“I’m trying,” Kaden replied, but the Ishien were already advancing, moving slowly down the hallway, obviously enjoying the sight of their trapped quarry. And there were more behind, more than enough to kill them all a dozen times over. Even as Kaden stared, another figure rounded the corner at a full run, sword spinning in his hands.

No, he realized, shock blazing over his skin before he managed to snuff it out. Not a sword, a spear.

A naczal.

The first two men went down without a sound, one with a slit throat, the other stabbed through the chest. The third Rampuri Tan hamstrung. The Ishien fell, trying to bring his sword to bear as Tan shattered his skull. Hellelen stood a moment longer, lips pulled back in a snarl. He feinted right, danced left, but Tan ignored both motions, lashing out with one end of his spear, then spinning it in a great, vicious arc that hacked halfway through Hellelen’s neck. The monk didn’t even watch the body slump to the floor, turning instead to Kaden.

“You are a fool,” he said.

“There’s a way out,” Kaden insisted, stabbing a finger at the pool behind them.

It was less than no explanation. It didn’t explain Kiel or Triste, didn’t begin to tell how the motionless water could lead to safety, but after a glance at the dark surface, Tan seemed to understand.

“You are trusting your life to a Csestriim,” he said grimly.

“There was no other choice,” Kaden spat. “I’m not leaving Triste.”

“We are not all what you fear,” Kiel said quietly. “I am not Tan’is. Not Asherah.”

The monk locked gazes with the prisoner, then shook his head curtly. “It hardly matters now. The dice are already thrown.”

“Stay close to us,” Kaden said. “In the tunnels.”

“No,” Tan replied. “There is no time. I will cover your retreat.”

“You don’t have to—” Kaden began, but even as the words left his lips, Matol charged around the corner, a dozen Ishien flanking him, then skidded to a stop at the sight of his quarry. He paused, flexed his free hand, then smiled.

“I will flay the skin from each of you piece by dripping piece.”

“You are welcome to try,” Tan said, turning toward him, the naczal light in his hands. “Go, Kaden.”

“I don’t—”

“Go.”

The vaniate came grudgingly, but it came at last. While Tan held back the Ishien, his spear bright and faster than thought, Kaden found the trance, dropped into it as though into a deep well while Matol roared, bodies crumpled, and blood ran over the stone.

“Follow closely,” Kiel said, then stepped into the pool.