Shattering the Ley

by Joshua Palmatier

  Ten minutes later, they emerged through a wooden trapdoor onto the roof of the node. A hot, sharp breeze slapped Kara in the face as she climbed the last few steep steps, Marcus closing the trapdoor behind her.

  She brushed her flying hair away from her face and turned toward her partner, wide eyed. “I didn’t even know we could come up here!”

  He grinned. “Not many of the Wielders do, although I don’t know why. There’s a great view of Eld and Confluence from up here.”

  Kara angled toward one crenellated edge of the circular node, resting her hands on the gritty stone as she leaned out and looked over at the street and buildings below. The stone structure was only a few stories high, some of the adjacent buildings a few floors taller, but the people below still looked small somehow.

  She gasped when Marcus’ arms slid around her body from behind, but leaned back into the embrace.

  “I would never let you fall,” he said, his breath tickling the side of her neck. She smiled and let the tension caused by seeing the Dogs on the street seep away. He squeezed her once, then asked, “Why do they bother you so much?”

  She shrugged. “I saw them beat up one of the Kormanley priests once, here in Eld, at the marketplace. They were brutal. And then someone said that the priest was as good as dead after they hauled him off. I’d never thought about what happened to those the Dogs took away before, but this time, for some reason, it made a difference. The priest wasn’t doing anything except talking, and after that day I never saw him again in Eld.”

  Marcus grunted and rested his chin on top of her head. When he spoke, his voice rumbled through his chest to her back. “The Kormanley have done more than talk. From what we heard, they bombed the Great Hall in the Amber Tower. During the Baronial Meeting, no less. They killed and wounded hundreds of people.”

  “I know. But back then they hadn’t done anything violent yet.”

  Marcus rocked her back and forth a long moment, deep in thought, then asked, “Do you agree with the Kormanley?”

  Kara stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do you agree with what they preach about the ley, that it should be returned to its natural order, that we’re subverting it, abusing it.”

  She twisted in his arms until she was facing him, arms resting on his chest. “I agree we need to be careful with the ley. But to not use it? It’s there, why shouldn’t we use it?”

  “I don’t know. I just think the Kormanley have a point. The Baron does control everything concerning the ley . . . or rather, he controls Prime Wielder Augustus. Do you honestly think the Baron—or Augustus—has the best interests of the citizens of Erenthrall in mind when he makes his decisions? And we both know that they’ve overextended the Nexus somehow, no matter what the Primes say. Where else would the distortions be coming from?”

  Kara squirmed, pushing away from him lightly. “The Kormanley killed my parents,” she reminded him.

  He tightened his hold on her, drew her in, and kissed her forehead. “I know. I’m not saying I agree with their methods. They’ve killed too many people, hurt too many others. But I don’t think we should discount what they say because of that. We should at least think about it.”

  Kara relaxed, mollified. “I guess.”

  He released her. “Look at how the sun is reflecting off the rivers.”

  She turned, Marcus shifting to her side, and leaned up against the crenellation again. To the south, the two rivers—the Tiana and the Urate—converged, their waters a brilliant, blinding silver, the University on the vee of land where they met. She wondered what Cory was doing at that moment, still troubled over the last time she’d seen him and told him about Justin. She wondered if she should seek Cory out and apologize. She hadn’t meant to upset him.

  A shadow passed over them and she glanced skyward as one of the flying barges drifted by, its sails sparkling with ley. A few people hanging over the sides waved and laughter drifted down faintly. Kara smiled and waved back.

  “We should get something to eat,” Marcus said as the barge passed beyond the node. “Let’s see if anyone else wants to head on over to the Leyline.”

  “Why not?” Kara said. The Leyline was the Wielders’ prime watering hole in Eld. The food wasn’t great, but they had plenty to drink.

  Marcus grinned, then leaned forward and kissed her. She pressed into it, a heat that had nothing to do with the sun suffusing her. She laughed when they broke apart, and Marcus asked, “What?”

  “Nothing.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the trapdoor. “The Leyline, remember?”

  When Ischua rounded the corner, he found the street packed with Dogs and the two buildings that had stood above The Ley’s printing press were nothing more than charred heaps of riverstone and timber. He ducked into the shadows beneath a café’s awning, the sun near setting, and watched in silence.

  A moment later, the café’s owner arrived and asked, “Would you like to be seated?”

  He caught the man’s nervous gaze. “I’d like a table over here, if that’s possible.”

  “Of course, of course! Anything for a Tender.” He escorted Ischua to the table, took his order, and then hurried back inside. Almost no one was seated at the small tables and chairs outside, Ischua noted. And anyone who turned the corner and saw the Dogs either hesitated and turned back, or ducked his head and skirted their activity by as wide a distance as possible.

  The café owner brought his drink and vanished again. Ischua sipped casually.

  The Dogs were sorting through the debris from the fire, descending into the pit that used to be the basement using the stone steps of the newspaper’s offices. There were five of them, the pack leader standing outside and waiting impatiently, the others already covered in soot and ash.

  When the café owner returned with his food, Ischua asked, “What happened here?”

  He shifted so that his back was to the Dogs and spoke in a low voice. “A fire, early this morning. We thought nothing of it until the Dogs showed up this afternoon looking for the man who ran the newspaper. They questioned us for an hour, have been searching through the remains of the buildings for at least two.” He lowered his voice even further. “The rumor is they’re waiting for a Hound.”

  Ischua raised an eyebrow and the café owner shrugged. “In any case, they’ve scared away nearly all of my customers.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Who? The Hound?”

  “The owner of the newspaper.”

  The owner sighed. “Not since yesterday. He was one of my best customers.”

  He retreated back inside and Ischua continued to watch. Half an hour later, the pack leader gave a sudden start and Ischua realized that a man stood before him. He hadn’t seen him arrive. He was too distant to make out any of the conversation, but the pack leader’s irritation was clear. He motioned to the burnt-out husk of the building, pointed to a few items that the other Dogs had dragged up from the basement, and handed over what appeared to be a scrap of cloth. The Hound—Ischua judged him to be about thirty years of age, broad of shoulder but narrow of hip, with nothing remarkable about his features or clothes—breathed in deeply of the cloth, then examined each of the items before descending into the charred pit. He returned a moment later, sneezing harshly. All of the Dogs stood back from him, wary. He shook his head, scrubbed at his face, then paced up and down the street a few times. Ischua’s skin prickled when he halted abruptly and stared in the café’s direction, but then the Hound spun and motioned in the opposite direction. He ran off as if following a scent trail, like a true hound, the pack leader barking an order, the Dogs falling in behind him.

  Ischua took a sip of his drink and was surprised to find the glass empty. He stood, leaving a few errens on the table, and turned his back on the destroyed newspaper, troubled.

  The Dogs must have discovered the real Kormanley’
s link to the splinter cells. It had to have been through Tyrus. He’d been their only connection to the violent Kormanley since they’d severed contact four years ago. Tyrus may have led them to Dalton, and through Dalton. . . .

  His steps quickened. He needed to warn the rest of the real Kormanley.

  The Hound stood in the doorway of the apartment. His gaze flicked off the overturned bed, the scattered straw of the mattress, the footprints in the fan of flour that had spilled from a split bag. He drew in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and caught the scent of the Dog called Hagger, strong. He reeked of anger, his sweat tangy, acidic, like an orange. It permeated the room. But the Hound filtered it out, dug deeper through the layers. The other two Dogs who’d been here smelled of beer and barracks and rancid butter. One of them chewed the black leaf, his scent strong with mouth rot. But beneath that—

  He tilted his head, breathed in deep again. Liniment, shit, and baby vomit. Ash and coals from the fire. The kohl and lavender of perfume. Fresh breast milk. And, threaded through it all, the scent he searched for: the strange Dog, the one that sent shivers of wrongness through the Hound’s bones.

  His lip curled.

  The man’s odor was fourteen hours old. He’d left that morning, with his whelp and another woman, the one lactating. They hadn’t been back.

  He spun and followed their scent outside, to the darkened street. No one in Hedge stayed out this late, the narrows and alleys empty as he trotted past closed shops, ley-lit windows, the thick scents of yeast and heat from a bakery. The prey’s trail led to Copper, a market square. He’d entered numerous shops, halted at many hawkers, his scent pooling on the empty cobbles where the vendors had set up their tents or blankets. Then he’d left—with the woman and whelp—and run to the ley station.

  He halted on the edge of the ley line, the platform deserted, the stream of white ley blinding in the darkness.

  The man had boarded a barge.

  The Hound sighed. It would make tracking him more difficult. He’d have to investigate all of the stations along this line to find out where the prey had disembarked. With the barges dormant until morning, it could take the rest of the night.

  Kneeling down, he reached his hand forward into the stream of ley, felt it tingling against his skin. He closed his eyes, centered himself, and reached through the ley toward the center of the city, toward the mind of the Guide, the one who heard and gave the orders to those on the hunt.

  Report.

  I have sought. The prey boarded a ley barge in Copper. He didn’t need to identify himself. The Guide always knew what Hound’s mind he touched.

  A pause. Then: Continue the hunt.

  No approval. No contempt. No emotion whatsoever. None was needed.

  The Hound severed the link by drawing his hand from the ley. He shook it, as if the ley clung to him like water, even though it didn’t.

  Then he turned and began to lope toward the next station along the line.

  “It figures I’d find both of you here. Don’t you have your own room, Kara?”

  Kara blinked sleep-tacky eyes and rolled toward the door to Marcus’ room.

  “What do you want, Kyle?” Marcus growled.

  Kyle grinned. “It’s nearly noon. Everyone’s headed down to the square for the execution, since the Primes have ordered all of the Wielders to attend except for those on runs. You have about twenty minutes to get ready.”

  Marcus cursed and tossed his pillow at the retreating Wielder, then leaped out of bed and began dressing. Kara sat up and rubbed at her temples and gritty eyes. “I drank too much,” she whispered, then winced.

  “We both did. That’s why you ended up sleeping here. You fell asleep while we were talking and I didn’t want to wake you or drag you back to your room by myself.”

  She looked up as Kyle’s wicked grin registered. “But Kyle thinks—!”

  Marcus waved a hand. “Let them think what they want. Besides, would it be that bad?” He flashed his own lewd grin.

  Kara flung back the blanket and sighed in relief as she realized she was still dressed, although her purple jacket was flung over the back of a nearby chair. She stood, regretted it instantly as her head reeled, then grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, trying to suppress the blush she knew colored her cheeks. “I’ll meet you in the main chamber.”

  Twenty minutes later she emerged from the women’s side of the barracks to a few catcalls and whistles, her face burning even hotter until she realized no one really cared and they were just having a little fun. After a moment, the laughter quieted into disjointed conversations. Kara’s head still pounding, the group left the node for the square, Kara sticking close to Marcus’ side.

  The closer they came to the square, the more they had to push through the gathering crowds. Kara was reminded of the trek with her father to Minstrel’s Park to see the sowing of the Flyers’ Tower four years before. Excitement buzzed through those gathering. But unlike the sowing, this had a darker undertone, threaded with discontent, fear, and dissent. Expressions were uncertain, conversation tense, quieting whenever anyone passed the dozens of Dogs or city watch that lined the streets. Kara shivered as the Wielders entered the square and began shoving through the press of people toward the stage.

  “I don’t like this,” she said to Marcus, one hand clutching his arm so they wouldn’t be separated. They’d already lost sight of Timmons, Kyle, Katrina, and the others.

  “I don’t think many of those here do either,” Marcus said, his voice grim.

  “Who are they executing? And why did Augustus order the Wielders here to witness it?”

  Marcus shook his head.

  “It’s one of the Kormanley,” a woman said to one side. “One they captured before the bombing.” She shook her head and snorted in contempt. “He couldn’t have had anything to do with what happened at the Amber Tower, and yet they’re going to kill him anyway. As an example to the rest of Erenthrall.”

  Her vehemence made Kara uncomfortable. “Maybe he helped set up the attack.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, then narrowed. She brushed her long black hair back, tucked it behind one ear, a gold hoop earring glinting in the sunlight. “Are you a Baron sympathizer? Do you agree with what the Dogs have done the last two days? Beating people at random in the streets? Storming into businesses and homes and seizing people without cause?” Her gaze flicked from Kara to Marcus, although her attention seemed to be more focused on Marcus.

  Those around them were beginning to pay attention. A few glared at Kara, even as she protested, “No! I’ve seen how vicious they are. It’s just—”

  The woman wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. “What about you?” she asked, tone harsh. “Are you a sympathizer?”

  Marcus stiffened. “No, of course not.”

  “And what about the Kormanley?”

  “What about them?” Marcus asked, his tone careful.

  The woman drew breath to answer, but someone shouted, “Kara! Over here!”

  A tightness squeezed Kara’s throat as she recognized Cory’s voice, but before she turned, she caught the black-haired woman giving Marcus a speculative look. Marcus didn’t notice, and a moment later the woman had stepped back and gotten lost in the crowd.

  Kara frowned, but brushed her unease aside as she searched for Cory. “Do you see him?”

  “Who?”

  “Cory.”

  Marcus’ expression darkened, but he lifted his chin, looking over the heads of those around them. “I see him, off to the right. There’s a Tender with him.”

  “Ischua!” Kara caught sight of both of them through a break in the press of bodies and smiled as she rushed forward. Ischua squeezed Kara’s shoulder in greeting, but she pulled him into a fierce hug. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

  Ischua chuckled. “I know they keep the new Wielders busy. But I�
��ve been keeping an eye on you.” He drew back and patted her on the shoulder. “Look who I found.”

  And suddenly Cory stood before her. The smile faltered as she remembered how they’d parted the last time she’d seen him. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, hadn’t realized that dredging up the memories of Justin would affect him so harshly.

  “Cory,” she said, then halted. “I . . . I’m . . .”

  Cory shrugged, tried a tentative smile. “Forget it. I overreacted.” He sucked in a ragged breath and grabbed her shoulders. “If you honestly think you saw Justin . . . if you think he wants to be found . . . then I’ll help.”

  She could tell he still didn’t believe she’d seen Justin, like Marcus, but she grinned. “Thank you.”

  Marcus stepped forward, pulled her back out of Cory’s grip. The two glared at each other. “Cory.”

  Cory’s lips quirked and he shook his head slightly. “Marcus.”

  Kara’s forehead creased in irritation, but before she could say anything to either one of them, Ischua muttered, “Something’s happening on the platform.”

  Everyone turned, a wave of interest and resentment passing through the crowd. Kara shifted so that she could see the raised wooden structure that had been built at one end of the square, her view interrupted by the people between her and the stage. Dogs were mounting the steps, fanning out to either side, followed a moment later by Prime Wielder Augustus, another Dog—Captain Daedallen—and then a man Kara assumed was the Kormanley prisoner to be executed. He stumbled as they led him toward where a single block of wood sat to one side. One of the Dogs grabbed him by the ropes that bound his wrists and hauled him upright before shoving him forward again, toward the block. He’d obviously been beaten already, his face a mass of bruises and bloody scars beneath his matted hair, but he didn’t cry out, even when the Dog handling him kicked him and drove him to his knees before the block, facing the crowd.

  Kara’s stomach turned and she shifted uneasily. “What are they going to do?”

  Ischua frowned, shaking his head.