Dragon Heart

by Kirill Klevanski

  The ape’s fangs bit into the same spot where the ‘Boulder Storm’ Technique had just struck. The broken scales of the snake’s armor couldn’t resist the shadow-ape.

  The snake threw its head back, hissed, and began to writhe wildly. Thick, odorous, green blood spilled onto the sand. The sand snake opened its mouth and exhaled a cloud of blue light. It stretched out around Einen like a ribbon. It melted the sand it touched. Its poison breath was almost as strong as ‘The Black Gates’ sect’s poison.

  Hadjar was about to join the fight when the cloud froze and then dissipated, cut into small flakes. The advantage of Einen’s weapon over an ordinary spear was in its small shaft and long blade. It allowed him to not only stab and cut, but also slash. Something he seemed like he was going to take advantage of.

  Assuming a stance Hadjar was unfamiliar with, Einen began to concentrate his energy around himself. It was as if a maelstrom of power the color of a stormy sea was whirling around his feet, rising higher and higher into the air. Then, grasping the base of his spear-staff, Einen made a terrifying slash.

  At the same time, a whirlwind of power travelled up from his legs to his chest and arms. After merging with his spear-staff, the energy moved on. Expanding, compacting, and growing in size, it took the form of an exact copy of the islander’s weapon, only it was shimmering, filled with energy, and no less than fifteen feet long. It struck the unprotected part of the snake’s body. A fountain of green blood erupted, and the creature hissed in agony. It twisted and lunged desperately at the islander, but instead of its enemy’s flesh, it once again struck only air.

  Einen, emerging from the shadows, ran up the snake’s body and pushed off, soaring into the sky. Once he was directly over the reptile’s head, he thrust out his spear-staff and cried:

  “Grand Boulder Storm.”

  He launched an attack that made even Hadjar shudder.

  Compared to the original ‘Boulder Storm’ Technique, this version differed in the frequency of strikes and their speed. The thrusts were so numerous and so rapid that they looked like black streaks instead of the usual chunks of rock.

  A moment later, the reptile, which had been caught by surprise, said goodbye not only to its life, but also its head. Einen had turned it into an unrecognizable, horrible mess of flesh, scales, sand, and blood.

  Landing in the same spot where the fight had begun, the islander swung his weapon into position on his back once again. The green blood flew from the blade, forming a crescent around Einen.

  “It seems like a good night’s rest doesn’t just benefit me,” Hadjar whispered to his friend.

  The islander didn’t answer. Activating the mechanism on his weapon, he slipped the spear tip back into its hidden compartment and, drawing his dagger, went to retrieve the monster’s core. For some reason, Einen really needed snakes’ cores. He hadn’t explained why, and Hadjar was smart and tactful enough not to ask.

  While his friend was busy with the snake, Hadjar walked over to Ramukhan. He and Einen sometimes didn’t need words to understand each other’s intentions. It wasn’t just its core that had made the islander so eager to deal with the snake on his own. He wasn’t foolish enough to play the role of bait for a potential ambush. The speed at which Einen had dealt with the creature hadn’t just been due to the islander’s power, which had certainly increased greatly since their last spar. There was a simple answer to this — the stone given to him by little Serra.

  “Ramukhan.”

  Hadjar approached the sorcerer. The man looked a little strange. The stone embedded in the tip of his staff was glowing, and Ramukhan was looking through it at the mountains. Glen, seeing Hadjar approach their ‘leader’, rolled his eyes and waved his hand to indicate that he wouldn’t say a word this time.

  “Do you have another great idea, barbarian?” The sorcerer asked without stopping what he was doing.

  “Exactly,” Hadjar nodded. “I want to move to the head of the column.”

  Ramukhan finally stopped his contemplation of the mountains. He gave Hadjar an appraising look and shook his head.

  “You and Einen are our strongest melee fighters. If we are attacked from behind, you’ll be very useful. It doesn’t make sense to move you to the front.”

  “It does,” Hadjar insisted. “I can’t tell you why, as I am bound by an oath, but if I lead the squad, we’ll reach the mountains without any further trouble.”

  Glen only waved his hands around more vigorously, his whole being demonstrating that he disagreed with what was happening. Fortunately, he did so in silence.

  Everyone now knew that they had to reach the mountains. First of all, nothing else stood out in the vast area, just those brown rocks. Their recent brush with the golem and spirits had severely undermined the squad’s confidence in their abilities. They were ready to seize even such a faint hope.

  “You hold more secrets than the beard of an old man,” Ramukhan sighed.

  Hadjar didn’t know much about Underworld City lingo, but that probably meant ‘a lot’.

  “Fine, you can lead. But Einen stays in the back. Glen is in no condition to act as the rearguard.”

  “I agree.”

  Everyone, even Hadjar, was startled as the islander emerged from the shadows beside them. Drenched in the snake’s fragrant green blood, he was clutching a small but powerful turquoise core stone.

  “By the Evening Stars!” Tilis cried, her staff shining dangerously in her hand. “Can’t you just walk like a normal human?”

  Chapter 392

  For the next two days, they made good time and encountered no obstacles, as if they weren’t in a perilous region full of deadly traps, but on a walk through a sandy park. Their only problems were the heat, their constant thirst, and Glen’s lamentations. The Baliumian’s scar began to ache and he immediately forgot his gratitude to Hadjar. He cursed the medical expertise of some abstract healers without making it personal. Only a fool would miss that his jibes were aimed at Hadjar, but he avoided getting into a verbal altercation.

  They were still on edge, however. With every passing hour, the mountains were getting closer. The closer they got to them, the more clearly they could see that they weren’t separate formations, like in the Stone Trees oasis, but a real mountain range. One that had clearly been created by people.

  Several high peaks served as makeshift columns with wide platforms at their tops. They were a bridge between the mountains, and in their centre was a zone completely hidden by dense blue fog. No matter how much Ramukhan looked at it through the prism of his ‘magic stone’, he couldn’t break through the barrier, and neither could Tilis’ and Karissa’s divination spells. Several times, both witches sent spells out, but each time, the answer was the same — the connection was severed and the witches received magical feedback. After her latest attempt, Karissa said that the feedback had gotten stronger, so they stopped their attempts. It would be silly if someone died because of their own stubborn stupidity just before the finish line. So, they approached the mountains blindly.

  The squad members got more nervous by the minute. Hadjar and Einen were the only ones who remained calm. They had come to believe in the effectiveness of little Serra’s gift over the course of their journey.

  “Do you think-”

  “No!” Hadjar interrupted his friend, but it was too late.

  As soon as Einen asked the question, the desert once again decided that pathetic mortals didn’t have the right to finish their quest. Directly in front of the squad, a huge stone wall appeared out of the sand, so tall that it disappeared into the sky. It was decorated with ornaments of insane complexity and beauty.

  Everyone scattered, but three more walls soon appeared and closed in around them, forming a square. Although the roof never appeared, the walls were easily as tall as the highest of the mountain peaks, disappearing somewhere among the rare clouds.

  “I warned you.” Hadjar sighed.

  Einen just shrugged.

  “Damn it.” With
trembling hands, Glen tried frantically to draw his sword from its scabbard, but he failed.

  Karissa, Tilis, and Ramukhan started to pour power into their spells, when a quite normal, slightly husky voice sounded:

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your pale imitation of spells won’t be able to break through these spells, and will instead reflect off the walls. I hope that your knowledge of the true path of cultivation is broad enough to understand what will happen then.”

  Even Hadjar, who wasn’t that well informed, could easily imagine the consequences. The spells would bounce endlessly off the four walls in this fairly confined space and deal with them even faster than the spirits ever could.

  “Who are you?” Ramukhan asked.

  Silence and the sound of Glen’s chattering teeth answered him. Still, the Baliumian had been severely injured in their recent encounter with the golem, so his nervousness was understandable. The worst thing for a practitioner or cultivator wasn’t a wound inflicted on their body, but on the soul. While the body could heal, the soul rarely did... With such wounds, a person would find it insanely hard to regain their confidence, and without that, further cultivation was almost impossible. Who in their right mind would put their head in a lion’s mouth without the certainty of pulling it back out? That was what the path of cultivation looked like.

  “Who are you?” The sorcerer repeated sternly.

  There was silence again, and then the voice suddenly asked:

  “Why are you silent, one who has a Name?”

  Hadjar choked and looked around.

  “Are you talking to me, honorable…?” He asked.

  “I am, Desert Wind Blowing from the North. It’s a good name. You earned it, too. An ancient name. Almost as old as these Sands. In my time, it was given to those who were doomed to an eternity of wandering. A beautiful name. But sad.”

  The stranger’s way of talking, whoever they were, was very peculiar — fragmentary and abrupt.

  “Of course,” Ramukhan said, slamming his fist into his palm, “that’s what Paris meant when he said that we couldn’t do it without the barbarian.”

  Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. They didn’t remember something like that coming up during the council. Apparently, the issues had been solved in advance, and then the well-acted spectacle had taken place. Or maybe the friends were paranoid.

  “What are you seeking in these lands, Darkhan?”

  Hadjar was about to lie, but stopped himself just in time. His intuition told him that if he lied, something horrific would happen. For example, he, or even all of them, would be killed. Hadjar had no doubt that the entity behind the voice was powerful enough to simply wish for the six of them to disappear. He should answered honestly. But…

  “I came here for information about the gods and to save a little girl,” Hadjar replied, speaking in the dialect Einen had taught him.

  The residents of Underworld City turned toward him. There was suspicion in their eyes, and Glen, as if by magic, suddenly stopped trembling and drew his sword.

  “What’s more important to you, Darkhan?”

  “Saving the girl,” Hadjar blurted out without a second’s hesitation.

  Nothing happened. There was no terrible punishment because he hadn’t lied. Hadjar had spoken from the heart. No accursed god was worth the tears of a child. It didn’t matter that this specific child had probably seen stars that no longer even shone in the sky being born.

  “A noble goal. Just. Very stupid. You’re a fool, Darkhan. Like everyone who bears your name. Since you are a fool, you’ll probably never see the Sacred Abode of Wisdom. Even so, I’ll administer the trial I’ve done before… I hope there’s a time when I don’t have to do this ever again.”

  Ramukhan and the others frowned, trying to understand these words. Hadjar felt at ease because, after dealing with the Tree of Life, whose way of speaking could drive an unprepared person mad, this was refreshingly straightforward.

  “I’m ready for your trial,” Hadjar said in the language of the desert.

  “Hey, wait-” Ramukhan was interrupted by the voice, which had become lifeless and dry:

  “They used to be called the servants of the earth. Who or what are they?”

  Everyone, including Hadjar, was utterly astonished. The trial, which most likely led to Mage City, consisted of... ordinary riddles? Was it that simple? Admittedly, it was logical that one had to demonstrate their intellect, not their strength, to enter a house of knowledge.

  “Worms,” Glen said suddenly, “the answer is worms.”

  “Are the earth’s servants mere worms?” Tilis smiled. “Don’t be silly, barbarian.”

  “That’s just it, I am a barbarian! I spent my whole childhood in the fields. Worms are servants of the earth! They can both harm and help it…”

  “Close in…”

  Only a few seconds had passed since the voice had posed its riddle when the walls began to move. With a jerk, they closed in by about four inches.

  “Damn it,” Glen hissed. “Hadjar, please believe me, worms are the servants of the earth.”

  Wishing his neural network was still working, Hadjar sighed and said:

  “Worms.”

  “Correct.” The seekers breathed a sigh of relief, and Einen even patted the Baliumian on the shoulder. “My next question is: there is a tribute which is paid by all, without exception. What is it?”

  Hadjar started at the question. Who, if not him, would know what everyone and he himself would have to face one day?

  “Death,” Hadjar said quickly.

  The walls didn’t move, and the voice seemed to chuckle.

  “One last question, North Wind. What doesn’t a person want but is also afraid to lose?”

  Everyone had to think hard about the riddle, and the walls began to move without a moment’s delay.

  “Damn it,” Glen wailed. “What doesn’t someone want…”

  “But is also afraid to lose…”

  Karissa tapped her teeth nervously with her fingernails. She didn’t look as powerful and haughty as before. Before the specter of death, all were equal, masters and servants alike.

  Worms... servants… A thought came to Hadjar. The voice had recognized his Name and begun a trial that was somehow relevant to him, Hadjar.

  “Maybe it’s work?” Tilis suggested. “Servants don’t usually want to work, but they’re afraid of losing their job...”

  Servants and work... Hadjar had never worked a day in his life. He’d been born a Prince and served as a General, but had never truly worked.

  The second question had been about the final tribute. With the first question, the voice had seemed to guide them toward something, with the second — remind them of something, and the third... had prompted them…

  The walls narrowed even faster. Hadjar and the others clumped together, but they were already being squeezed from all sides. A little more and their bones would start to crack.

  “Life,” Einen whispered in his ear. “Life is hard, my friend, and sometimes we get tired of it, but we are all afraid to die.”

  Sometimes Einen said things that were so wise that it seemed weird to think of him as just a young man.

  “Life,” Hadjar repeated.

  The instant he did so, the walls vanished.

  Chapter 393

  The walls disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared. The stone monuments supporting the distant sky dissolved into the sands.

  “Do my eyes fail me?” Glen grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

  The squad had been intercepted at a considerable distance from the mountain range, at least a half-day’s journey away from it. Now the mountains towered only a few hundred yards ahead of them.

  “Look!” Stammering, Tilis pointed at the place that had been obscured by the fog.

  A citadel stood on a broad plateau, covered in the dense, gloomy shadows of the high mountain peak. Hadjar had seen similar structures in Lidus and Balium: massive white stone walls and many
towers and domes with blue roofs. The building was crisscrossed by numerous stairs. Without any parapets, they wound around the tower, and given how high it was, falling off them would result in a lengthy flight.

  “I don’t see any flying cities,” Ramukhan hummed. “Is this the famous-”

  “Where do you think you are?” It must’ve been the custom of the ancient civilization to interrupt others.

  It was only then that the squad members spotted the owner of the voice that could be the very last one they heard in their lives. A lone figure stood on a ledge about twenty yards away. An old, torn, brown cloak fluttered in the wind. The lower part of its face peeked out from under its hood: a sharp chin, thin lips, and absolutely lifeless, granite skin. The creature, which clearly didn’t belong to the human race, was clutching a staff — a simple stick carved from an ash tree. However, even a person who didn’t have the knowledge and skills of a professional artifactor could feel the power emanating from the weapon. Its level was far beyond Imperial. No wonder the witches’ and sorcerer’s faces were stuck in an expression of almost overwhelming desire.

  “Little wizards,” the figure said haughtily, almost half-jokingly. Its lips didn’t move. “You should thank North Wind. If there hadn’t been one among you who had a Name, you’d have…”

  The figure waved his hand, and for a moment, the golden desert around them turned whitish gray, as if they were standing not on sand, but on bone dust and ashes left behind by the remains of people. A heartbeat later, the vision was gone.

  Hadjar raised his feet a couple of times, looked at the soles of his old shoes, and then addressed the creature:

  “Why is a Name so important?”

  “Would an adult take a crying baby seriously?” The figure asked him. Apparently, riddles were part of its programming. Or whatever this golem had instead. “But the time for conversation has passed. It is time for you to try your luck in the library of the Sacred Abode of Wisdom.”

  The figure turned toward the mountains and pointed its staff at them.