Page 103 of The City of Zirdai
“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.
