Page 47 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“Look, you’re in no condition to be on your own right now,” he said. “We have water and food and medical supplies.”
“No. I can take care of myself.”
“Come on, Jay, leave her,” the woman said. And when he didn’t respond, she shrugged. “I’m going.”
He rounded on her. “Stay put,” he growled. “The deacons move in packs of four. This is only going to work if we stick together, Gurice.”
Turning back to Shyla, he said, “I have your pack. Please let me help you.”
“Do you have Mojag too?”
“Yes, and something better.”
She brightened. “A knife I can stab the little sand rat with?”
Gurice laughed. “I like her.”
“I know the location of the black river.”
She blinked at him, then demanded, “How do you know about that?”
“I’ll tell you after we’re safe. Just trust me. Please. I won’t toss you into an air shaft. Promise.”
“Here.” Gurice handed Shyla her knife. “Come on, guys.”
Jayden didn’t hesitate, but the others reluctantly gave her theirs.
“Now you have all our weapons,” Gurice said. “You can scream and call the guards to arrest us. If we wanted to hurt you, we wouldn’t have rescued you.”
Well…when she put it that way. “All right, but I’m keeping the knives.” Not that she ever fought with one. The Ways of the Yarin focused on defensive versus offensive fighting.
“Figures,” Gurice muttered.
With two in front and two behind her, Shyla tried to keep track of the tunnels, stairwells, and ramps they traversed. They descended a number of levels, finally ending up on level sixty-two. The druks shone purple and made their green robes appear brown.
When they reached a settlement, Shyla no longer cared if they ambushed her. Every muscle ached. The cut on her thigh had stopped bleeding, but dried blood glued the fabric of her pants to her skin, every step a sharp hot poker of pain as it pulled. Her face throbbed and the swelling around her right eye made it difficult to see. And when did the cavern start to spin?
You’re safe.
What was that? She didn’t have the energy to care nor to knock away the hands that cupped her elbows, guiding her. They entered a room.
You’re safe.
Other people lay on cushions. Some were wrapped in bandages, some had splints, and some had both. Shyla was lowered onto something soft. The knives clattered to the floor and the last thing she saw was Jayden’s face hovering over her.
She was safe.
* * *
Shyla woke with a cool cloth pressed to her forehead. And for a brief blessed moment, nothing hurt. Then she moved and every cut, bruise, and the stab wound flared to painful life. A groan escaped her lips before she clamped them together.
Pulling the cloth off, she tried to sit up.
“Rest, rest,” an older man said, pushing down on her shoulders.
She collapsed back. Either he was super strong or she was super weak. “But…”
He waited. His bushy white eyebrows floated like velblouds above his kind gray eyes.
