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.”
“Maybe. Or perhaps he’ll remember we showed him mercy. And he might start to think that we’re not the villains the Heliacal Priestess claims we are.”
Unconvinced, Mojag huffed. Just then Jayden strode into view. Blood dripped from a small cut on his cheek. His rumpled clothing and mussed hair indicated he’d had a difficult fight as well.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine.” Then he smirked. “That Arch Deacon is going to have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, though.” He glanced down at the man on the ground.
Shyla’s opponent’s gaze remained on Mojag whose blade still rested on his throat.
“Mojag, remove his torque, please,” Shyla said, releasing the boy from her magical hold.
He wrenched the necklace off the man, leaving behind scratches that welled with blood. The man touched his throat but didn’t move. Both Jayden and Mojag loomed over him with their knives in hand.
Shyla, though, crouched down and met his gaze, reading his soul. In pain, his emotions flipped between fear, confusion, and hope he might live through this and not bleed to death.
“Tell me how many torques the priestess has,” she ordered.
There had been a dozen—nine now if they took his and Yarb’s, but he wasn’t telling this sun-kissed anything.
“How about the food and water in the storeroom? Is it safe to eat and drink?” she asked.
Of course not. The priestess was smart enough to poison it just in case he and Yarb failed. “Yes,” he said.
Shyla suppressed a sigh over his lie. He either didn’t believe what The Eyes could do or didn’t know the extent of their power. Good news for her. “Does the priestess know where we are?”
Until this encounter, the Blessed One worried the Invisible Swords had moved to another city. Learning they were still here and might eat the poisoned provisions would help him remain in her favor after this fiasco. “Yes.”
“How?”
He scrambled to come up with a convincing lie. “She has prayed to the Sun Goddess who has told her your location.” Hopefully the heathens would panic and leave their current hideout, making them easier to find.
