impossible to get rid of them.

  After immersing himself in the World River and absorbing the longed-for energy, Hadjar had expected to be taken to the world of the endless green meadow. He figured that, since he’d broken through to the ‘Wielder of the Sword’ level, he deserved to meet with Traves once again. Apparently, his Master thought differently.

  In addition to that, Hadjar now understood quite clearly that the third step along the Way of the Sword wasn’t the last one. Gods and demons, how long and winding the path of cultivation was!

  Karissa interrupted his thoughts. Without any ceremony, the witch pulled Hadjar and Einen out of their meditation.

  “I approve,” she said, glancing at the uniform of her new ‘wards’.

  Saying nothing more, she headed for the exit. Along the way, she ignored Glen, who was giving her compliments, and kicked a drunkard that was sleeping on the floor. Einen and Hadjar nodded to each other and followed the witch.

  They left the barracks in silence, ignoring the angry glances aimed at their backs. Maintaining that same silence, they went outside. During the ‘night’ (or whatever it was), nothing had really changed: it was the same stone burial ground immersed in twilight. The only difference was that the screams had stopped and the bloodstain had become a little smaller.

  They followed Karissa down a bunch of alleys again, many of which led to dead ends. This ‘labyrinth’ had clearly been built without a clear plan. New buildings had been erected as needed. Some of them were so tall that they could’ve easily competed with skyscrapers back on Earth.

  Hadjar wondered what was being stored in them. He noticed a trio of people in pink caftans and yellow turbans once. Whispering, they hurried to one of the stone buildings, going straight... through the walls. Hadjar had to rub
his eyes and look around to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

  “I saw them too,” Einen whispered.

  Passing several deserted squares and a dilapidated bridge over a dry canal, Karissa led them to an oval building. For the first time, Hadjar saw something that resembled ordinary floors and glass windows so much it pained him.

  “What the fuck?” The islander swore. For him, the glass was still something that was way too abnormal.

  The witch walked over to a door made from the same stone as everything else around them. She ran her fingers over her book, symbols flashed, hieroglyphs spun in the air, and the door soon opened. The corridors smelled of something bitter. They rarely came across other people. They were hurrying along, tending to their own business, nodding to the witch and ignoring the foreigners.

  After going up and down several times, Karissa brought the men to a door on the lower level. That was what the sign above the entrance read. All of this got on Hadjar’s nerves slightly because it resembled the layout of earthly buildings and contrasted sharply with a world where gunpowder still hadn’t reached all the corners of the vast lands.

  “Wait for them to call your name,” the witch instructed shortly. “There will be bars. When your name is called, stand up and go. You’ll get further instructions when you enter the Pit. May the Evening Stars illuminate your path.”

  Opening the door in the same, strange magical way as before, she turned around and disappeared. She didn’t even check whether the two ‘guinea pigs’ had really gone down the curved spiral staircase. She didn’t have to. They had no choice.

  Out of curiosity, Hadjar decided to count the steps as they went down. After he made a mistake around three hundred, he realized that they were descending really deep down, even without being able to assess the thickness of the walls. The atmosphere they created made them feel like they were being held captive in stone.

  Almost a quarter of an hour later, they arrived at a small room with benches attached to the walls. There was only a lantern, swaying grimly over the ventilation, and a small pipe, which was probably how they’d be called on.