The City of Zirdai

by Maria V. Snyder

  Shyla bit down on a cry.

  “Go ahead, Sun-Kissed. Stop me from killing you with your magic.”

  She’d like nothing better. But the beast seemed immune.

  He knelt next to her and tugged down the collar of his uniform, exposing a platinum torque. “Took this from an Arch Deacon.” He grinned.

  Terror seized her lungs, forcing all the air from them. And while she couldn’t read his soul, there was no doubt that he not only planned to kill her but would enjoy it.

  “This is going to be our little secret, something you can share with the Sun Goddess when you see her. Because you can’t stop me.”

  “But I can,” Rendor said.

  Yates straightened, yanking his knife from Shyla’s leg. A hiss of pain escaped her lips. But when he pulled his sword free, she sucked in a deep breath. Without the blade in her leg, she was able to roll over and prop up on her elbows.

  Rendor faced the captain. He too held a sword and a knife. His hard gaze promised no mercy. Her relief over his arrival was short-lived as worry for him dominated. No way was Rendor fully healed from being skewered by two swords even though it had been over sixty sun jumps ago. Also, as the captain of the guard, Yates was the best swordsman in Zirdai.

  She wanted to tell him to leave, to save himself, but his posture radiated stubborn determination, which meant she’d have more luck convincing a stone statue than Rendor.

  The two men stood in the middle of an intersection. Shyla hadn’t noticed before—probably due to running for her life—but it was one of the bigger ones with tunnels branching off in six different directions. Two druk lanterns illuminated the space and glinted off the blood pooling under her knee. She sat up and bent her injured leg. Lacing her fingers together, she pressed her hands to the wound to staunch the blood, pulling her thigh against her chest for added pressure.

  “You’ve been replaced, Rendor. You’re weak. A traitor,” Yates said.

  “And you’re not the true captain of the guard, Yates. You were appointed.” Rendor’s derision was clear. “All the guards know you never fought for your position so you’ll never be their captain. Not while I’m still alive.”

  “I can fix that right now.” Yates lunged, stabbing his sword toward Rendor’s heart.

  Their blades crossed with a loud clang as Rendor blocked the thrust. Yates stepped in close and jabbed with his knife. Rendor pivoted his hips. Shyla’s blood on the tip of Yates’ weapon left a streak of red on Rendor’s tunic. Then the fight began in earnest.

  Both large and muscular, they were evenly matched and equally well trained. Yates was stronger, but Rendor was quicker. They fought with brutal, efficient strikes, not wasting energy, not even speaking. It was silent except for the ring of steel, the shuffle of boots, and the grunts of the men that echoed off the hard stone walls. No finesse touched their moves, just a mindless drive to get past the other’s defense and kill him.

  Shyla watched with a fascinated horror. The air heated with their exertions. The musky odor of male sweat reached her as their tunics dampened and their faces shone. Their breaths rasped. As the fight extended, Rendor’s injuries became apparent—a weakness in his left arm and a slight hitch in his right leg. Yates wasted no time in pressing his advantage. He knocked the sword from Rendor’s hand. It landed on the opposite side of the intersection. In other words, as far from Shyla as possible.

  Fearing for Rendor’s life, she rummaged in her pack—not caring about her bloody hands—searching for a weapon or anything she could use to help him. There was nothing but her water skin and scarf. The water might make Yates slip, but it would also endanger Rendor. She wished she still had Tamburah’s statue. It was heavy enough to knock Yates out. If she could stand, she could wrap her scarf around his neck—

  She almost smacked herself. Why didn’t she think of this before? She needed to get Rendor’s attention but didn’t want him to lose focus either—it could cost him his life. Using the wall to keep her balance, Shyla lurched to her feet. A hot poker of pain shot through her leg.

  A loud clang sounded and Rendor’s knife went flying. Rendor grabbed Yates’ wrists and moved in close to him—too close for the captain to use his sword. Yates dropped the sword and broke Rendor’s grip on his right wrist. Then both men struggled for control of the remaining knife. Rendor dug his fingers into Yates’ forearm. Yates fought to break free, swinging Rendor around. They both hit the wall and the knife was knocked loose.

  The fight turned into a wrestling match. But Yates was stronger and knew where Rendor’s weak spots were. He slammed Rendor into the wall. Shyla winced in sympathy as Rendor’s head bounced with a horrible thud. Dazed by the blow, Rendor lost his grip on Yates’ wrists. The captain wrapped his hands around Rendor’s neck and squeezed.

  Rendor finally looked over Yates’ shoulder and met her gaze. Regret filled his. She yanked at her collar. “Pull it off!” she yelled.

  Rendor stopped trying to pry Yates’ fingers from his throat—which he should have known not to do, but he did just suffer a blow to the head. Instead, he reached for Yates’ throat and ripped off the torque.

  Drawing all her strength, she thrust out both hands and pushed with all her might.

  Sleep!

  Yates toppled to the ground, pulling Rendor down with him. Shyla limped over to help. By the time she reached him, he’d already removed Yates’ hands from his neck. He lay there panting.

  “How long…will he…sleep,” Rendor asked between gasps.

  “Not long.”

  Rendor clambered to his feet, but he swayed as the color leaked from his face. She tried to steady him but with only one good leg she couldn’t support his weight let alone her own. They both toppled to the ground. She landed on top of him and he grabbed her instinctively.

  “Maybe you should catch your breath before trying to stand,” Shyla said.

  He grunted and closed his eyes.

  “My weight on your chest is probably not helping.”

  Instead of releasing her, he held her tighter. His body heat warmed her and, surprisingly, she didn’t mind the strong sweaty odor of Rendor—a mix of male musk with a hint of ginger. She breathed it in. It was a nice distraction from the throbbing in her leg. The hard vibrations from Rendor’s heart eased after a few moments. He opened his eyes and relaxed his grip.

  “Better?” she asked, sliding off him.

  “Yes.” He sat up and stood. This time he remained standing. “Can you walk?”

  She held out a hand. Rendor grabbed it and pulled her, gently, to her feet. Putting weight on her bad leg caused considerable pain but it didn’t collapse under her—a small victory. She tied her wrap around her leg to staunch the blood and tried a few steps on her own. “Yes, but not far.”

  The good news—Orla’s commune was only three levels away. The bad news—they had to climb up.

  Rendor supported her as she limped with slow agonizing steps. His desire to just carry her was obvious with every flex of his muscles. They finally reached the commune.

  “Get Zhek,” Rendor barked at the first person they encountered. He escorted her to one of Zhek’s examination rooms and helped her onto the table. Once she was settled, he pulled away.

  “Don’t go,” she said to him, grabbing his hand.

  He hesitated. That hurt more than the knife wound. Yet, he had come to her rescue, almost losing his life in order to save hers.

  “Guess I’ll just have to get into trouble again,” she said and released her grip. “Do you think Yates—”

  “Don’t joke about that.” His harsh words rasped with fear and anger.

  Exhaustion had caught up to her, making it difficult to block his emotions. “Then stay.”

  “I can’t.”

  His conflict was clear, though it was mixed with another deeper longing and, underneath it all, passion, maybe love. It was too complex to sort out and she wouldn’t intrude by probing his soul.

  She met his gaze, remembering the argument they’d
had—it seemed like circuits ago. She didn’t have the words then, but she knew what to say now. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For not responding to the idiot in the common room. For worrying about what the other Invisible Swords thought about us. For not jumping into your arms when I had the chance.”

  He stared at her for an eternity. “You—”

  “Out of the way, you big brute,” Zhek said, pushing past Rendor.

  Orla followed the healer, crowding into the small room. Zhek grabbed Shyla’s hands and tsked over her raw palms. But when he spotted the wound in her leg, he ordered everyone out. Rendor left with Orla, taking his unspoken words with him. She doubted he’d return. And while that knowledge ached deep inside her, it no longer cut as sharply into her heart. She’d said what she needed to say. Although she never thanked him for saving her life. Actually…she had when she saved his by sending Yates to sleep.

  Zhek’s administrations yanked her painfully into the present. He grumbled as he washed her wounds. When he examined the gash on the back of her leg, she about jumped off the table. He rubbed a numbing paste on it and she showed considerable restraint by not snapping at him for not doing that first.

  “At least the blade went in and out clean,” he said.

  “Clean?”

  “It wasn’t twisted while inside you. That would have caused more damage and extended the time you needed to heal.” He sighed loudly. “Not that you’ll allow it to fully heal before injuring yourself again.”

  He made it sound as if she did it on purpose just to annoy him. She wisely remained quiet while he finished patching her up. He called for one of the vagrants to help her to her room. As the young man supported her through the common areas of the commune, she searched for Rendor. Shyla noted the time—angle two-ninety. But, as she had suspected, Rendor was gone. For once, it would have been nice to be wrong.

  When they reached her room, she remembered her recruits and Jayden. “Do you know where Jayden is?” she asked the young man.

  “I think he left to gather information.”

  “Can you tell him to come to my room when he gets back?”

  “Sure.” He helped her onto the cushion and left.

  Shyla squirmed into a comfortable position. Pain bit into her each time she moved her leg. Soon after she settled, Zhek arrived with a cup of his special tea.

  “I promise to drink this once Jayden returns,” she said.

  “That might not be for a while.”

  “Do you have something for the pain?”

  He considered. “You promise to stay put while waiting?” He fluttered a hand toward the door. “And not go out visiting?”

  “Yes.”

  Zhek grunted and left. When he didn’t return, she eyed the tea. Her encounter with the guards and Yates had left her without any energy. Sleep would be best, but she needed to talk to Jayden. Before she could decide, Zhek returned with a glass of red water.

  “Red?” she asked when he handed it to her.

  “For the pain.”

  “Thanks.” She drank it.

  He jabbed a finger at the cooling tea. “Remember your promise.”

  It didn’t take long for the pain to lessen and disappear. No wonder Zhek worried she’d leave. But her exhaustion caught up to her and she dozed until Jayden woke her around angle three-forty.

  “What happened? Zhek said you were stabbed. By who?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I need you to meet with the recruits at angle three-fifty-five and escort them to our headquarters.”

  “All right, but I want a full report when I return.”

  She raised the cup of Zhek’s now cold tea and saluted him.

  “Cute.” He left.

  After downing the liquid, she set the cup on the floor and waited for the peace of oblivion to overtake her.

  When she woke, Jayden was sitting by her door. He leaned against the wall and looked exhausted. “How do you feel?”

  Shyla rolled over and groaned as all her injuries flared to life. Stiff and sore, she tried to sit up but then gave in, plopping back.

  “That good?” Jayden stood. “Should I get Zhek?”

  “No. I’m fine.” To prove it she managed to sit up without wincing. “How long did I sleep?”

  “An entire sun jump plus sixty angles.”

  Angle forty already? She’d slept through her chance to leave Zirdai at angle zero.

  “Have you gotten any sleep?” she asked him.

  “Some.”

  “The recruits?”

  “All safely transferred to headquarters.” He frowned. “You could have warned me there would be so many.”

  “Did all twelve show up?”

  “There were sixteen.”

  “Sixteen? Does that include Wazir and his three family members?”

  “No, they wanted to stay here a couple more sun jumps.”

  “Sixteen? Are you sure?”

  He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I count good.”

  “Sorry. It’s just—”

  “You weren’t expecting so many?”

  “An understatement.”

  “I doubt we’ll get any more. The deacons are furiously searching for their missing members. You probably should stay here a few more sun jumps.”

  “There’s too much to do.”

  “Like figuring out if Yates told the Water Prince about the torques?”

  “How do you know Yates had a torque?”

  Jayden reached into his bag. “Rendor told me when he gave me this.” He pulled the broken platinum necklace from it.

  “From what Yates said and the fact the prince wasn’t wearing one, I don’t believe he’s shared his knowledge about the torques.”

  “Ah, the captain might not be as loyal as we thought.” Jayden fiddled with the torque as his gaze grew distant. “Perhaps we could recruit him.”

  “We can’t. Yates is very loyal…to Yates.”

  “That could still be beneficial. At a crucial moment, he might decide to save his own skin instead of the prince’s.”

  “We can hope.” They shared a grin.

  “Tell me what led to you getting stabbed by Yates.”

  She filled him in on the professor’s ambush and the prince’s offer. “An exchange—me for Hanif and Kaveri.”

  “He’s bluffing. He won’t harm the monks,” he said.

  “Not yet. But I fear if he gets desperate he will.” And she couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Jayden was quiet a moment. Then he said, “Since we’re stuck here another sun jump, I’m going to visit my commune and get some sleep. You probably should rest as well or Zhek won’t be happy.” He headed for the door.

  “When is Zhek ever happy?” she asked in frustration.

  He paused and glanced back. “After a successful birth. He’s all smiles.”

  It was hard to imagine. And she wasn’t going to have a baby just to witness it. Anyway, it wasn’t like she had to worry about that as Rendor…well, she’d no idea if she’d ever see him again, much less do…that. Besides, there was something that men did to prevent pregnancy. Would Rendor know? Argh, why was she thinking about this? About him? She needed to focus on the heaping mound of problems the Invisible Sword still needed to solve. And she wasn’t going to solve them lying here all sun jump.

  Moving was difficult, but she managed to get upright without falling over. Putting her weight on her injured leg ignited a fire behind her thigh. She ignored it and took a few lurching steps. Shyla worked the stiffness from her limbs but was unable to walk without a considerable limp. She needed—a cane!

  She hobbled from her room and aimed for one of the tables in the large common room. Only a few people milled about. Most were either out or asleep. She spotted a familiar figure.

  “Ilan,” she called.

  The boy skidded to a stop and came over. “Do you want to buy some rats?”

  Did she? Their water
supply was safe for now. “Not yet. But I need a cane. Do you know if there’s one I can use?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll be right back.” He dashed off.

  While she waited, she spotted Zhek carrying a tray of food into her room. This was going to hurt more than the stab wound. Sure enough, Zhek stormed out. He glanced around, found her, and strode over. She braced for the lecture and wasn’t disappointed. At least he brought the food with him. Except she remembered that he had no qualms about putting his sleeping medicine into a patient’s food.

  At the end of his tirade he said, “Well? What do you have to say?”

  “Can you please give me more of that red water for the pain?”

  Zhek sputtered. When Ilan arrived with a cane, it was too much for the healer. He pressed his lips together and left. Guess that was a no to the pain relief.

  Ilan knew better than to ask about Zhek. Instead, he handed her the cane. Made of blue alabaster, a lightweight but strong stone, it hooked at the end to form a handle. There were small ridges on the underside that helped her get a better grip. A leather plug covered the bottom of the cane to reduce noise.

  “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.”