Jayden ushered them inside and closed the door. They paused to listen. Silence filled the tunnel. She hoped that was a good sign that no one waited to ambush them. Once again Jayden took the lead. He’d covered almost all of the druk; its weakened light stretched only a meter in front of them. Soon they reached the living area. Dark red stains were soaked into the floor. Jayden’s expression hardened as he stepped around them.

“The storeroom’s this way,” he whispered.

Shyla and Mojag stayed close behind him. Jayden shone the light in the various rooms as they passed. All of them had been ransacked. They entered a large open area that appeared to have been a common room. The stone tables had been knocked over and broken. Jayden wove through the destruction, heading toward a tunnel on the opposite side. After a series of turns, he stopped at a T-intersection where another hidden door blended in.

“This is it.” He set the druk on the ground, then pulled his knife from his belt.

Mojag yanked his free as well. Shyla didn’t carry a weapon. Instead, she slid her feet into a fighting stance and raised her arms so her hands could protect her face and chest from an attack. Trained by the monks in the Ways of the Yarin, Shyla had learned defensive techniques that were very effective against swords and knives. Rendor had offered to teach her how to use a sword so she could handle multiple opponents. Deciding that was a good idea, she planned to take him up on it once they had some time. Unfortunately, that was in as short supply as food and water.

Jayden found the latch and opened the door. The three of them braced for an attack.

They weren’t disappointed.

Two

Two Arch Deacons rushed from the storeroom. Their knives glinted in the weak light.

“Left,” Jayden called, pushing Mojag behind him. The boy was handy with a blade, but not trained to go toe to toe with an Arch Deacon.

That meant the guy on the right was Shyla’s. He lunged, aiming the tip of his long skinny knife at her chest. Surprised, she shuffled back. He pressed forward, stabbing out again. Seven hells, the big man was fast. Unease swirled around her heart. Perhaps the theory that the priestess wanted her alive wasn’t accurate. Shyla met his gray-eyed gaze long enough to know he wore a protective torque.

Twisting sideways, she knocked his next thrust wide and grabbed his wrist with both her hands. He jerked his knife arm, pulling her toward him and slightly off balance. The man was as strong as Rendor. She let go, but not quick enough. His punch missed her jaw, but the knuckles on his fist slammed into her shoulder. Pain exploded as the rest of her arm went numb.