Hadjar wiped his lips and tossed the bag over to Einen. There were only a few potions and pills left, but that should be enough to let Einen gain enough power to go back.
“Leave this place,” Hadjar repeated, and gestured toward one of the corridors. “The exit is that way. Take three right turns, go forward twice, and then take a left. Continue forward until you get to the center of a large square. You will find a magical seal there. Activate it and you’ll be transported to the edge of the lake.”
There was utter silence. It was broken only by the creaking of the leather bag Einen was clutching.
“If I were Glen, may his forefathers spit in his face,” Ramukhan said, “I’d ask: why the hell do you know all that?”
Hadjar didn’t know how to answer that question. He just knew. Just like he knew that the library and the island would begin to collapse in an hour. The flying island… The image of clouds, fields, and woods flashed before his mind’s eye. The Shadow of the last mage from the ancient civilization had said something about it finally being able to leave. Apparently, it would take the small source of energy that kept the island in the sky with it when it did.
“Are you really going to fight Sankesh?” Einen asked.
“I have no other choice, my friend,” Hadjar shrugged. “It has nothing to do with the List or little Serra anymore.”
“Why, then?”
“The accursed elixir of the gods is stored here, by the High Heavens!”
The others exchanged wary glances. They had believed in the existence of the library and had even managed to find it. But a potion that turned a mortal into a god... They didn’t believe in gods! Of course, they prayed, built monuments to them, and sometimes named their children after them, but they treated the gods more like heroes from legends and myths.
“Does it exist?” Shakh gasped. “Does it really exist?”
“Yes,” Hadjar nodded. “And while we’re sitting here talking, Sankesh is getting closer to it.”
“Then let’s just leave.” Einen said the words in a way that made it clear he meant all of them. “If he finds it, if he becomes a god, he won’t be able to do anything to us. The gods can’t interfere in the affairs of mortals.”
“And what if the legends lie?” Hadjar couldn’t put it into words, but his entire being told him that if Sankesh got to the elixir, something irreparably horrible would happen. Einen and Hadjar, nor any of the others, would even get to see it — they would be dead.
Apparently, the islander understood what was bothering his friend. He handed the bag to Shakh and said:
“Then I’ll go with you. We came here together, my friend, and we’ll leave together.”
At that moment, Hadjar saw his brother’s shadow behind Einen. Just like with Nero, he and Einen had ended up in a lot of situations where they would’ve died if not for their friend’s help. But now…
“Look at Shakh, Einen. Even with the elixirs, he couldn’t get them out of-”
“By the Great Turtle, I don’t care,” Einen said, completely indifferent. “I came here with you, my friend, not with them. And I’ll leave with you.”
“Could you live with the fact that you left so many people to die?”
Without even hearing Einen’s response, Hadjar suddenly realized that the islander could. He’d grown up in a very unique environment and had talked to many very unusual people, which had certainly affected his outlook.
“All right,” Hadjar sighed.
Einen relaxed. Just for a moment. But that was all Hadjar needed to blur into the shadow of the Seven Ravens and hit his friend in the temple with a well-aimed blow. The islander went limp in his arms.
Hadjar laid Einen’s body down on the floor and turned to Shakh.
“Give him some elixirs, and when he wakes up, get out of here.”
Shakh nodded and pulled the bag closer to him.
Hadjar took one last look at his friend’s serene face. If they survived, the bald islander would grumble at him for about a month. However, it was better to listen to his friend’s complaints than to have to bury a second br-
Hadjar shook his head. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts.
“And what about you?” Tilis’ soft voice roused him from his stupor.
“And I,” Hadjar straightened up and started down the intricate corridors, “have gotten addicted to fighting Spirit Knights. I’m going to go kill another one.”
Chapter 413
About two hundred yards away, hidden among the shelves and corridors, Hadjar leaned against a pillar and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Two thin streams of blood ran down from the corners of his mouth.
Wearing only ragged trousers, Hadjar took off the remnants of his caftan. He cut two strips from it. With the wider one, he bandaged his right side, which had been wounded by Ragar.
The wounds he’d received from just a glancing blow weren’t fatal, but it had still contained so much power that his Technique for Strengthening the Body couldn’t cope with it. The Technique had saved Hadjar’s life, but it couldn’t fully heal such damage, not even with the help of Einen’s elixir.
Hadjar tied the hilt of his sword to his arm with the second, smaller strip. Tightening the knot with his teeth, he leaned against the wall and resumed walking forward. He left a thin, scarlet trail behind him.
His behavior might’ve seemed like a bunch of stupid heroics, but it wasn’t. Hadjar had always followed only one principle — his honor was absolute. Of course, he sometimes wavered, but he generally sought to do the right thing.
Einen had gotten involved in this adventure only because of his friend. If Hadjar had refused Paris’ offer, they would’ve waited out their term of service and gone to the Empire. But…
That’s why, if Hadjar had allowed Einen to go with him, his blood would have been on Hadjar’s hands. Hadjar had no doubt that blood would be shed. He just didn’t know whose blood. When he pressed his hand to his side and felt the growing, wet stain there, he guessed that it would be his.
Hadjar knew where to go. This knowledge — where to turn, what turns to avoid, what hidden mechanisms he should use — had appeared in his mind by itself. And there were plenty of mechanisms around here: moving shelves, sliding columns, even racks folding into ladders.
Hadjar felt no fear as he walked through the narrow corridors that led far beneath the library. He was afraid, of course, as only a fool feared nothing, but he felt none of that overpowering terror that could make a person freeze up and a warrior drop their weapon and run away.
In his dream where he’d bidden farewell to his brother and sister-in-law, Hadjar had declared war on the gods. He couldn’t retreat now that another maniac was going to become one of them.
The ceiling and floor were covered in ancient bas-reliefs and paintings. They depicted historical events unknown to Hadjar. He saw someone praying to the Heavens. Wrapped in a gray cloak, he prayed to the Heavens for days, years, centuries, but it was all in vain. Then something happened. Hadjar couldn’t make out what exactly — too much time had passed and the paint had faded. After that, the praying figure disappeared from the canvas, and the elixir appeared in Mage City. It was depicted as an amber liquid emitting a bright yellow light.