Shattering the Ley

by Joshua Palmatier

  Ischua nodded, but Dalton still sensed something left unsaid. He considered letting it go—Ischua obviously wasn’t going to bring whatever it was up without some prodding—but he heaved a mental sigh and said, “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  Ischua waved a hand and grimaced. “Nothing of importance. But with all of the violence lately, violence placed at the Kormanley’s feet, I’ve begun to wonder. . . .”

  Impatience nudged Dalton. “Wonder what?”

  Ischua met his gaze squarely. “Wonder what we—the real Kormanley, not the violent sect that’s taken our name—really want. We claim to want a return to the natural order, to the way things were before Baron Arent seized control of the ley through Augustus’ Nexus. But is that true? Before Arent subdued the other Barons, the world was a much harsher place. The Baronies were a bloody place to live, each Baron vying for control of the other Barons’ lands. The threat of an attack hung over everyone—Baron and common man alike. They were dark times. Food was scarce, disease rampant, mortality high. Most did not live beyond forty. It was unimaginable to live as long as I have.”

  And how old are you? Dalton asked himself. For the first time, he really looked at Ischua, saw the age that lined his face, the blotches that marred the backs of his hands, the weariness reflected in his eyes. If he had to guess, he’d say Ischua was nearing eighty, almost old enough to have lived during the time he described.

  But what Ischua had said disturbed him more. “Are you saying you think the Baron’s abuse of the ley is justified? That he and Augustus should remain in power?”

  Ischua hardened. “No. Obviously the ley is being misused.”

  Dalton relaxed. “Then what?”

  “I’m saying that some good has come out of Baron Arent’s thirst for power, that our lives are better in some respects. Even you use the ley, Dalton, to run your printing presses, to heat water for your tea. You would not be able to do either of those things if the ley were returned to what it was before Augustus and the Nexus. There must be some sort of middle ground between what the ley was before and what it is now.”

  Before Dalton could respond, they heard movement in the outer room. Both started, then stood as something outside crashed to the floor with a rattle. Dalton’s hand drifted toward the left-side drawer of the desk where he kept a small knife.

  A moment later the door to the office burst open and Tyrus stumbled into the room, catching himself on the desk. His left arm was stained with spilt black ink, but his body trembled with excitement. “The Dogs seized everyone in Plinth at the meeting last night!”

  The words sizzled through Dalton like lightning. “What do you mean?” he spat, though he’d heard, even over the sudden increased noise of the presses. Ischua stepped forward and closed the door again.

  Tyrus drew in a steadying breath, half laughed, then swallowed and said, “I heard from Calven. The cell in Plinth was captured last night. The Dogs knew about the meeting. They raided Lord Gatterly’s estate and took everyone there. They have them all in the Amber Tower right now. This is what we’ve been hoping for! The splinter group is broken!”

  Dalton bit back a curse with effort, anger boiling up from his core. He felt it coloring his face, the heat in his skin tangible. He spun away, forced himself to face the wall so that neither Ischua nor Tyrus would see the rage, and tried to think. Behind him, Tyrus babbled more details to Ischua, his excitement grating, but Dalton had to remind himself that Tyrus thought he was part of the effort to bring the Kormanley down and that this was what he’d been working for the past four years. But they were so close! The attack on the Baronial Meeting was the culmination of months of work, of careful planning, of maneuvering people into place. It couldn’t be falling apart now.

  Dalton gripped the edge of the desk with one hand until his knuckles turned white and concentrated on breathing. Lord Gatterly’s cell had been crucial to the plan, but it wasn’t the only cell he had left, and none of the members had connections to the other cells. Even Lord Gatterly’s wealth, while useful, couldn’t compare to what had been provided by their Benefactor. He could shift men from the other cells into the positions to be held by Gatterly’s men in the tower at the meeting. Their access had already been set up, everything was in place, he simply needed to send the orders to different cells.

  Calmed, he released his grip on the desk and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead before schooling his face into a gratified smile and turned to Ischua and Tyrus. Both were watching him with odd looks of confusion.

  “This is excellent news, Tyrus,” he said. “Hopefully, the Dogs will be able to track down the rest of the group.”

  Tyrus’ face lit up. “Does this mean I no longer need to deal with Calven and the rest?”

  Dalton shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” At Tyrus’ crushed look, he added, “We want to make certain the Dogs find them all, don’t we? But I don’t think you’ll have to deal with them for much longer.”

  Tyrus grunted, face twisted into an angry grimace. But he sighed and muttered, “I’ll let you know what else I learn from Calven and the others about those taken.”

  Tyrus left and Dalton shifted toward Ischua. The old Tender held himself stiffly, the confusion of a moment before still touching his eyes. Irritation flared through Dalton’s skin again—at Ischua’s sudden thoughtfulness and his own inability to control himself at Tyrus’ news.

  “You’ll keep watch on Kara?” he asked sharply.

  Ischua nodded. “Of course. Marcus as well.”

  “Very well.” The note of dismissal was clear, even though he had never used such a tone with Ischua before. The Tender’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he withdrew, the clatter of the printing presses outside loud as he left the door open behind him.

  Dalton turned away, fingers drumming against the desk; the noise of the presses had long become background noise for him, almost soothing. But the Dogs . . .

  The Dogs were getting too close. It was time to withdraw himself from the splinter group, to sever his weakest ties, including Tyrus—especially Tyrus—and protect himself. At least until he could determine exactly how badly the Kormanley had been compromised.

  He’d send Tyrus with the others to the tower, make certain he was one of the casualties. Since his complicity in the bombing of the North Umber ley station, Tyrus had become a liability. It ate at him. Dalton had seen it in his eyes, had heard it in his grumbling response to the order to remain in contact with Calven a few moments before. He was close to breaking, and Dalton couldn’t risk him going to the Dogs and implicating Dalton himself as Kormanley.

  No, better to eliminate Tyrus and focus more on infiltrating the Wielders. Leave the Kormanley cells to finish off the current attack and then reorganize afterward.

  He settled into the seat behind his desk and began to plan out the new orders. He’d have to set them in motion quickly, with Lord Gatterly’s group taken. And he couldn’t forget to set Dierdre’s sights on Marcus. If they couldn’t break Augustus’ and the Baron’s hold on the ley directly, perhaps they could do it from within.

  “Preparations for the Baronial Meeting are proceeding well,” Baron Arent said, sifting through the papers that littered the massive table before him. He picked up a sheet and handed it to Prime Wielder Augustus, standing near him at the edge of the table. There were no seats. The table was inlaid with a myriad of stones in various shades depicting all of the districts of Erenthrall, the layout of the streets, the locations of the towers and subtowers and nodes. The Urate and Tiana Rivers gleamed blue through the sundry browns, grays, and duns. Quartz glinted in the light from the ley globes hovering overhead. A few paces distant, another table mapped out the Baronies and the known world, including the Demesnes to the west and the Temerite lands to the east. The lands to the south and the western continent weren’t as detailed, but the major cities were denoted and labeled, especially those that
contained their own Nexi run by Wielders controlled by Augustus. The network of major ley lines between the cities were etched in white across the continents, like a spider’s web across the ocean and land. “Are the Wielders’ plans on schedule?”

  Augustus scanned the page once and set it aside. “All of the displays of the ley’s power have been set up and are being practiced and tested with Master Sovaan’s approval and supervision. It should convince the Barons that they should continue their allegiance to you and the Wielders that control their Nexi. There will be the usual display of power from the Nexus itself, but the emphasis this year will be on the Flyers’ Tower. We want the Barons to covet our seizure of the skies and the near limitless possibilities that it represents. We haven’t had a Baronial Meeting since the tower was sown, and some of the Barons haven’t seen it yet, nor the flying ships.”

  “I assume you have arranged a tour of the city by flyer for all of the visiting lords, ladies, and Barons.”

  “Of course.”

  “And what of the distortions?”

  Augustus met Arent’s gaze. “The distortions will not present a problem while the Barons visit.”

  Arent didn’t move, but he allowed himself a small frown, allowed the hint of a threat to tinge his voice. “Then the rumors I have heard are true? The Wielders—purple jackets, no less—have discovered a way to deal with the distortions?”

  Augustus straightened. “I do not know what you have heard, but yes, it would appear that there is a way to repair them once they have formed. One of the Wielders, a young girl who only recently earned her jacket, and another purple jacket, stumbled across one of the distortions as it formed. In an attempt to save a woman trapped in it, the girl heedlessly attempted to fix it. From what I have discovered, she succeeded only partially.”

  “She failed only because the distortion closed before she had a chance to finish,” Arent corrected.

  Augustus’ expression soured, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That is true.”

  Arent had heard much about the two Wielders involved and knew that Augustus had tried to keep the incident quiet—and not because this was the first distortion to harm someone. Arent didn’t know what Augustus’ intentions truly were, but making him aware that Arent wasn’t blind to the situation could do no harm. Let him think that Arent knew much more. They had worked together more or less amicably for decades, but it never hurt to remind Augustus of where he’d gotten the resources to create his precious Nexus in the first place. Without Baron Arent, he’d still be a lesser member of the University, toying with the ley under the mentors’ disdainful eyes, not controlling a network more powerful than anything those same mentors had ever built.

  “Why did you not approach me about this incident before this?”

  “It is still being investigated.” At Arent’s raised eyebrows, Augustus waved a hand dismissively, but shifted as if agitated. “We’ve spoken to the girl. Based on what she said, it appears that we may be able to repair the distortions, but only if we get to them before they close. I have ordered the Wielders in two districts to form up in pairs to patrol the streets, listening for the high-pitched noise that precedes the distortion’s formation while searching the Tapestry for any indications that it is being torn or shredded. As yet, the patrols have not been fortunate enough to run into a distortion in time to attempt to repair it. I have been waiting to report on our progress when there is something of significance to report.”

  Arent held Augustus’ gaze a long moment, the only sound in the room their own breathing. When Augustus did not back down, he dropped his gaze toward the map. “What two districts are you using? Show me the patrols that you’ve set up.”

  “Eld and Green. I’ve had the Wielders running in circuits, along here and here.” Augustus traced the paths on the map and Arent grunted. They fell into discussing alternate strategies, Arent trying to shift the focus of the effort toward Grass and the districts the Barons were more likely to frequent while they were here, Augustus pointing out that some of the districts had yet to exhibit any fluctuations in the Tapestry or the ley at all, that they should focus on those that had.

  In the middle of the argument, the wide double doors to the room burst open and Captain Daedallen stalked into the room and headed directly toward the table, his eyes locked on Arent, not even flickering toward Augustus. This dismissal of the Prime Wielder caught Arent’s attention more than the urgency of Daedallen’s step.

  “We need to review all of the Dogs’ assignments and placements for the Baronial Meeting. Right now.”

  Arent pushed back from the table. “And your reason for this upheaval? We established those orders weeks ago. The Baronial Meeting is only three days away.”

  Daedallen’s mouth worked as if he were chewing on something bitter. He glared around the room, made certain the doors had closed behind him, then said curtly, “The Kormanley have infiltrated the Dogs.”

  Shock spiked cleanly from Arent’s neck down through his feet and his muscles went rigid. Anger followed, as swift and cold as lightning. “You’re certain?”

  “I’m certain. It’s been verified by at least three of the Kormanley we captured last night at Lord Gatterly’s estate, along with Gatterly himself. I would have doubted his word alone, but four of them, interrogated separately?” He shook his head. “They’ve done it. Somehow, they’ve turned some of the Dogs . . . or planted one of their own among us through our training.”

  “Lord Gatterly was Kormanley?”

  Both Arent and Daedallen turned toward Augustus.

  “Yes,” Daedallen said. “He kept an entire gods-damned staging room for them beneath his estate.”

  Augustus glowered, but before he could retort, Arent cut in. “I have the assignments of the Dogs here.” He searched through the papers on the table, pushed to one side while he and the Prime Wielder went over the new patrols, his mind working fast. “We’ll have to change the entire schedule, reassign all of the Dogs to different locations. The Kormanley have had weeks to prepare, to organize.”

  “Lord Gatterly said that whatever they are planning—and all indications are that it has something to do with the Amber Tower and the Barons, although we don’t know what—has already been set in motion.”

  “Changing the roles the Dogs will play may halt that. Unless you have another suggestion?”

  Daedallen scowled. “No. None. Except to remove anyone who became a Dog within the last five years from patrolling near the Tower that day. If the Kormanley inserted one of their own into the training, it would have to have been during that time period.”

  “The Kormanley have been around much longer than that,” Augustus pointed out.

  “They were not as organized or as active before then.”

  “But we’ve seen they have long-reaching plans.”

  Daedallen glared at the Prime Wielder, who merely shrugged.

  “Here is the list,” Arent said, spreading out three sheets across one end of the table. “We should move all of those currently assigned positions inside the Amber Tower to patrols in the outer districts.”

  Daedallen nodded. “And call all of those without back in.”

  “How many of these men became Dogs within the last five years?”

  The captain scanned the list and grimaced. “Too many. We won’t have enough Dogs to cover the Tower without them.”

  “Then select those you trust for the Tower only, those you would risk your life with inside the Great Hall.”

  “Done.”

  “Bring me the revised assignments when you are done.”

  Daedallen collected papers. “I’ll have them finished by this evening for your approval.”

  “Very well. But do not advise the Dogs of the changes until the day of the Baronial Meeting.”

  “Have you learned who is supporting the Kormanley?” Augustus asked.

  �
�Not yet. Lord Gatterly has not been . . . cooperative in that respect. But we have already coerced the others into revealing more of their fellow conspirators’ names.”

  “You’re running out of time.”

  Daedallen stiffened, tension thrumming through his body, but Arent laid a restraining hand on his arm, turning on Augustus.

  “And what of the Wielders, Augustus? If the Kormanley have infiltrated the Dogs, could they not have done the same with the Wielders?”

  “Impossible!”

  “Are you certain?” When Augustus didn’t answer, Arent added darkly, “Perhaps we should discuss the assignments of the Wielders as well.”

  Thirteen

  ALLAN SIDLED UP to the railing of one of the sky barges, the sounds of light conversation and the clinking of celebratory glasses behind him intermixed with the slight breeze. Gripping the rail, he forced himself to look over the edge toward the interlacing streets of Erenthrall below. The buildings looked completely different from above, roofs of all styles and varieties—slate, wood slats, curved clay tiles, flat with hanging gardens or trellises or strung with clotheslines. A few sported dove cotes, and birds wheeled beneath the ship, or fluttered from building to building beneath them as the shadow of the ship startled them.

  Through the smoothed and polished wood of the railing, Allan felt the ship shudder and he tightened his grip.

  Behind him, the ship’s captain muttered under his breath to one of the crew, “I don’t understand why it’s shuddering like that. It’s never done that before. We’ve had nothing but smooth sailing since the ships were launched. Head below with one of the Wielders and see if one of them can find—”

  The voice trailed off as the captain walked away, hands gesturing curtly. As soon as the crewman dashed off, the captain turned back to the bevy of guests he was escorting, including Barons Calluin, Ranit, and Leethe, his dark frown transformed into a smile. He edged into the group to mingle with a resigned look.