“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 little, but then it made him think.