Page 40 of The Eyes of Tamburah
The old man sent her to the wrong place and was probably laughing at her right now. But then she looked across the gap. Resting against the wall was a long narrow plank, which meant someone lived on that side. Scorching hells. Shyla backtracked and sought a similar plank on her side. No luck.
What were her options? Search for a level that crossed the shaft and hope there was a way to return to this level on that side. That required too much time and effort. Find something she could use as a bridge. It wasn’t a common object and asking at the merchant tiers would draw unwanted attention. Jump over it? She eyed the distance—three, maybe four meters. No way. That left waiting for someone on the other side to use the plank to cross over.
Although upset about the delay, she had to admit the shaft provided an effective barrier to unwanted visitors. That side might be filled with a small city of people who were safe from the Water Prince’s guards.
Assuming the vagrants would not leave until angle zero, Shyla set up camp about six meters from the shaft. Once again she unrolled the gamelu skin on the ground behind her and covered the druk. She hoped the noise of setting the plank would alert her from the front. With nothing else to do, she slept.
A scratching sound dug its way into her dreams, pulling her from the safety of her childhood home. Voices roused her to full alert. Greenish druk light shone across the shaft. Two men wrestled with the plank while another held a rope attached to the front to guide it. As they maneuvered it over the gap, she grabbed her pack, the lantern, and the gamelu skin, and retreated down the tunnel until she reached an intersection.
Shyla peered around the edge to keep track of the men. They set the plank and crossed over. The spoke in low voices, but didn’t act overly concerned or wary of being discovered. No one remained behind to guard the bridge. They must be pretty confident that the Water Prince’s soldiers were unaware of their existence.
As they drew closer to the intersection, she moved back. If they turned this way, she’d have to hurry to stay beyond their light’s reach without alerting them. Difficult to do on hard stone. It was part of her training, but it’d been a while since she’d practiced it.
When they continued straight, she relaxed then eased over to the intersection, glancing in the corridor. Darkness pressed back. She waited. No one else crossed over. Now or never. She opened the lantern, and the green-tinted light spilled out. Once her eyes adjusted, she approached the bridge. About a meter wide, it appeared sturdy. Those three men had crossed without plunging to their deaths. Still… She tapped it with the toe of her boot. Other than a hollow knock, nothing happened. Well, except for her heart’s efforts to escape her chest.
Using a calming Yarin technique, she drew strength. All she needed to do was walk forward. Not difficult. So why did her legs refuse to move. She huffed. No time for this nonsense. She pressed her lips together and strode onto the plank.
The thin plank vibrated under the soles of her boots as the air rushed past her, threatening to take her wrap with it. The tang of wet sand mixed with the smells of gamelu meat. She clutched her possessions tight. Everything seemed fragile in the moment, as if she’d already lost her balance, but her mind refused to believe it. Strange.
Those unsettling thoughts and the strong wind stopped once she reached solid ground. She checked that her hair remained covered then set off to find the commune.
The old man had been right about the maze of tunnels. She stopped at each intersection and inspected the ground for footprints, listened for voices, sniffed the air for living smells, and covered her druk, seeking a faint sheen of light in the distance. The popular tunnels were easy to spot, but she marked each turn with chalk just in case.
After a few angles, she picked up the distant echo of voices and the blackness ahead of her lantern thinned. As she drew closer, the signs of the community were evident. But when she didn’t alert any guards, she worried. Were they really that confident that an intruder couldn’t get this far? If so, they were about to get a nasty surprise. Or were they just that good—able to mask the sounds of their passage? Then she’d be the one on the receiving end of a surprise.
Shyla turned into a tunnel. Up ahead, three people holding a couple druks headed toward her. She froze, unsure what to do at first, but realized this was the perfect opportunity. Setting her lantern on the floor to free her hands, she waited. It didn’t take them long to notice her.
“Hey,” one man said, hurrying forward. “Who are you?”
“What are you doing here?” the woman asked with a strident, almost fearful tone.
Knives flashed—not smooth manufactured blades, but handmade pieces of sharpened metal with jagged edges.
“How did you get in here?” a young man demanded. He held a weapon in each fist.
Shyla showed him her empty hands. “I’m looking for Vencel.”
“Why?” the woman asked.
“That’s none of your business,” she said.
The young man pointed the tip of one of his knives at her throat. “Want to try that again?”
She resisted the urge to knock it from his grip. “All right. Relax. I just need some information and was told Vencel might have it. That’s all. I’m not a threat.”
“Yeah right.” The tip pricked her skin.
“Who are you?” the first man asked again.
She doubted her name would mean anything to these people. Instead she slowly moved her arms and uncovered her hair. Even in the green druk light the yellow strands were noticeable.
“Seven hells, it’s the sun-kissed.” The man dragged a large hand over his short black beard.
The young man stepped back, but kept his weapons aimed at her. Now that she wasn’t in immediate danger, she studied the three. At first glance, they appeared to be ordinary citizens of Zirdai, but the fearful expressions and slightly hunched postures didn’t quite match. However, they smelled better than the others on level sixteen and, even though he was lean like his companions, the young man’s muscles strained his tunic.
“Are the guards after you?” the woman asked.
“Did you lead the guards here?” the young man snapped.
