Dragon Heart

by Kirill Klevanski

  Until she’d had to take care of Rahaim. He’d been unlucky enough to be born in an era of change. His whole family had been killed. First his father and mother, then his uncle and aunt, and then his grandparents. It was only thanks to his Teacher that he was able to unravel the web of conspiracies and find the group of nobles who’d staged the massacre. As a result, young Rahaim had been left all alone and his only ‘relative’ had been Serra. She’d been his mother, then his friend, then his daughter. She was always near him…

  Zurkh was still young when Rahaim began to collect tablets, books, and scrolls from all over the Sea of Sand. He’d been looking for something in them. He opened the ‘Ways of Sand’ school. There, he taught all who came the secrets that the previous sultan had revealed to him, absolutely free of charge. The only condition he imposed was that, at the end of their training, the students would bring five books to the library that it didn’t have yet.

  So, over the course of hundreds of years, his library grew from a small room to a separate palace. Sankesh razed it to the ground last year, when he captured the Pearl. Fortunately, by that time, Rahaim had abdicated his throne and assumed the role of a simple caravaneer. Zurkh, who’d remained faithful to his master, had accompanied him all this time. And Serra had as well…

  For two centuries, they searched for the entrance to Mage City, because that was the only place where Rahaim could find a way to make Serra truly alive. Zurkh didn’t know why they were searching for the lost city. He simply followed his Teacher’s instructions and asked no questions. He served as a bodyguard, and in public, acted as her father. It was a cruel joke of fate that the ‘key’ looked like his daughter who’d been slain by Sankesh’s halberd.

  “He’d wanted to pursue Sankesh’s daughter immediately, but...” Shakh poked the fire with a stick sadly, adjusting the logs. He was using wood for fuel so easily... A fortune was being burnt before him, and Shakh was as uncaring about it as any northerner. “The contract bound us. We continued on to the Empire, and a month later, we came upon one of Sankesh’s patrols. Within an hour, that monster arrived personally. He’d come for Zurkh. My uncle fought alongside him, but Sankesh…”

  Shakh shook his head, broke a stick in half, and threw it into the fire.

  “Do you remember that Knight, Hadjar, against whom we fought in the battle for Kurkhadan?”

  Hadjar nodded. He would’ve been hard to forget. The bandit’s power had exceeded all reasonable limits.

  “Compared to Sankesh, he seems insignificant.” Fear flashed in Shakh’s eyes. Demons and gods, he feared Sankesh even more than he feared the dragon! However, it was understandable. The dragon was like a natural disaster, but Sankesh… “We could do nothing. For just a moment, Zurkh was left alone with Sankesh. My uncle had been pushed aside, and that alone saved him from certain death. The Technique that monster used… I’ll never forget it. The terror... the sheer power... Even if that black spirit had been there, I’m not sure he could’ve defeated the King of the Desert.”

  Hadjar had to admit he wasn’t wrong. Perhaps the spirit summoned by the fairy’s body could’ve delayed Sankesh for a while, but no more.

  “How did you get here? To the Stone Trees oasis?” Einen asked, leaning his cheek against his staff-spear.

  “Where else could we go?” Shakh snapped. “After the battle with Sankesh, the only survivors of the caravan were the people you see before you. Zurkh left us a map that has this place marked on it. And Rahaim’s letter…”

  “A letter?” Hadjar looked away from the fire. “Who is it addressed to?”

  There was utter silence again. It was obvious that Shakh wasn’t eager to answer that question.

  “Show them...” Shakar gasped out.

  “With all due respect, Shakar,” Kharad interjected, “We can’t be sure that these two aren’t traitors. Besides, they haven’t even told us where they went after the battle, or where they’ve been all this time.”

  “Uncle, I agree with Kharad. We shouldn’t show them the letter.”

  Shakar’s single white eye swept over the figures of Einen and Hadjar.

  “Look at the blue amulets around their wrists. In Underworld City, those are worn by people who came to them uninvited.”

  A wave of shouts filled with disbelief swept through the camp.

  “Underworld City?”

  “That’s a fairy tale…”

  “Shakar is delirious.”

  “I can hardly even believe Mage City exists, let alone Underworld City…”

  Only Hadjar and Einen remained silent. Once the shouting subsided, Einen asked Shakar: “How do you know that?”

  Everyone around them looked from the islander to Shakar in disbelief.

  “From Rahaim,” the former chief of security replied. “He traded with their researchers. Panis… Papis…”

  “Paris,” Hadjar said quietly.

  “Yes, that’s it. The Evening Stars rob me of my memory…”

  Hadjar was lost in his own thoughts. It turned out that Paris had been aware of the existence of Rahaim and his caravan from the start. It was impossible for him to not have known that his two ‘best fighters’ had served as guards for the caravan. Trade and research isn’t a quick business. Based on trust, such an enterprise has to be built up over decades, if not centuries.

  Damned intrigues…

  Hadjar tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade. He sighed and told the others the story of their last few months: how they’d been thrown in the tub-prison, how they’d fought in the Pit, and how they’d made a deal with Paris. Their tale took a lot less time to tell.

  “So,” the haughty youth in Shakh awoke. “You are their slaves?”

  “If that’s how you wanna think of it,” Hadjar brushed him off. “But that’s not the point. We will soon be missed and the search for us will begin. By the Evening Stars, something tells me these fucking amulets will greatly facilitate the task.”

  “We have to decide what we’re going to do next,” Einen supported him.

  “We?” Kharad asked mockingly, joining the conversation. “We’ve done well enough without you two until now, and we can keep going without your help. You can go wherever you want.”

  “Exactly,” Shakh said. “We don’t trust you. A slave can’t be devoted to two purposes and two masters.”

  Einen sprang to his feet and raised his spear-staff threateningly.

  “Say that again, boy,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Say that again, if you remember the names of all your ancestors.”

  Shakh stood up as well. His blades slid out from his sleeves and his sand dogs rose from the ground around him. Before Hadjar could join the fight that was brewing, Shakar coughed loudly.

  “Northerner is right, we must decide what to do next.” He said the words with a lot of difficulty. “You must decide what to do next. My time is at an end. The light of the Evening Stars is showing me the way…”

  “Uncle,” Shakh breathed out, losing his fighting spirit. “What are you talking about?”

  “My moment is coming, nephew.”

  Chapter 365

  “Come closer, Shakh.” Shakar could barely speak. His gray lips hardly moved, and his hand trembled. “Come closer... so I can see... your eyes.”

  Hadjar and Einen, without saying a word, put their weapons away. They would lose all self-respect if they didn’t allow Shakh to take his relative on the last journey. The boy seemed to love Shakar more than his own father.

  Shakh, his legs wobbly, went to his uncle. He bent down toward him, almost holding his ear to the dying man’s mouth. Hadjar didn’t think he had to listen to their conversation. Moreover, it wouldn’t be an honorable deed.

  Turning his back to Sular and Kharad without an ounce of fear, he motioned for Einen to come closer.

  “I think there’s something they aren’t telling us,” he said to his friend.

  The islander nodded. “I agree. Look at their scars, Northerner, they are clearly newer than
they want us to believe.”

  “Do you think they’re looking for the entrance to the library?”

  “They most likely are,” Einen nodded again. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our squad wasn’t the first one they encountered along the way. I don’t trust them. Why are you grinning?”

  “You said ‘our squad’,” Hadjar noted. “Do you trust the Underworld dwellers?”

  “More than I trust these people. At least Paris doesn’t hide the fact that he wants to use us.”

  That much was true.

  “By the way, do you think we are still fettered by the terms of the contract?”

  Hadjar looked around. He didn’t see any of the passengers of the caravan in the clearing. Rahaim’s caravan, once so popular among the common folk, had been completely destroyed.

  “Hardly,” Hadjar shook his head. “Who are we supposed to lead to the Empire now? Ourselves?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Einen nodded. “I just wanted you to confirm my assumptions.”

  Shakh and his uncle were still whispering about something. There were tears rolling down the young man’s face. His daggers lay discarded in the damp earth.

  “Ramukhan will soon notice our absence,” Hadjar said, tying his scabbard back to his belt.

  “Yeah...”

  Einen’s expression indicated that the islander wasn’t eager to continue their conversation. He had a difficult, antisocial personality. Perhaps that was why they’d become friends — they were two people who felt more comfortable alone than in someone else’s company.

  “Uncle... Uncle!” Shakh shouted, but it was too late.

  Shakar’s hand grew limp and hung like a piece of rope. His remaining eye was glazed over. The caravaneer had set off on his last journey. The light of the Evening Stars shone down on the silver road in front of him, the path that would lead him to the home of his ancestors.

  Shakh, wiping away his tears, waved his hand. Coils of sand burst from the earth. They wrapped around Shakar’s body like a golden shroud, lifted it above the stretcher, and a moment later, they buried the body underground. Such was the custom in Shakh’s town — they buried their dead in the ground.

  Getting back up, Shakh secured his uncle’s scabbard to his back.

  “Here is Rahaim’s letter.” He held out a scroll to Hadjar.

  “My condolences for your loss.” Hadjar said sincerely.

  He really did sympathize with Shakh. From personal experience, he knew how difficult it was to lose your loved ones and relatives.

  Taking the scroll, he nodded to Einen. The islander came over to him, and they began to read the letter together. They didn’t learn anything new. It told them the same story about Rahaim’s childhood and his research into Mage City. It said that the living key served as a kind of map. As soon as Serra was brought to the city gates, she would instantly turn into a helpful guide, doorman, and a master key for all the doors.

  The wizards had left her to their heirs so that they could restore the former glory of the city. Alas, for millions of years, those same heirs had never appeared, but Serra, frozen in the form of a ten-year-old girl, had wandered the Sea of Sand, fulfilling her mission. Well, at least she was never tormented by the question of what the meaning of her life... or rather, existence, was. She already knew.

  “By the Great Turtle,” Einen whispered, “I haven’t seen anything like this in a long time.”

  “What do you mean?” Hadjar asked. “It’s a simple letter, even if a bit personal and extremely lyrical.”

  “It isn’t a letter at all, my barbaric friend,” Einen was barely moving his lips, trying not to let anyone else hear him, “it’s a map.”

  “A map?”

  “Exactly. Look at how the hieroglyphs are written.”

  Hadjar took a closer look: wavy lines, solid flourishes, sweeping handwriting, and wide gaps between the words. It was a typical hieroglyphic script of the desert language. Admittedly, some lines were too long, and others, in contrast, abruptly cut off, and the same word was sometimes repeated in several lines in a row.

  “If you fold it correctly, then these lines will form a map.” Einen, pretending to read it, waved his finger over the letter. “I haven’t seen anything like this since my childhood.”

  “And where-”

  “Pirates,” the islander interrupted him. “My father sometimes traded with them. They always sent these kinds of letter-maps to indicate where the meeting would take place. Even if the lawmen were able to intercept one of them, they would understand nothing.”

  “Well,” Hadjar continued, “Rahaim did hunt for knowledge his entire life, so it’s safe to assume that he was familiar with this trick.”

  “And all his disciples were as well,” Einen nodded. “This letter is meant for someone who attended his ‘Sand Way’ school.”

  Hadjar looked up from Rahaim’s letter and glanced around the clearing. How many of these people could belong to that school? Shakh’s sandy dogs raised some concerns, as well as Sular’s falcon, not to mention Kharad’s skills...

  Damned mysteries and intrigues! Hadjar wasn’t good at them.

  “Are you finished?” Shakh urged, holding out his hand to take the letter back. “I don’t think you learned anything new from that letter.”

  Hadjar waited for Einen’s barely noticeable nod and then returned the scroll.

  “We have to go,” he said. “With every second that passes, we run the risk of being found out.”

  “Found out,” Kharad snorted. “Who are this ‘we’ you speak of? Even if your companions,” he said the word mockingly, “find us, I don’t mind. I can’t wait to test the power of the mythical sorcerers of Underworld City.”

  “Believe me,” Einen’s voice was quiet but stern, “that isn’t what you want. Unless, of course, you want to follow Shakar, may the forefathers be merciful to him.”

  “Stop it.” Shakh didn’t let Kharad continue bickering. “I don’t trust them either, but my uncle was right, there are no traitor marks on them. So, at least they didn’t violate the contract and didn’t want to harm us. We parted for a long time, and this took us down different paths, but now we are once again united by a common goal.”

  Hadjar doubted that. He’d heard about this fabled ‘common goal’ from Rahaim, Paris, Ramukhan, Glen, and now from Shakh as well. And yet, their goals had never been the same. All Hadjar wanted was to save a little girl from the insane monster that was Sankesh. If luck smiled upon him along the way, he would also learn something about the Seventh Heaven and the gods.

  “We are all preoccupied with searching for Mage City,” Shakh continued, “so I suggest we make peace for a while.”

  The young warrior held out his hand. Hadjar looked him up and down and then grabbed his wrist.

  “We aren’t enemies,” he said, responding to the gesture. “Now let’s make a plan.”

  They discussed the plan for a quarter of an hour. After finally agreeing on something that suited everyone present, Hadjar and Einen went back to the camp. Along the way, they came up with a story that they would stick to if they were asked about their absence.

  Surprisingly, none of the Underworld City residents had noticed their absence. Apparently, after their grueling journey through the Demon’s Heart, the illusory serenity of the oasis had made them inattentive.

  “It’s a pity we didn’t get to copy the letter,” Hadjar sighed as he and Einen sat down by the fire and ate the porridge that the boy had prepared.

  “I may not be Salif, but I can’t complain about my memory,” Einen said.

  By the gods, the islander was full of surprises.

  Hadjar was about to ask him to draw the map, but then changed his mind. He’d gone into the jungle to try and break through to the next stage of the Transformation level, and he was going to do so now. Everything that had happened meant he had to become stronger.

  Chapter 366

  Hadjar immediately dived into the darkness of his subconscious. A s
word, the vague haze of an awakened spirit, and a miniature dragon, curled up in a dim light, were waiting for him there.

  After touching the scales of his new inner companion, Hadjar went over to the haze. Swirling streams of whitish smoke that had mystical outlines inside them — that was what his power looked like, allowing him to fight against Heaven Soldiers at the initial stages of their level. It wasn’t pathetic, or overly horrific.

  Sitting down in a lotus position, Hadjar mentally reached for the haze. When a practitioner advanced, they almost always needed something to help them along: rare ingredients, alchemical potions and pills, or, if a practitioner was crazy, the core of a monster. Hadjar could’ve written a whole book about the pain and danger that accompanied advancement using a core. Right now, as he was on the ‘verge of becoming more’, all of these could certainly help, but they were no longer the main ingredient in his cultivation.

  Hadjar saw the path lying in front of him. Long and thorny, it would lead him to a goal so distant that most practitioners had never even considered striving for it. That was why he needed a lot more power than others.

  What was a new soul? It was simply a clearer outline of your own power. How you shaped your ‘soul’ would determine what kind of Heaven Soldier you would become. If you had enough power to break through to the level of a true cultivator, that is.

  The haze of his awakened spirit resisted Hadjar’s manipulations. It refused to condense and absorb the knowledge and experience that Hadjar had acquired during the years he’d wandered the world. The true essence of any person strived for comfort and consistency, and Hadjar, at the moment, was committing violence against himself. He was forcing his subconscious, his ‘Self’, to change according to his own preferences and aspirations. This battle of willpower and essence was much worse and far more dangerous than any real battle.