It had been twenty-five sun jumps since the massacre. How much longer would the priestess keep them here? “How do you know they’re Arch Deacons?” Shyla asked. “By their clothes?” Deacons wore oversized green robes, but Arch Deacons wore green tunics and pants. They were the priestess’s elite fighting unit.
“Nah, they’re waiting in the pitch dark. By their stench.” Mojag seemed to think that was all the explanation required.
“Arch Deacons attend a special blessing ceremony every sun jump,” Jayden said. “The Heliacal Priestess lights an incense that smells like burnt hair.”
“It’s awful,” Mojag added.
“Then let’s avoid them and go another way to twenty-four,” Jayden said, leading them toward a different tunnel.
They followed Jayden through a series of tunnels, up a set of stairs, and down a spiraling ramp.
“Is all this necessary?” she asked. Shyla remembered when he took her to the Invisible Sword’s headquarters the first time. She’d suspected he tried to get her lost so she wouldn’t be able to find the place again.
“Yes. All the routes to reach the hidden entrances are complex. We couldn’t be invisible if anyone could accidentally find it.” He glared at Mojag, no doubt remembering Mojag’s earlier comment.
The boy ignored him. Shyla considered. If Mojag was able to follow Jayden without alerting him, did that mean Mojag blocked magic like those torques? No. Shyla had been able to read Mojag’s surface emotions. There must be another reason. Perhaps Jayden put too much faith in the confusing tunnels and wasn’t as vigilant as he should have been. Too bad Shyla had promised not to read Jayden’s soul. Not without a good reason.
Eventually they arrived at a dead end. Or rather what appeared to be a solid wall. Jayden ran his fingertips along an almost invisible seam until he reached a slight depression in the stone which he pressed with the pad of his thumb. Strange that Shyla noticed it now when the last time she’d been at one of these not-doors, the opening mechanism wasn’t visible. Was it due to the power of The Eyes? It could be she wasn’t as distracted. Back then she had just determined the Invisible Sword had tricked her into helping them, which had ruined her prior—trouble-free—life.
The not-door swung open. A musty scent mixed with an acrid odor wafted out. No burnt hair smell or the putrid stink of decomposition. Yet. Shyla worried that the priestess hadn’t taken proper care of the bodies. When someone died, the body was wrapped in cloth and taken to level one to shrivel. Once baked until no moisture remained, it was buried in a massive sand graveyard. If not dried prior to burial, surface predators like the sand demons would dig up the body for a snack.
Jayden ushered them inside and closed the door. They paused to listen. Silence filled the tunnel. She hoped that was a good sign that no one waited to ambush them. Once again Jayden took the lead. He’d covered almost all of the druk; its weakened light stretched only a meter in front of them. Soon they reached the living area. Dark red stains were soaked into the floor. Jayden’s expression hardened as he stepped around them.
“The storeroom’s this way,” he whispered.
Shyla and Mojag stayed close behind him. Jayden shone the light in the various rooms as they passed. All of them had been ransacked. They entered a large open area that appeared to have been a common room. The stone tables had been knocked over and broken. Jayden wove through the destruction, heading toward a tunnel on the opposite side. After a series of turns, he stopped at a T-intersection where another hidden door blended in.
“This is it.” He set the druk on the ground, then pulled his knife from his belt.
Mojag yanked his free as well. Shyla didn’t carry a weapon. Instead, she slid her feet into a fighting stance and raised her arms so her hands could protect her face and chest from an attack. Trained by the monks in the Ways of the Yarin, Shyla had learned defensive techniques that were very effective against swords and knives. Rendor had offered to teach her how to use a sword so she could handle multiple opponents. Deciding that was a good idea, she planned to take him up on it once they had some time. Unfortunately, that was in as short supply as food and water.
Jayden found the latch and opened the door. The three of them braced for an attack.
They weren’t disappointed.
Two
Two Arch Deacons rushed from the storeroom. Their knives glinted in the weak light.
“Left,” Jayden called, pushing Mojag behind him. The boy was handy with a blade, but not trained to go toe to toe with an Arch Deacon.
That meant the guy on the right was Shyla’s. He lunged, aiming the tip of his long skinny knife at her chest. Surprised, she shuffled back. He pressed forward, stabbing out again. Seven hells, the big man was fast. Unease swirled around her heart. Perhaps the theory that the priestess wanted her alive wasn’t accurate. Shyla met his gray-eyed gaze long enough to know he wore a protective torque.
Twisting sideways, she knocked his next thrust wide and grabbed his wrist with both her hands. He jerked his knife arm, pulling her toward him and slightly off balance. The man was as strong as Rendor. She let go, but not quick enough. His punch missed her jaw, but the knuckles on his fist slammed into her shoulder. Pain exploded as the rest of her arm went numb.
Shyla retreated, backing down a tunnel. The good news—the narrow area limited him to a straight-on attack with no chance of getting behind her. The downside was the fading light. The darkness increased with each step.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, picking up his pace. “You don’t get to disappear again.”
Out of options, she blocked his lunge and clasped his arm again. But this time when he yanked his wrist, she used his momentum to shuffle close, kicking him hard in the stomach. She followed him as he stumbled back, staying right up against his chest. One advantage to being smaller than your opponent was the ability to tuck inside. Before he could recover, Shyla cracked his jaw with a well-placed uppercut.
Instead of disengaging, the Arch Deacon cursed and wrapped his arm around her, holding her tight. His knife stabbed toward her side so she twisted and kneed him in the groin. The blade cut across her lower back instead as he bent in half with a groan. A distant part of her mind registered the burning pain. The rest of her struggled to break his hold. Son of a sand demon, he was a brute.
Then the Arch Deacon yelled. He released her and spun around to face Mojag. Grinning, the boy held a bloody knife. A wet stain spread on the back of the brute’s tunic. When he advanced on Mojag, Shyla kicked him hard, aiming for his injury. The Arch Deacon dropped his weapon and staggered to the ground.
Before she could draw a full breath, Mojag had his knife on the man’s neck.
“Stop,” she ordered, putting magic into the words and stopping his hand.
Mojag looked up. “Why? He was going to kill you.”
“We don’t kill unless we have absolutely no other choice.”
“But he’ll just come after us again.”
“Probably, but he’s just following orders.”
“So?”
“So we need to stop the one who is issuing those orders.”
“Yeah, but he’s going to go back and say we’re soft. They’ll think they have the advantage.”