Chapter 389
In the morning, everyone was woken up by a loud cry:
“Stay away from me, sand monster!”
Glen, suddenly jumping to his feet, swung his saber around wildly. A golden ribbon of energy streaked out from his blade. It cut through the air and disappeared into the nearest dune. Immediately after, the Baliumian clutched at his chest and began to choke. Einen rushed over to him and forcibly threw Glen’s head back, pouring the remains of the broth down his throat. The Baliumian coughed again, but after half a minute, he was able to breathe normally.
“Try not to overdo it in the near future.”
Einen patted Glen on the shoulder and then returned to his few belongings — the staff and blanket.
“What happened with the...” The Baliumian waved his hand vaguely.
“Spirit,” Karissa prompted.
“Yes,” Glen nodded.
“We destroyed them.” Ramukhan said, sounding like he alone had killed the sand monsters.
The Baliumian blinked a couple of times, rubbed his chest, was surprised to find a new scar there, and then exhaled with relief. After a moment, he grabbed his saber again and looked around frantically.
“Them?” He asked. “There was only one spirit. It climbed out of the sand with a saber and-”
“You missed a lot of things,” Hadjar interrupted him and turned to the sorcerer. “Where are we heading now, Ramukhan?”
Karissa and Tilis had already gathered their things and were carrying their small bags over their shoulders. The bags contained special potions, several artifacts, and a small amount of provisions. The residents of Underworld City travelled light.
“Let’s continue toward the mountains,” Ramukhan answered after some deliberation, “we have no other choice. After that battle, we lost a lot of time and, most likely, lost our lead. If Sankesh hasn’t found an entrance yet, he’ll probably fine one soon.”
“We must hurry,” Karissa added.
The witch, setting an example for the rest, was the first to start heading toward the mountains to the east. Soon, the squad stretched out like a snake, following after her. Karissa kept her book open. The runes and hieroglyphics on its pages glowed. Two fiery shadows in hoods moved in front of them. Acting as scouts under the witch’s strict guidance, they carefully checked the nearby dunes. After shooting a flurry of miniature fireballs at them, they made the squad stand still as they prepared for another battle. However, either luck was smiling down on them, or Sankesh had appeared somewhere in the desert, and the spirits guarding Mage City, sensing a more serious threat, were rushing toward him.
“Ramukhan said that you patched me up,” Glen came up to Hadjar and Einen after talking about something with the sorcerer.
Einen glanced at him with his usual, stony expression.
“Don’t mention it.”
“And yet,” the Baliumian looked more serious than ever, “I know we got off on the wrong foot. However, you need to see it from my perspective: I didn’t have a choice. It was a tradition, not something I could defy.”
Hadjar stayed silent. He doubted Ramukhan had been talking to Glen about this for three hours. Besides, even if deceiving the newcomers was a tradition, Einen’s crucifixion had clearly been Glen’s idea.
“Don’t mention it. I didn’t help you because I like you, but to maintain the strength of the squad. So, I helped myself more than you. You don’t owe me anything, and let’s leave it at that.”
For a while, Glen walked beside them silently. The mercilessly scorching sun had almost no effect on the practitioners, but the citizens walking ahead of them were only managing thanks to their amulets. Their pace was so slow that it was just an easy walk to Hadjar. A deadly one, mind you, along the crests of dunes that, at any moment, could come to life and send them to their forefathers.
“I understand,” Glen finally broke the silence, “and yet... I’ve heard about you, Mad General, and about what you did for my homeland...”
The Baliumian’s eyes dimmed as if he were looking not in front of him, but somewhere deep inside, into his past.
“I have a difficult relationship with Balium,” he continued. “We did a lot of evil things to each other.” Glen rolled up his left sleeve, showing a burn scar. Such marks were put on convicts in Balium. “But nobody gets to choose their homeland. In addition, I left my parents and brothers there. So, thank you for their sake, at least.”
Without waiting for an answer, he quickened his pace and moved ahead of them once more.
“Do you believe him?” Einen asked his friend curiously.
Hadjar looked at Glen’s back.
“Not for a second.”
The friends didn’t say anything else after that. The desert, surprisingly, didn’t throw anything else at them. Hadjar, taking advantage of the lull, remembered the picture from the ancient scroll. For some reason, he felt like he’d already met the swordsman depicted there. He felt some vague kinship with him. However, it was unlikely that such a monster could be found among the ancestors of the Lidish royal family. It was difficult to imagine the power that the swordsman had possessed during his lifetime. If a simple picture of his attack could kill a strong practitioner such as Hadjar, what would his real life self been capable of?
Hadjar guessed that the portrait depicted a dead man. Given the age of the scroll, the man had died back when a true sea had stood in this region, instead of the Sea of Sand. Or maybe a forest. Or huge, snowcapped mountain ranges had filled the entire area, and eagles had soared in the sky. Regardless, it had happened so long ago that even an approximate time period was difficult to determine...
Karissa’s suddenly raised fist interrupted Hadjar’s thoughts. The squad stopped at the top of the dune, and the landscape behind it was visible only to the witch.
“Watch out,” she whispered. “We aren’t alone.”
Crouching, the rest of the squad crowded around on the crest of the dune. Below, at the foot of it, about one thousand feet down, there was a rather large group of practitioners and cultivators. Some of them were wrapped in cloaks and held staves in their hands. Slightly flickering stones shone atop them.
“I thought that sorcerers and witches only lived in Underworld City,” Hadjar whispered.
“Yes,” Ramukhan answered through clenched teeth, obviously angry. “But not everyone agrees with the Sage’s policy.”
“Not everyone wants to live underground,” Karissa explained, “many go up to the surface and... never return. They choose a life up above, among strangers, instead. Over time, these people are removed from the lists of citizens.”
“And some of them die here,” Tilis said with the same malicious anger Ramukhan had displayed.
In total, the enemy squad numbered no less than fifty people. They even had tents. Apparently, they hadn’t spent a lot of time in this desert.
“What should we do-”
Hadjar was cut off.
The ground shook underfoot. There was a rumble, low and rolling, like thunder, but coming from the ground. The people in the enemy camp screamed and scattered away from the center of their encampment, where the desert was bubbling. The flat surface rose up like a small hill, and a huge arm extended out from it. It was so large that it crushed six tents at once. The arm was followed by the main body. Encased in armor, it was as tall as the mountains to the east. The monstrous golem’s red eyes shone like two stars. Only the upper half of its body appeared above the sands, but its shadow still covered the squad from Underworld City.