“Aurek had six times our number before.”
“But he had a reason to keep us alive. Devin doesn’t.”
“Maybe they’ll simply leave.”
Allan met his gaze with a raised eyebrow of incredulity, and Bryce grinned. The Dog was enjoying himself.
“We’re too exposed here.” Allan scanned the plains, seeing no reasonable place to make a stand, but then his gaze fell on the white wall of ley behind them, the Gorrani milling around to the east. “Let’s shift everyone toward the walls. I want the ley to our backs, if possible, and the Gorrani to our flank.”
Bryce let out a piercing whistle, catching everyone’s attention. “Start shifting back toward the walls! Keep an eye on the Gorrani, Glenn. If they make any sudden feints in our direction, holler.”
Devin noticed the moment they started moving, but he was still attempting to bring a semblance of order to his own group. Some of the men were arguing with him. Allan could hear him shouting back, berating them, threatening them as he rode his horse back and forth, sword raised. When two men broke ranks and tried to flee into the plains, he rode them down, slashing at one as the other fell beneath his horse’s hooves. Neither one rose. No one else tried to run.
“He may be worse to deal with than Aurek.”
Allan silently agreed.
They fell back toward the wall of ley, the ground still lurching at odd moments beneath their feet, the tremors a constant vibration in Allan’s teeth. Halfway to the wall, Devin’s group began trudging toward them. Then they came across Aurek’s body, left in the grass where it had fallen, and any lingering doubts in the men Devin led vanished. He pointed down at Aurek with his sword, shouted something to the men, Allan only catching a few snatches of “honor” and “your Baron” on the wind—
Then the men bellowed in rage and began to run.
Bryce turned immediately. “To the ley walls!”
The Hollowers broke into a sprint, Allan at their backs now, charging after them. He caught sight of Cory guarding Hernande’s side, Mareane and Jude with Artras. One of the others snatched Jerrain into his arms, the elder mentor cursing in protest. Jasom had drawn his sword and ran with the fighters in the outer edges, all of them urging the Wielders and mentors on.
The group halted when they came within thirty paces of the outer edge of the fiery wall. Allan glanced skyward, the flames reaching to the heavens, utterly silent. He wondered briefly if he could walk through the fire unscathed, as he’d walked through the distortions, but there was no time to experiment.
He turned and drew.
The raiders were almost upon them, Devin leading the charge. Aurek’s second had aimed his horse toward Allan. He had a moment to register the sudden battle cry of the raiders, and then he was forced to throw himself out of the horse’s path. Something tugged at his shoulder as he fell, followed instantly by a burning pain across his shoulder bone, but then he was rolling in the already trampled grass.
Before he could right himself, the rest of the raiders overran him.
Someone tripped over him, foot connecting solidly into his side. White-hot pain flared and he dropped his sword, reaching for his dagger as the screaming men surrounded him. He slashed to either side, struggling to pull himself into a crouch before some lucky kick connected with his head. His short blade scraped off armor and found flesh, men roaring in pain as blood pattered down on him. Fingers like claws, he snared one man by the breeches and hauled himself upright, jabbing his knife into the man’s back before spinning him around and using him as a shield. Someone elbowed him in the kidney and he hissed the pain out through gritted teeth, orienting himself with one swift glance. He was trapped in the middle of the raiders, their focus on the huddle of Hollowers near the ley, Bryce and the rest defending the Wielders and mentors.
But the mentors weren’t idle. Even as his gaze slid over him, Jerrain stabbed crooked fingers to Allan’s right and the earth exploded upward, men flying with unearthly screams. Cory and Hernande stood protectively in front of the Wielders, doing the same. Devin’s horse shrieked, the sound jarring, as the ground exploded beneath its feet and Devin was thrown from the saddle.
Someone realized he wasn’t a raider. A gray-bearded man swung a wicked-looking knife, but Allan shifted the man he’d backstabbed. The graybeard howled as his knife sank into his fellow raider’s chest. Before he could jerk it free, Allan shoved the dead man forward, unbalancing him. Both bodies fell beneath his feet, Allan already turning to sink his knife into another man’s side. But it was a losing battle. He couldn’t hold all of the raiders off, not when he was surrounded. Not even Bryce and his Dogs could hold off all of Devin’s men.
Then the tenor of the screams around him changed. It took him a moment to realize it, another to realize the screams were punctuated by vicious snarls and growls.
The tide within the raiders shifted. Instead of everyone fighting toward where Bryce defended the Hollowers with his Dogs, the men around Allan now focused their attention backward, toward the plains, where the men that had been in the rear of Devin’s group were attempting to flee as they were ripped limb from limb by Wolves.
Allan stood stunned for only a moment. Then he stabbed the man in front of him in the shoulder. Thirty paces away, a giant silver-gray Wolf slapped a raider flat against the ground with one huge paw and ripped the man’s throat out with his teeth, blood splashing across all of those around them. Five more Wolves were wreaking havoc among the rearguard of the raiders to either side, while Grant, the leader of the pack, walked toward them with an escort of five more Wolves. With a gesture of his hand, three of those broke away and joined the melee, inciting fresh screams to the right. The silver-gray Wolf had lunged from his kill into the group on Allan’s left. Arterial blood splashed in an arc, flecking Allan’s cheek with warmth, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the pack leader.
Until a gray-brown Wolf leaped toward him from the left, one claw slamming into his chest and pinning him to the ground. Claws dug five holes through his shirt and into his skin, but Allan’s attention fixed on the animal’s snout, inches from his face. Yellow, feral eyes glared down at him, and spittle dripped from black-red lips drawn back from yellowed, bloody teeth. Allan couldn’t breathe, the pressure from the Wolf’s weight on his chest too great. Tiny black dots began to dance before his eyes as the animal’s hot, rancid breath exploded into his face. Its growl shivered into Allan’s chest through the paw that held him immobile.
Then someone barked an order and the Wolf flinched. Its nostrils flared as it sucked in a breath, scenting him.
It drew back, head first, before lifting its weight free and withdrawing its front paw. But it didn’t retreat. It stood over him, glaring to either side, its growl continuing.
Grant stepped into view, staring down at Allan from above. “Get up. The Gorrani are coming.”
It took Allan a moment to figure out what he’d said, the words more growl than speech, but he couldn’t move.
Grant reached down, lips curled in a half snarl, grabbed him by his bloodied shirt, and hauled him upright, drawing him close to his malformed half snout. Allan’s chest flared with pain where the other Wolf’s claws had gouged into him. “The Gorrani.” He pointed with his other hand.
To the east, the Gorrani who’d survived the wall of ley had finally formed up into a unit and were charging toward them.
Allan glanced back to where Bryce and the Hollowers had tightened up on the Wielders and mentors, looking on in confusion as the Wolves ripped the raiders apart, leaving them alone. The fiery ley still rose up behind them.
Allan turned back to Grant. “There’s nowhere to run.”
Grant’s fist tightened in his shirt, the pack leader’s eyes flashing a lambent yellow—
But then the wall of ley that surrounded the Needle suddenly collapsed downward into the ground, leaving the stone walls bare and the ground ben
eath littered with hundreds of weapons, buckles, earrings, nose-rings, and other assorted metals. Even the ladders were gone.
Everyone spun, the fight pausing for a few heartbeats.
Then Allan yelled, “Jerrain! Hernande! The wall!”
The mages spun—Jerrain, Hernande, Cory, and Jasom—and a breath later the stone wall surrounding the Needle exploded outward with a single splintering thunderclap. The sound rolled across the plain into the distance, but Bryce was already shouting for the Hollowers to withdraw into the breach, massive chunks of stone still crumbling down to the metal-littered mud where the majority of the Gorrani army had died. The Hollower fighters herded the Wielders and the mentors toward the hole punched through the wall, climbing over the heap of stone toward the opening they’d created, like the scree in the caverns near their village.
Grant grunted and set Allan down with a jarring thud, but didn’t let go. He snarled and barked out orders, the Wolves breaking away from their kills and retreating with the Hollowers, harassing any of the raiders who attempted to follow them. Bodies littered the ground, nothing more than torn and shredded meat, the sight turning Allan’s stomach, but he forced himself to look.
He didn’t see Devin anywhere.
Then Grant shoved him toward the crack in the stone wall. “Move.”
Allan ran, Grant loping along beside him. He scrambled up the rockfall, swearing when it shifted beneath him because of his weight or the still shuddering earth. Bryce pushed the last of the Hollowers through the opening, then ducked inside. The Wolves clawed their way up the rocks and through as well. Behind, Allan heard the Gorrani approaching at a run, their battle cry growing louder.
When he reached the opening, he turned. Grant paused a step below him. The remains of the raiders were scattering toward the plains, but they wouldn’t make it. The Gorrani—over a thousand now—were closing in, cutting off their escape. On the field before the rockfall, two Wolves were still worrying at their kills.
Grant whistled sharply. One of the Wolves’ ears pricked and he looked up, muzzle stained black with blood. He glanced toward the approaching Gorrani, then streaked toward them, leaping up the stone fall.
The other ignored them.
Grant turned and shoved Allan through the narrow opening. Allan clambered through the rough breach, fine dust and small rocks cascading down from above as he picked his way over the thick, broken wall. He sucked in a lungful of air and emerged coughing hoarsely on the far side.
“Get down!” Bryce urged him down with a frantic wave from halfway down the slope of the much smaller rockfall on this side. Allan stumbled toward him, still coughing, and Bryce hauled him off the rock as soon as he was within reach. Grant and the last Wolf from the other side leaped clear. “Seal it up now!”
Allan ducked as another splintering thunderclap rolled across the wide courtyard, stone pattering down, a boulder the size of his chest slamming into the flagstone beside him, cracking in two. Arm raised protectively over his head, he twisted and saw the rock wall above the gap the mentors had just made collapsing downward. Men on top of the wall staggered back from the collapse, many of them pointing down toward them with fingers or swords.
“Allan!”
Allan turned to see Bryce gesturing him toward the sea of tents that filled the courtyard beyond the wall. “Keep moving. The White Cloak enforcers are headed this way.”
Allan sprinted from the wall to the tents, following Bryce and the others as they wove through the makeshift city, the haphazard housing scattered with cook firepits, laundry drying on lines, and the scattered detritus of humble lives, reminding Allan forcibly of the Hollowers huddled in the caverns near the village. But he had no time for memories, even those of Morrell. He ran, lungs burning, keeping Bryce in sight. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught flickers of Grant and a few of the Wolves, heard yelps of shock as they ran into some of the people who lived here. But the tent city was surprisingly empty. He only startled three people, a woman emerging from her tent with a cast iron pan in one hand, a basket of eggs in the other—who screamed and ducked back inside as Bryce flew by—and two men seated around a butter churn, trading off the handle, even though the city was under attack and the ground was still shaking. Both paused and frowned at them as they ran by.
Ahead, what sounded like the shouts of a thousand voices rose in a wave, then descended. Allan nearly stumbled as the tents abruptly ended, opening up into a plaza, more than half empty. Members of their group were standing at this end or emerging from the tents to either side, gasping and holding their chests or sides. Grant stepped onto the plaza twenty paces away, the Wolves padding out softly behind him, all of them still streaked with gore. He took in the scene, then faced Allan, but he didn’t approach. At the far end of the open area, stone buildings to either side, the people Allan had expected to run into in the tent city were gathered, most on their knees, hands raised toward a figure standing at the edge of the first tier of what looked like a temple. The man held his hands to the sky, his white robes flapping around him as he shouted down into the crowd.
Glenn trotted up to Bryce and Allan, his expression disturbed. “It’s some kind of religious gathering. It sounds damn similar to what the Kormanley were preaching before the Shattering, along with something to do with snakes and fire and retribution.”
“Any sign of Kara or the others?”
“None. Aside from the priest up there, I don’t see any of the White Cloaks, unless they’re in commoner clothing and mixed in with the crowd.” Glenn staggered as the earth lurched, a sharp wail of fear rising up from the crowd ahead. The priest raised his voice, as if volume would stop the quakes. “I only see a few of the White Cloak guards here, mostly up on the tier with the priest. The rest must be at the walls.”
“Kara will be at the node.” Cory pointed to the obsidian spire rising behind the priest. “She’ll be at the center of it all, at the Needle.”
“Are you certain? She wasn’t cooperating with the White Cloaks the last time we saw them.”
“She’ll be there.”
Bryce, Glenn, and Allan shared a look.
“It’s as good a place to start looking as any.”
“Right.” Allan glanced over their group. Only twenty-four left. Then there were the Wolves. He counted an even dozen of them, not including their pack leader. “Let’s see if we can find a way into the tower.”
Kara fought her way through the pulses coming from Erenthrall, each one threatening to shove her back down the ley line to the Needle. The farther she stretched from the Needle, the more she pulled at the combined strength of the other Wielders there and the energy generated by the Nexus.
But when she finally reached Erenthrall, she gasped. “Gods.”
“What is it?”
Even though she was hundreds of miles distant, Marcus’ voice cut through her shock. She shook herself, began assessing the damage. “Erenthrall is in chaos. It’s suffering massive quakes, worse than those we’re feeling here. The ley system you and the other White Cloaks set up is gone.” She wished it were an understatement, but the nodes Marcus and the others had established had been ripped apart. Active nodes had gone dead, and inactive ones were now connected to ley lines that hadn’t existed even a few days before. She scrambled from one node to the next, attempting to get an overall impression of what had happened, but it didn’t make any sense.
“There’s too much ley.” She passed through junction after junction. Some of the lines slammed up against the distortion, ley spilling up and out into the city. Others hit nodes and branched, surging around the distortion or arrowing off toward more distant locations like the Needle. All of them were suffused with ley, as if the system had somehow tapped into a huge reservoir—
Kara thought suddenly of the lake of ley resting far beneath the city. The Nexus Prime Augustus had created had siphoned off ley from that lake, and when the d
istortion had first formed as a piercing white ball of radiance over Erenthrall after the Shattering, it had fed from it. Kara had used it in her attempt to heal the distortion before it quickened.
But the distortion had cut off the lake from the remaining ley system. The main conduit to the lake lay near the center of the distortion, in the center of Erenthrall, in Grass.
Not anymore. Even as she dove down beneath the city, beneath the distortion, deep underground, following the ley lines there—those natural and those created by the Primes—she knew what she would find.
Near the bottom of the distortion, where the original conduit was blocked by the distortion, a secondary pool of ley had formed in a massive underground cavern. It was being fed by the lake deep below, had probably started filling up as soon as the distortion had blocked its original path. But the new reservoir had reached full capacity and had spilled over, searching for a new outlet.
It had found it in the shambles of the ley network the Primes had built around Erenthrall. Like water, it had sought the easiest pathways after it filled the reservoir to its brim, and the destroyed network was there, waiting. Now it was flooding the system.
Kara’s body sagged in defeat. Rough stone pressed through her clothing, scraped at her cheek. “It’s going to destroy us all.”
“Kara!” Marcus’ voice was distant, which was odd, since her body felt so close. Her pulse thudded through her arms, her throat, hot and heavy. It roared in her ears. Her breath rasped from her lungs, choked with fine grit thrown up by the quake. Yet the screams and moans of the other Wielders and White Cloaks were muffled.
Then someone grabbed her jaw with one hand, fingers digging in, pain stabbing through the numbness. “Kara! Do something! The Nexus here will not hold much longer!”
“I don’t . . .” She’d intended to say she didn’t know what to do. The problem was too immense, like the quickening of the distortion after the Shattering. But she’d managed to do something then, even though it had only been her and four other Wielders.
Threading the Needle Page 50
