“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.