Page 7 of The Eyes of Tamburah
He straightened. “We need to get out of here.”
“Not until you tell me what it means.”
“I’ll tell you on the way.” He took the lantern from her and retraced their route at a quick trot.
When they reached the stairwell, she tugged on his arm. “Banqui.”
“Come on.” He mounted the steps, taking two at a time. At the top, he stopped to catch his breath. Then he said, “That’s the symbol for the Invisible Sword. I think they have The Eyes.”
“Who are they?” she asked.
“They formed back in Tamburah’s time. A secret organization that was credited with assassinating Tamburah. The group is rumored to still be in existence.”
“I’ve never heard of them. Sounds like a bedtime story.”
“You don’t know everything, Shyla,” Banqui said in angry exasperation.
Stung, she shot back, “I did a great deal of research on Tamburah in order to find the location of his temple and vault foryou. Don’t you think I would have read about this Invisible Sword?”
“The whole point of a secret organization is to keep it secret.”
“Then how doyouknow about them?”
“I—” He jerked his head up. “Did you hear that?”
“No.”
“Probably sand rats.” Banqui grasped her wrist. “Let’s get out of here. We can argue about this later.”
They entered Tamburah’s judgment room. When they were halfway across, a yell echoed. They both froze as figures poured from the other doors. Banqui’s grip tightened. “They found us.”
CHAPTER
2
As the figures drew closer, Shyla broke Banqui’s grip on her wrist. They wore turbans with veils, disguising their features, but short swords hung from their belts, which meant they worked for the Water Prince. She slid into a fighting stance without thought. And without any real hope. Fear swept through her. They were outnumbered. And soon to be surrounded.
But the Monks of Parzival had taken their duty as her guardians seriously. They trained her body in the Ways of the Yarin. Pushing the distracting emotions aside, she blocked the first set of hands reaching for her, ducked a fist, spun, kicked another attacker, and stepped in to deliver an uppercut to a chin. They responded with punches and grasps, but not with their weapons. A good sign they didn’t wish to harm or kill them.
Banqui was yanked from her side. He grunted with pain as the druk lantern crashed to the floor, spilling its glowing innards. “Do you know who—oof.”
The bodies closed in tighter, grabbing her arms, pulling them behind her. The hot ginger and anise scent of the desert clung to their black tunics and pants. She stomped on booted feet and kicked shins. Curses, hisses of pain, and groans were her reward for her efforts.
“Shyla stop, you’re going to get hurt,” Banqui called.
She froze. The hands gripping her relaxed just enough for her to yank her wrists free and break loose. For a heartbeat. Arms wrapped around her legs, pitching her forward. Her right temple connected with the edge of a stone bench. Then nothing.
* * *
The sound poured through her, teasing and inviting. A musical hum unlike anything she’d heard. It called to her on a primal level. Unable to resist the summons, she opened her eyes. And squeezed them shut. Bright, expensive trol lanterns seared her vision and woke a sharp throbbing in her right temple.
Her thoughts moved as if trudging through soft sand. What happened? Where was she? With her eyes closed, she determined a few facts. One, she reclined on a soft surface. Two, no boots on her feet, but she wore clothes. Three, the temperature of the room was perfect—dry and warm. Four, the air smelled fresh with a crisp clean scent mixed with the buttery odor from the lanterns. So far so good.
Through the slit in her eyelids, she figured out another clue. She was in an opulent room with silk tapestries on the walls and rugs covering the stone floor. The owner of the room had to be rich. And not well-off rich, but deep-level wealthy. Maybe even past level eighty. Not good. Not at all.
When she spotted the source of the hum, Shyla gawked at it despite the brilliant light. A single ribbon of water flowed from a spout jutting from the wall. It arced into a basin of glistening rocks arranged in a circle on the ground. Tiles covered the wall behind the fountain. The colored pieces had been artfully arranged in a mosaic of blues, starting with the darker hues at the base to a pale wash at the ceiling. Green tiles ringed the basin and a pattern of yellow circles dotted the floor.
An oasis? A mirage? The afterlife? It didn’t matter. Wishing to touch the decadent abundance of water, she struggled to a sitting position. A knife of pain stabbed her temple. Spots swirled in front of her as nausea climbed her throat. Lying back down to keep from passing out, she closed her eyes, breathing in deep.
