“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.”