The City of Zirdai by Maria V. Snyder

Fifteen

Shyla recovered from her shock and held up her hands. Not to surrender, but to push her magic at the six guards.

Stop.

They halted.

The professor clutched the statue of Tamburah to her chest as she glanced at the guards. “What are you waiting for? Grab her!”

Sleep.

The four men and two women collapsed to the floor.

Emeline backed away from Shyla. “What did you do to them?”

Shyla stepped toward the deceitful woman. “You’ll find out if you don’t pay me what you owe for the crown.”

“She’s bluffing,” a familiar and rather terrifying voice said. The Water Prince stepped from Emeline’s sleeping chamber with Captain Yates right behind him. “Shyla won’t hurt you.” He met her gaze.

Big mistake as that allowed her to read his soul. The prince gaped in shock as he noticed her new eye color. His surprise transformed to fury in a heartbeat, but he recovered, burying his anger deep and resuming his neutral expression. He studied her as if appraising a gamelu herd. As much as she was tempted to go deeper into his thoughts and emotions, she kept her focus on his surface emotions only. For now.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Shyla said. Her voice remained calm despite the tight fear ringing her throat. Gauging how much strength she needed to knock both the prince and Yates unconscious, she collected her will. From past experiences, Yates would be hard to influence. Perhaps she should just bolt. But would she make it to the door before Yates caught her?

Still clutching the statue, Emeline pressed into a corner, staying out of the way. The prince and Yates kept their distance from her. The Water Prince wore an unremarkable tunic and pants that showed off his athletic build. At twenty-five circuits old, he was young for such a powerful position, but his ruthlessness had developed at an early age.

Holding his hands out to the sides, the prince said, “Relax. We’re here to talk.”

The truth. Yates’ massive fists were pressed to his hips, but he hadn’t drawn his sword. Or his knife. His fierce glower warned her that he could grab both at any time.

She gestured to the six guards on the floor and edged closer to the door. “Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

He gave them a disdainful look. “They’re for my protection.” Then he returned his full focus on her.

Even though she knew he was evil to his core, she was still struck by his handsome features, the deep emerald of his eyes flecked with silver, his black hair contrasting with his tan skin. Like many others who lived deep in the bowels of Zirdai, the prince spent little time in the sun, while Yates could almost be his shadow.

Subtly she shifted, increasing the distance between them. The door loomed behind her about two meters away. But then she sensed more guards on the other side. They filled the hallway in front of Emeline’s quarters.

Scorching sand rats.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, delaying the inevitable. Her best chance would be to dive into the hallway, surprising those waiting, and hope to sprint away without having to send them all to sleep. She inched closer.

“About a possible exchange.”

She froze.

He smiled, but the sharp lines of his face didn’t soften. In fact, they appeared even more severe, and she wondered how she could have ever thought this man attractive.

“It’s your turn,” he said. Then after a moment, he continued. “No? All right then, I wish to discuss the fate of the two monks in my custody—your parents.”

She kept her expression impassive despite her heart’s frantic beats. “My parents abandoned me in the desert. You are mistaken.”

“Oh, come on, Shyla. You’d have to be blind not to see the resemblance.”

Considering she was raised in the monastery and spent eighteen circuits with Hanif, blind was an apt description. “What do you want?” Although she had a good guess.

“I want The Eyes of Tamburah.” He swept out a hand, indicating the sleeping guards. “But you’ve already claimed them and somehow woke their power.” His tone almost filled with awe until it sharpened. “You lied to me. You said The Eyes held no magical powers. That you didn’t seek power. Yet, here you are.”

“I didn’t lie. At that time, I thought both statements were true. But now…”

“Now?”

“By assigning me the task to find The Eyes for you, you made me see the real city of Zirdai, and not the one I’d built in my childish fantasies. I saw the rot, the corruption, and the horrors of your rule. I saw a city suffering. And when I held the means to change it in my hands, I found the strength to claim it.”

“Nice speech. You may have The Eyes, but you don’t have much else. You may be able to put my guards to sleep, but I’ve an army of people. And if you could render them all unconscious, then we wouldn’t have almost caught you at the monastery.”

Shyla thought it best to remain silent. If he was hoping she’d reveal the limits of her power, he was going to be disappointed. She concentrated on the guards outside the door, counting them and devising an escape plan.

“What I want”—the prince stepped closer—“is for you to work for me. I want the Invisible Sword to disappear for good—never to be seen again. In exchange, I’ll release the monks and anyone else you care about.”

Not quite what she’d expected. At least cutting her eyes out wasn’t part of the deal. Not yet anyway. Not until he learned how to claim the power for himself.

“Anyone? Including Banqui?” she tried.

The prince glanced at Yates in genuine surprise. The captain shook his head.

“Have you lost your friend again? That’s rather irresponsible of you,” the prince said.

At least Banqui wasn’t locked in a black cell. Then where was he? Bringing her attention back to the prince, she asked, “What would I do if I worked for you?”

He tilted his head at the prone forms on the floor. “You’ll be one of my protectors. You’ll also be my advisor. You can tell if someone is lying, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ll help me usurp the Heliacal Priestess. The city doesn’t need two rulers. Everything will be better with just me in charge. And…” The prince moved closer and lowered his voice. “I’ll stop torturing people for information.”

That was too good to be true. There had to be some trick despite his honesty.

He leaned in. “Think about it. Why would I need to torture anyone when you can read their souls and learn all their secrets?”

Stopping the torture was her top priority. And working for the prince would solve a number of other issues and avoid a battle where there would be casualties. A cold pulse of shock slammed into her when she realized she was tempted. It allowed the rational part of her to override her emotional first reaction. What the prince proposed she’d do instead of hurting his prisoners was exactly what Tamburah had done. Besides, the prince had to release her parents eventually or risk upsetting the King.

Then it occurred to her that she could capture the prince right now. Except she doubted his guards outside would allow her to leave with her prisoner. Unless she knocked them out, which would take too much energy because Yates was thick-headed and would require most of her strength.

The prince watched her. “Do we have a deal?”

“I need to think about it.”

“Then sit down and have a think.” He gestured to a cushion. “Professor, do you have any refreshments for your guests?”

Emeline let out a squeak of surprise before dashing over to a water jug. Shyla didn’t move. Obviously the prince wasn’t going to let her leave without an answer. And she wasn’t about to give him one. Both led to trouble.

As the prince made a show of settling in with a glass of water in hand, Shyla’s thoughts raced. There were about eight guards in the hallway. Too many to put to sleep, but perhaps she could influence them.

She accepted a cup from Emeline but didn’t sip the water. The professor might have served her holy water. Why not? She’d betrayed Shyla to the prince, she could be working for the priestess as well. And that thought gave her an idea. Gathering her power, she sent it to the five men and three women waiting outside.

Arch Deacons.

Shyla envisioned half a dozen well-armed Arch Deacons approaching the guards from both sides.

Arch Deacons.

Shouts pierced the tense silence. Then a rustling and the unmistakable ring of swords being drawn. The prince and Yates exchanged a concerned glance before the huge man strode to the door and slid it open with more force than needed. A crack zigzagged along the colored glass.

The guards had split into two groups of four. They stood back to back, facing the Arch Deacons.

“What’s going on?” Yates demanded.

Arch Deacons.

Shyla pictured them advancing on the guards.

“Arch Deacons are attacking, sir!” one man said as he blocked an invisible weapon.

Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Shyla used the not here command and took off down the tunnel. Only Yates spotted her. The captain cursed and the sound of his boots pounded after her. Once she was out of sight of the guards, she dropped her mental suggestions, then poured all her energy into staying ahead of Yates.

From the brief glances over her shoulder, Yates wasn’t far behind. In fact, for a man his size, he was rather quick. There was nothing worse than being chased through an underground city. Eventually, they’d run into more guards or a group of deacons or a dead end, which was very likely as she wasn’t familiar with this particular level.

The few people she passed just pressed against the walls, giving Yates room. They wouldn’t dare try to stop him, but they wouldn’t interfere with her either. Unless they decided helping the Water Prince’s captain would benefit them. All she needed was a fraction of an angle to disappear from his sight so she could lose him before that happened.

Shyla aimed her magic back at Yates.

Gone.

Nothing. Not even a hitch in his stride. She added more force.

Gone.

And a bit more power.

Gone.

Her commands just bounced off his broad chest. Or so it seemed. And to add to the fun, another set of boots sounded behind Yates—probably the fastest of the guards rushing to catch up. She ceased her efforts to use her magic and concentrated on her direction. Aiming away from the populated areas, Shyla turned to dart down what she hoped—

Pain exploded in the back of her right thigh. She sprawled forward, skidding over the stone floor, scraping her palms and forearms raw. But that was minor compared to the agony that gripped her leg muscles. She looked back and wasn’t sure what was scarier. The knife sticking out of her leg or Captain Yates standing next to her with the tip of his sword descending slowly toward her. Desperate, she sent all her magic at him.

Stop!

Nothing. She tried to scramble away from the weapon, but the fire in her leg prevented her. The sharp point of the sword touched her back. She froze—all pain forgotten as it pierced her tunic and skin.

“The prince doesn’t care if you die,” Yates said. “As long as I don’t damage your eyeballs.” He twisted the sword, creating a bigger gash.

Shyla bit down on a cry.

“Go ahead, Sun-Kissed. Stop me from killing you with your magic.”

She’d like nothing better. But the beast seemed immune.

He knelt next to her and tugged down the collar of his uniform, exposing a platinum torque. “Took this from an Arch Deacon.” He grinned.

Terror seized her lungs, forcing all the air from them. And while she couldn’t read his soul, there was no doubt that he not only planned to kill her but would enjoy it.

“This is going to be our little secret, something you can share with the Sun Goddess when you see her. Because you can’t stop me.”

“But I can,” Rendor said.

Yates straightened, yanking his knife from Shyla’s leg. A hiss of pain escaped her lips. But when he pulled his sword free, she sucked in a deep breath. Without the blade in her leg, she was able to roll over and prop up on her elbows.

Rendor faced the captain. He too held a sword and a knife. His hard gaze promised no mercy. Her relief over his arrival was short-lived as worry for him dominated. No way was Rendor fully healed from being skewered by two swords even though it had been over sixty sun jumps ago. Also, as the captain of the guard, Yates was the best swordsman in Zirdai.

She wanted to tell him to leave, to save himself, but his posture radiated stubborn determination, which meant she’d have more luck convincing a stone statue than Rendor.

The two men stood in the middle of an intersection. Shyla hadn’t noticed before—probably due to running for her life—but it was one of the bigger ones with tunnels branching off in six different directions. Two druk lanterns illuminated the space and glinted off the blood pooling under her knee. She sat up and bent her injured leg. Lacing her fingers together, she pressed her hands to the wound to staunch the blood, pulling her thigh against her chest for added pressure.

“You’ve been replaced, Rendor. You’re weak. A traitor,” Yates said.

“And you’re not the true captain of the guard, Yates. You were appointed.” Rendor’s derision was clear. “All the guards know you never fought for your position so you’ll never be their captain. Not while I’m still alive.”

“I can fix that right now.” Yates lunged, stabbing his sword toward Rendor’s heart.

Their blades crossed with a loud clang as Rendor blocked the thrust. Yates stepped in close and jabbed with his knife. Rendor pivoted his hips. Shyla’s blood on the tip of Yates’ weapon left a streak of red on Rendor’s tunic. Then the fight began in earnest.

Both large and muscular, they were evenly matched and equally well trained. Yates was stronger, but Rendor was quicker. They fought with brutal, efficient strikes, not wasting energy, not even speaking. It was silent except for the ring of steel, the shuffle of boots, and the grunts of the men that echoed off the hard stone walls. No finesse touched their moves, just a mindless drive to get past the other’s defense and kill him.

Shyla watched with a fascinated horror. The air heated with their exertions. The musky odor of male sweat reached her as their tunics dampened and their faces shone. Their breaths rasped. As the fight extended, Rendor’s injuries became apparent—a weakness in his left arm and a slight hitch in his right leg. Yates wasted no time in pressing his advantage. He knocked the sword from Rendor’s hand. It landed on the opposite side of the intersection. In other words, as far from Shyla as possible.

Fearing for Rendor’s life, she rummaged in her pack—not caring about her bloody hands—searching for a weapon or anything she could use to help him. There was nothing but her water skin and scarf. The water might make Yates slip, but it would also endanger Rendor. She wished she still had Tamburah’s statue. It was heavy enough to knock Yates out. If she could stand, she could wrap her scarf around his neck—

She almost smacked herself. Why didn’t she think of this before? She needed to get Rendor’s attention but didn’t want him to lose focus either—it could cost him his life. Using the wall to keep her balance, Shyla lurched to her feet. A hot poker of pain shot through her leg.

A loud clang sounded and Rendor’s knife went flying. Rendor grabbed Yates’ wrists and moved in close to him—too close for the captain to use his sword. Yates dropped the sword and broke Rendor’s grip on his right wrist. Then both men struggled for control of the remaining knife. Rendor dug his fingers into Yates’ forearm. Yates fought to break free, swinging Rendor around. They both hit the wall and the knife was knocked loose.

The fight turned into a wrestling match. But Yates was stronger and knew where Rendor’s weak spots were. He slammed Rendor into the wall. Shyla winced in sympathy as Rendor’s head bounced with a horrible thud. Dazed by the blow, Rendor lost his grip on Yates’ wrists. The captain wrapped his hands around Rendor’s neck and squeezed.

Rendor finally looked over Yates’ shoulder and met her gaze. Regret filled his. She yanked at her collar. “Pull it off!” she yelled.

Rendor stopped trying to pry Yates’ fingers from his throat—which he should have known not to do, but he did just suffer a blow to the head. Instead, he reached for Yates’ throat and ripped off the torque.

Drawing all her strength, she thrust out both hands and pushed with all her might.

Sleep!

Yates toppled to the ground, pulling Rendor down with him. Shyla limped over to help. By the time she reached him, he’d already removed Yates’ hands from his neck. He lay there panting.

“How long…will he…sleep,” Rendor asked between gasps.

“Not long.”

Rendor clambered to his feet, but he swayed as the color leaked from his face. She tried to steady him but with only one good leg she couldn’t support his weight let alone her own. They both toppled to the ground. She landed on top of him and he grabbed her instinctively.

“Maybe you should catch your breath before trying to stand,” Shyla said.

He grunted and closed his eyes.

“My weight on your chest is probably not helping.”

Instead of releasing her, he held her tighter. His body heat warmed her and, surprisingly, she didn’t mind the strong sweaty odor of Rendor—a mix of male musk with a hint of ginger. She breathed it in. It was a nice distraction from the throbbing in her leg. The hard vibrations from Rendor’s heart eased after a few moments. He opened his eyes and relaxed his grip.

“Better?” she asked, sliding off him.

“Yes.” He sat up and stood. This time he remained standing. “Can you walk?”

She held out a hand. Rendor grabbed it and pulled her, gently, to her feet. Putting weight on her bad leg caused considerable pain but it didn’t collapse under her—a small victory. She tied her wrap around her leg to staunch the blood and tried a few steps on her own. “Yes, but not far.”

The good news—Orla’s commune was only three levels away. The bad news—they had to climb up.

Rendor supported her as she limped with slow agonizing steps. His desire to just carry her was obvious with every flex of his muscles. They finally reached the commune.

“Get Zhek,” Rendor barked at the first person they encountered. He escorted her to one of Zhek’s examination rooms and helped her onto the table. Once she was settled, he pulled away.

“Don’t go,” she said to him, grabbing his hand.

He hesitated. That hurt more than the knife wound. Yet, he had come to her rescue, almost losing his life in order to save hers.

“Guess I’ll just have to get into trouble again,” she said and released her grip. “Do you think Yates—”

“Don’t joke about that.” His harsh words rasped with fear and anger.

Exhaustion had caught up to her, making it difficult to block his emotions. “Then stay.”

“I can’t.”

His conflict was clear, though it was mixed with another deeper longing and, underneath it all, passion, maybe love. It was too complex to sort out and she wouldn’t intrude by probing his soul.

She met his gaze, remembering the argument they’d had—it seemed like circuits ago. She didn’t have the words then, but she knew what to say now. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not responding to the idiot in the common room. For worrying about what the other Invisible Swords thought about us. For not jumping into your arms when I had the chance.”

He stared at her for an eternity. “You—”

“Out of the way, you big brute,” Zhek said, pushing past Rendor.

Orla followed the healer, crowding into the small room. Zhek grabbed Shyla’s hands and tsked over her raw palms. But when he spotted the wound in her leg, he ordered everyone out. Rendor left with Orla, taking his unspoken words with him. She doubted he’d return. And while that knowledge ached deep inside her, it no longer cut as sharply into her heart. She’d said what she needed to say. Although she never thanked him for saving her life. Actually…she had when she saved his by sending Yates to sleep.

Zhek’s administrations yanked her painfully into the present. He grumbled as he washed her wounds. When he examined the gash on the back of her leg, she about jumped off the table. He rubbed a numbing paste on it and she showed considerable restraint by not snapping at him for not doing that first.

“At least the blade went in and out clean,” he said.

“Clean?”

“It wasn’t twisted while inside you. That would have caused more damage and extended the time you needed to heal.” He sighed loudly. “Not that you’ll allow it to fully heal before injuring yourself again.”

He made it sound as if she did it on purpose just to annoy him. She wisely remained quiet while he finished patching her up. He called for one of the vagrants to help her to her room. As the young man supported her through the common areas of the commune, she searched for Rendor. Shyla noted the time—angle two-ninety. But, as she had suspected, Rendor was gone. For once, it would have been nice to be wrong.

When they reached her room, she remembered her recruits and Jayden. “Do you know where Jayden is?” she asked the young man.

“I think he left to gather information.”

“Can you tell him to come to my room when he gets back?”

“Sure.” He helped her onto the cushion and left.

Shyla squirmed into a comfortable position. Pain bit into her each time she moved her leg. Soon after she settled, Zhek arrived with a cup of his special tea.

“I promise to drink this once Jayden returns,” she said.

“That might not be for a while.”

“Do you have something for the pain?”

He considered. “You promise to stay put while waiting?” He fluttered a hand toward the door. “And not go out visiting?”

“Yes.”

Zhek grunted and left. When he didn’t return, she eyed the tea. Her encounter with the guards and Yates had left her without any energy. Sleep would be best, but she needed to talk to Jayden. Before she could decide, Zhek returned with a glass of red water.

“Red?” she asked when he handed it to her.

“For the pain.”

“Thanks.” She drank it.

He jabbed a finger at the cooling tea. “Remember your promise.”

It didn’t take long for the pain to lessen and disappear. No wonder Zhek worried she’d leave. But her exhaustion caught up to her and she dozed until Jayden woke her around angle three-forty.

“What happened? Zhek said you were stabbed. By who?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I need you to meet with the recruits at angle three-fifty-five and escort them to our headquarters.”

“All right, but I want a full report when I return.”

She raised the cup of Zhek’s now cold tea and saluted him.

“Cute.” He left.

After downing the liquid, she set the cup on the floor and waited for the peace of oblivion to overtake her.

When she woke, Jayden was sitting by her door. He leaned against the wall and looked exhausted. “How do you feel?”

Shyla rolled over and groaned as all her injuries flared to life. Stiff and sore, she tried to sit up but then gave in, plopping back.

“That good?” Jayden stood. “Should I get Zhek?”

“No. I’m fine.” To prove it she managed to sit up without wincing. “How long did I sleep?”

“An entire sun jump plus sixty angles.”

Angle forty already? She’d slept through her chance to leave Zirdai at angle zero.

“Have you gotten any sleep?” she asked him.

“Some.”

“The recruits?”

“All safely transferred to headquarters.” He frowned. “You could have warned me there would be so many.”

“Did all twelve show up?”

“There were sixteen.”

“Sixteen? Does that include Wazir and his three family members?”

“No, they wanted to stay here a couple more sun jumps.”

“Sixteen? Are you sure?”

He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I count good.”

“Sorry. It’s just—”

“You weren’t expecting so many?”

“An understatement.”

“I doubt we’ll get any more. The deacons are furiously searching for their missing members. You probably should stay here a few more sun jumps.”

“There’s too much to do.”

“Like figuring out if Yates told the Water Prince about the torques?”

“How do you know Yates had a torque?”

Jayden reached into his bag. “Rendor told me when he gave me this.” He pulled the broken platinum necklace from it.

“From what Yates said and the fact the prince wasn’t wearing one, I don’t believe he’s shared his knowledge about the torques.”

“Ah, the captain might not be as loyal as we thought.” Jayden fiddled with the torque as his gaze grew distant. “Perhaps we could recruit him.”

“We can’t. Yates is very loyal…to Yates.”

“That could still be beneficial. At a crucial moment, he might decide to save his own skin instead of the prince’s.”

“We can hope.” They shared a grin.

“Tell me what led to you getting stabbed by Yates.”

She filled him in on the professor’s ambush and the prince’s offer. “An exchange—me for Hanif and Kaveri.”

“He’s bluffing. He won’t harm the monks,” he said.

“Not yet. But I fear if he gets desperate he will.” And she couldn’t allow that to happen.

Jayden was quiet a moment. Then he said, “Since we’re stuck here another sun jump, I’m going to visit my commune and get some sleep. You probably should rest as well or Zhek won’t be happy.” He headed for the door.

“When is Zhek ever happy?” she asked in frustration.

He paused and glanced back. “After a successful birth. He’s all smiles.”

It was hard to imagine. And she wasn’t going to have a baby just to witness it. Anyway, it wasn’t like she had to worry about that as Rendor…well, she’d no idea if she’d ever see him again, much less do…that. Besides, there was something that men did to prevent pregnancy. Would Rendor know? Argh, why was she thinking about this? About him? She needed to focus on the heaping mound of problems the Invisible Sword still needed to solve. And she wasn’t going to solve them lying here all sun jump.

Moving was difficult, but she managed to get upright without falling over. Putting her weight on her injured leg ignited a fire behind her thigh. She ignored it and took a few lurching steps. Shyla worked the stiffness from her limbs but was unable to walk without a considerable limp. She needed—a cane!

She hobbled from her room and aimed for one of the tables in the large common room. Only a few people milled about. Most were either out or asleep. She spotted a familiar figure.

“Ilan,” she called.

The boy skidded to a stop and came over. “Do you want to buy some rats?”

Did she? Their water supply was safe for now. “Not yet. But I need a cane. Do you know if there’s one I can use?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll be right back.” He dashed off.

While she waited, she spotted Zhek carrying a tray of food into her room. This was going to hurt more than the stab wound. Sure enough, Zhek stormed out. He glanced around, found her, and strode over. She braced for the lecture and wasn’t disappointed. At least he brought the food with him. Except she remembered that he had no qualms about putting his sleeping medicine into a patient’s food.

At the end of his tirade he said, “Well? What do you have to say?”

“Can you please give me more of that red water for the pain?”

Zhek sputtered. When Ilan arrived with a cane, it was too much for the healer. He pressed his lips together and left. Guess that was a no to the pain relief.

Ilan knew better than to ask about Zhek. Instead, he handed her the cane. Made of blue alabaster, a lightweight but strong stone, it hooked at the end to form a handle. There were small ridges on the underside that helped her get a better grip. A leather plug covered the bottom of the cane to reduce noise.

“Twist the handle and pull,” Ilan said.

She did as instructed and revealed a surprise. A thin blade about thirty centimeters long slid out. “Oooh. I like this.”

“Thought so.” He beamed.

Slightly hunched over, Shyla walked with her cane. It took her a few angles to find a rhythm and she still wasn’t smooth or very fast. But that didn’t matter as her ungainly gait matched her disguise of an older woman. She’d covered her hair and half of her face with her wrap. The best part was that the cane kept most of her weight off her injured leg.

Ilan accompanied her, playing the role of a dutiful grandson. She’d argued with Orla that she was just going on a reconnaissance mission, but the woman had insisted that, with the deacons searching Zirdai, Shyla needed backup.

“But he’s only ten circuits old,” she’d said. “I don’t want him to get caught or hurt.” She’d feel awful if that happened. His rats would miss him.

“He’s eleven and the boy’s better equipped at avoiding a deacon than you are right now,” Orla had said. “Take him or you can’t go.”

And here they were. Shyla found it interesting and a little sad that most people ignored her. Instead, they nodded to Ilan with approval. Not that she was complaining—going unnoticed was her goal. They descended to level seventy-one where blending in became harder to do. The quality of their clothing didn’t match that of the people who lived in the seventies. Though not nearly as wealthy as those living below level eighty, they still had extra coin to purchase finer fabrics that were custom tailored.

Avoiding guards was also challenging as teams of them patrolled these tunnels and the presence of the costly trol lanterns hindered them. The bright light of the trols chased away the shadows. Shyla preferred the druks with their weak purple glow.

They took a circuitous route to the chapel, keeping a lookout for both guards and deacons. Not many people traveled in this part of the city. Shyla wondered if it was due to the chapel nearby—out of sight equaling out of mind—or if it was due to the warmer air and strange odor. It had a hot metallic tang and left a bad taste in her mouth. People living underground learned a long time ago that pockets of foul air or unusual hot or cold spots were signs of toxic gases. And if they had collected in one place, there was a good chance they might ignite in a powerful explosion. This scent, though, reminded her of the foundries in the upper levels.

Finding a location to watch the chapel without being seen was difficult. They ended up in a tight corner, but it had a clear view of the main entrance. Too bad it was guarded by six Arch Deacons. If that didn’t tip her off that something big was going on inside the chapel, she needed to find a new profession.

As a mental exercise, she considered how she’d attack the chapel. The well-armed men wore torques, rendering her magic useless. The Invisible Swords could fight one-on-one and take their torques like Rendor had done to Yates, but she had no idea exactly how many deacons were inside. If this chapel had another entrance like the one on level fifty-two, she could send her people in that way to try for a surprise. Again, how many would she need? She wished for a way to neutralize the deacons without fighting. A vision of striking them on the head with a statue of Tamburah flashed. Not a terrible idea, except she’d have to get close.

Perhaps she could invite them for drinks and serve them some of Zhek’s special tea. Imagining them toppling over, she swallowed a giggle. Ilan glanced at her in concern.

As they watched, a handful of people passed by at various times, a quartet of deacons arrived, and the Arch Deacon on the far right scratched his nose seventeen times.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Ilan whispered to her.

“Until I figure out what they’re doing inside.”

“They’re melting platinum.” He wrinkled his cute little nose. “Can’t you smell it?”

“Yes, but I need more information.” She sensed about a dozen inside, but, with all that platinum, there could be a dozen more deacons. And without a constant watch, she’d never learn what was really going on inside. She needed to hire a couple vagrants to collect the information.

“All right, let’s go,” she said. Her injured muscles had stiffened with the inactivity and her leg almost buckled underneath her when she moved.

Ilan grabbed her just as a group of six deacons left the chapel. He pulled her back into the shadow. She watched as the deacons sorted themselves. Two carried about ten platinum torques each and the other four formed a defensive circle around them.

But it seemed odd that they were worried about being attacked. Or were they just trying to hide the torques from view? Did the priestess suspect the Invisible Swords would be very interested in her operations here? It was almost as if they were putting on a show. Did the priestess want them to know they were making more torques?

Then the group disappeared. Not gone as in around the corner or down a tunnel.

No. They literally disappeared.

Ilan sucked in a breath. “They’re gone.”

Shyla recovered from her shock. She knew only one way to disappear from sight like that. Magic. Concentrating, she located the chanting rhythm of a magical command pressing on her. She shoved it aside. The group of deacons reappeared.

Scorching hells. The deacons had wielded magic. Somehow the Heliacal Priestess had figured it out. Somehow she’d recognized the magical potential in her conscripted deacons and had taught them how to direct it.

How in the seven hells did the priestess learn— Shyla almost groaned at the depth of her idiocy. Someone in the Invisible Sword had passed that information on to the priestess. She’d suspected a traitor all along. So why hadn’t she done more to find the person? She hadn’t wanted to upset Jayden. And look at what happened.

They were cooked.

“Can you explain your logic?” Jayden asked after she’d filled him in on all that she’d learned.

They were in her room at Orla’s commune.

“I shouldn’t have to, Jayden,” Shyla said in annoyance. While the cane helped, her leg still throbbed.

“How do you know the traitor’s one of us and not one of the vagrants or deacons? You’ve been telling everyone about us. Maybe you told one of them your theories about cracked deacons.”

She clamped down on a nasty reply. Instead, she drew in a breath. “I only told trustworthy people, Jayden.” She held up a hand. “Trustworthy, because I read enough of their souls to know their intentions.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “All right. Say you’re right and the priestess found out about the potential magic wielders in their midst. Then why did the deacons wield magic at that moment? They could have just hidden the torques under their robes or in a basket. There was no need to use magic to hide from the prince’s guards or any other watchers.”

“It almost seemed rehearsed, as if they were performing for an audience. I think they knew we were watching.”

“How? You were well hidden, right?”

She ignored the implication that she’d let them spot her. “You’re thinking about it the wrong way. Now that the deacons can wield magic, it changes everything. They sensed us. It’s an easy skill to learn even for the newest of beginners.” She rubbed her temples. “They correctly guessed we were affiliated with the Invisible Sword. It’s logical that we’d consider shutting down their torque-making operation. In fact, that’s why I was there, to check it out and see if it was possible to stop them or to steal their platinum. When they sensed us nearby, they staged that little demonstration just for us.”

“Why would they tip their hand? Surprising us with their own wielders would give the priestess a big advantage.”

True. A sudden thought occurred to her. “We need to act quickly.”

“What?”

“The priestess only has a few wielders. Otherwise she wouldn’t have shown them to us.”

“Wait. Where’s this logic coming from? How do you know she only has a few wielders?”

“You asked why she showed us at all. There’s only one reason to tip her hand. Because she wants to scare us off. Make us hesitate and wait so she can find and train more of her deacons. Which is why we need to act quickly.”

“Doing what?” Jayden asked.

“Getting to those deacons before she does.”

“Do you think you can after those sixteen people left?”

“It’ll be hard. But it’ll be even harder the longer we wait.”

“We need to train our people. And don’t forget that caravan is coming in two sun jumps.”

She stifled a groan. “You’re right. We need to get back to headquarters right away and figure it out.”

Jayden glanced at the sand clock. “It’s angle one-sixty. We’ll be spotted leaving the city.”

“Then we’ll just have to be clever. I’m not waiting another angle. I’ll go tell Wazir and his family to get ready.” She hurried off.

Disguised as two rich merchants, Wazir and Jayden and their four retainers left Zirdai via the north exit around angle one-seventy. Shyla used her magic to influence the guards nearby to see familiar faces.

“Masters Pramod and Fath, so good to see you again,” the one guard called to Wazir and Jayden. “What brings you out so close to darkness?”

“I want to check on Fath’s velblouds that are for sale. Make sure it’s a healthy flock before I purchase it.” Wazir waved to the guard. “You know I can’t trust Fath. He might have tied sun cloaks onto sand demons.”

The two Arch Deacons that had been edging closer turned away at the friendly banter, no longer interested in the group. Shyla relaxed.

Once they were out of sight, they headed toward their headquarters. Shyla soon discovered that using a cane in sand was difficult. Every step soon became an effort. Jayden walked beside her, helping to support her weak leg. He also erased their tracks.

“Are you going to be able to meet up with the caravan? Or should Ximen and I go?” he asked when they reached the temple.

She considered their strategy to purchase the platinum. Surely her leg would be better by then. And then it hit her. “We can’t follow our original plan with the caravan.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s a good chance the priestess knows about it.”

“Not this again. Shyla, your logic is flawed. Banqui—”

“That’s enough.” She’d reached her limit and was finished with being nice. “Let’s go settle this right now.” She limped to the ladder.

“Wait!” Jayden caught up to her. “What are you going to do?”

“You know what I’m going to do. It’s time everyone takes the oath.”

Everyone gathered in the common room. Fifty people crammed together. A few had been in the middle of work and full buckets of sand sat by their feet. Gurice and Mojag stood in the front with Ximen. Some had been woken up and they peered at her with tired and grumpy expressions. Too bad.

Jayden helped her to step up onto a low table to address them. “We’ve gained a number of new members and we’ve learned some critical information. Danger is approaching and we must be able to counter it as a unified organization. I’ve heard people talking about being an acolyte, or an original member, or a vagrant. That needs to stop. You’re all Invisible Swords.” She paused and met each of their gazes.

“And you will all take the oath and pledge your loyalty to the organization and to each other. You’ll all stand as witnesses. As part of the ceremony, I will draw our symbol on your upper arms.” There was a rumble of dismay. “You won’t see the symbol unless you can wield magic, nor will blood be shed.” Shyla drew the glyph on the wall with a piece of chalk. “This is what it will look like.”

She let her words sink in before continuing. “As your leader, I will go first.” She handed her stylus to Jayden.

He stared at the writing instrument in alarm. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Explaining how she’d pushed her magic through the instrument when she’d practiced on Gurice, Shyla rolled up her left sleeve, exposing her shoulder.

“I don’t think—”

“At least she didn’t ask you to cut out her eyeballs,” Ximen said, interrupting Jayden. “Like she did to me.”

He shot Ximen a horrified glare.

“Ready?” she asked.

“No.” Jayden sighed. “I’ll try.”

Shyla addressed everyone. “As a member of the Invisible Sword, I swear that I will embrace the beliefs and tenets of the organization and fully support its efforts to help those in need.”

Jayden traced the crossed blades on her shoulder with the stylus. A tingle pricked her skin.

“As a member of the Invisible Sword, I swear I will not betray the location of our headquarters or the identities of our members to our enemies and would give my life to keep its secrets.”

He guided the flattened tip, following the two curved lines of the symbol.

“As a member of the Invisible Sword, I swear not to harm or kill another unless it is absolutely necessary or in self-defense.”

He drew a big circle in the oval shape.

“As a member of the Invisible Sword, I swear allegiance to my fellow Invisible Swords.”

Coloring in the “pupil,” Jayden completed the symbol. An intense heat burned on her skin as if the killing sun shone directly on that small section. No wonder Gurice had thought Shyla stabbed her. Magic snapped and the pain disappeared.

“It worked.” Surprise laced Jayden’s voice. He then stepped back, allowing the other wielders to see the new glyph.

Shyla thought it was unfair that not everyone could see it. Perhaps she could show them. In order not to upset anyone, she explained what she planned to do. Using her magic, Shyla sent the image of her symbol to the others.

Invisible Sword.

A little over half the room gasped. It seemed that over fifty people was too many for her to influence at once. She repeated it for the remaining members.

Invisible Sword.

Unable to hold it long, she stopped the command. After waiting a few moments to allow them to recover—and her as well—she pulled her sleeve down and took the stylus from Jayden. “You’re next.”

He shook his head sadly. “I can’t.”

Confused, she peered at him. “Why not?”

“Sorry,” he said to everyone, but he was staring at Mojag.

Sand exploded from all the buckets. The columns spread out and formed a curtain that swirled in furious circles. Cries pierced the roar of sand. Everyone scrambled to cover their faces, turning their backs to the assault.