Shattering the Ley (26 page)

He spun on his heels and began working his way toward the kitchen, noticed flames through the door beyond. A woman clutched at his legs as he passed, stared up at him with half-glazed eyes, and muttered, “Help me. Help me, please.” Her arm lay cradled across her chest, a gash along her neck bleeding profusely, her finery ruined. He tugged out of her grip. Men were beginning to rise. He heard Daedallen barking orders, caught the Dogs who were mobile moving to surround Baron Arent. Servants were beginning to help some of the lords and ladies to their feet. Clusters of other guards surrounded the surviving Barons, all of them hostile and defensive.

Then he spotted Moira.

She sat up slowly near the doors to the kitchen, one hand rising to her head in pain. Her black hair lay matted to her scalp with blood and she grimaced as she moved, weaving slightly, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

Allan heaved a shuddering breath of relief and stumbled the last few steps toward her. He trembled as he brushed the hair out of her face. “Moira, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

“My ears.” She touched her hand to her hair, frowned at the blood on her fingers.

“Lower your head.” She did as he asked and he examined the wound. “It’s nothing. A minor cut. You’ll be fine.” He gripped her shoulders and caught her attention, her eyes still dazed. “You have to get out of here. Can you move?”

She considered for a moment, then nodded. “I think so.”

Allan helped her to her feet, turned toward the main entrance, Daedallen, Hagger, and the other Dogs already rushing the Baron toward them, their formation tight. The other Barons wavered, uncertain. Hagger caught sight of him and bellowed, “Allan! Get your ass over here! The Baron—”

His voice was drowned out by the roar of another explosion. The floor shuddered beneath them, the entire tower trembling, and a moment later flames poured through the mouth of the main entrance. Daedallen and the Dogs dove for the floor, dragging the Baron with them. Those deeper inside the room cried out, some of the lords stumbling as the massive chandelier clattered, pieces of crystal dislodging and falling to the floor.

Allan spun toward the balcony. In the backwash of light from the Great Hall and the pale white of the ley outside, he could see the ship still berthed at the railing.

“The ship,” he said, and steered Moira toward the windows, noting that two had blown outward in the explosion and the rest were crazed with cracks. The captain of the barge and his crew were already herding people toward the deck. One of the Barons—Iradi—was already there, tight in the center of his own guard. The rest of the Barons hung back.

As they picked their way through the remains of the dinner party, Allan glanced back toward Hagger and Arent, saw them hurrying toward the balcony, the main entrance still engulfed in flames.

“Here, here, come quickly!”

Someone snagged Allan’s arm and he turned back to find the captain of the barge helping Moira out onto the crowded balcony, the lords and ladies jostling for position near the railing, one of the lords forgoing the steps and leaping from the railing to the deck beyond. Panic had set in with the second explosion, arguments breaking out, tensions escalating. Someone bellowed, “Unhand me! Let the lady on first!” while someone else shoved her to one side sharply. She screamed as she vanished beneath the mob’s feet, her soot-streaked face pale in the ley light.

“Steady!” the captain roared. “Steady, there’s room for everyone and more ships on the way!”

Cursing, the captain let go of Moira and thrust himself through the crowd toward the railing.

Allan glanced out into the night sky, the air chill against his skin. The Flyers’ Tower glowed balefully to one side, cool and white, the Nexus beneath. But the captain was right; at least two other ships were making their way toward the balcony.

His blood sang, adrenaline piercing through the numbness, the tingling in his arm, the shock.

He turned to Moira, met her eyes.

“Allan?”

“Follow the captain,” he said, leaning in to kiss her, short and quick, but with fervor. “Get back to our flat and Morrell. Don’t go anywhere else. Pack whatever you can.”

Frantic confusion filled Moira’s eyes. “Allan? What do you mean pack? I don’t understand.”

“Just do it. We aren’t staying in Erenthrall. Not like this.”

She held his gaze, still confused, her mouth pinched tight in denial. But she nodded.

Relief coursed through him and he shuddered. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

And then he pushed her toward the barge. She was caught up in the mob trying to get onto its deck instantly, and after a quick look back she began shoving forward, a look of determination in her eyes. Allan watched her a moment, then thrust himself against the throng, working his way back into the Great Hall. Hagger, the Dogs, and the Baron were almost to the balcony now, the Dogs seizing anyone in their way by the collar and tossing them out of the Baron’s way.

Allan had just stepped back into the hall when another explosion rent the air.

The remaining glass windows imploded, the force of the blast shoving Allan past the balcony doors and into the room beyond. Fire scorched his back. He struck, skidded across the debris-strewn floor, heard a sharp retort, stone cracking, followed by a ponderous groan of tortured wood. As he slid to a halt, his arms and legs weak and limp, numbed but already recovering, he rolled to face the balcony.

The ship was an inferno, the flames eating into the wood and roaring up through the ley-induced sails like wildfire. Even as he watched, unable to move, it listed, the ropes that held it tied to the balcony straining at its weight. Horror engulfed him, seared into his chest. No one on the balcony was moving, the bodies lying like cordwood, those closest to the barge already burned beyond recognition.

“Moira.” The name meant everything and nothing to him. He couldn’t think, his head throbbing, but the horror crept through him. He struggled onto his elbows, raised himself up onto his hands and knees. “Moira!”

Then hands grasped him beneath his armpits, Hagger on one side, another Dog on the other. They dragged him back from the balcony, the ship tilting farther outward, wood moaning at the stress as fire ate into its hull. Its weight settled completely onto the ropes as the ley sails disintegrated into wisps of flapping cloth—

And with a horrendous crack the balcony gave way.

Baron Leethe glanced skyward at the final explosion, already moving through the gardens beneath the Amber Tower. He paused, Captain Arger halting beside him, the rest of his enforcers fanning out around them at a discrete distance.

“Do you think Baron Arent is dead?” Arger asked, his deep voice uninflected.

“No. Not unless we were extremely lucky. We had to set the plan in motion too early.” Leethe considered the burning barge as it hung from the edge of the tower, grunting when it began to fall, the retort of the stone breaking free coming a moment later.

“Then the Kormanley failed,” his captain muttered.

“Yes. I do not think we shall use them any longer. They have proved ineffective. The other Barons were not threatened sufficiently by their attacks. They signed the agreement after only a token resistance, even Calluin. In fact, they wanted the Wielders to build Flyers’ Towers in their own cities.” He watched the barge crash to the ground, flames and sparks shooting up into the night, mimicking the fountains of ley that still surged from the ground throughout the gardens as entertainment for the Meeting.

In his mind’s eye, he saw the fires blazing in the Baronial manse in his own city of Tumbor fifty-four years ago, after he had witnessed the slaughter of his father by Arent’s Hounds. He’d been nine. The Hound had turned to look at him, eyes cold, considering, his body covered in Leethe’s father’s blood. But then the Hound had sheathed his knife and grabbed the nearest lantern, splattering its oil about the room, lighting it with another lamp before departing.

Leethe had scrambled to escape the flames.

His jaw tightened in hatred, a throb beginning in his right temple.

“Fools,” he said, turning his back on the tower. “Don’t they see that Arent already has too much power? And yet they offer him more!”

He seethed. Arger remained silent.

They emerged from the gardens, a ley carriage and escort waiting in the street beyond, the Tumbor crest in gilt on the door. Servants tore their gazes away from the spectacle in the Amber Tower and sprang into action, opening doors. Arger gave orders as Leethe settled into his seat.

He stared out the window as Arger joined him and the carriage slid into motion.

“No,” he said, more to himself than to Arger. “The Kormanley have failed. I need to find a different way to seize power from Arent. He cannot be allowed to dominate the Baronies with his control of the Wielders and the ley.”

He turned and met Arger’s flat gaze. “We need to find another way to loosen his grip.”

T
HE WET NURSE
screamed when Allan burst through the door into his apartment in Hedge. She clutched Morrell to her chest, body curled protectively around the small form, shoulders hunched. Her initial shock snapped instantly to anger when she recognized him.

“Don’t ever barge in here like that again,” she scolded.

“Get up. Help me pack.” He strode across the room, pulled a trunk out from under the bed, opened it and scanned the contents, then dumped everything inside onto the floor.

The wet nurse—Janis—rose from where she sat near the fire, bouncing Morrell, who’d begun to fuss. “What do you think you’re doing? Where’s Moira?”

“She’s dead,” Allan growled, and something hard and fluid punched into his chest, right beneath his breastbone. He struggled with the sensation, fought it back—as he’d fought it back since slipping away from the chaos of the Amber Tower and fleeing here—and said roughly, “The Kormanley attacked the Tower. She died in one of the explosions.”

Janis gasped, hand going to her mouth.

He began shoving clothes into the trunk haphazardly, moving about the room in short, jerky steps, his mind seething. It wouldn’t take long for the Dogs—for Hagger—to realize he was missing, even with Baron Arent enraged and screaming orders at Daedallen. Once they did, they’d be after him. Hagger knew he’d survived the final explosion; he’d pulled him away from the balcony before it snapped free. They’d come here first. He needed clothes, food, protection, money. He snatched a knife from the kitchen, tucked it into his belt, stepped to the stone recess of the fire and pried a loose rock from its place, reaching into the hollow to retrieve the stash of errens in a cloth sack hidden there.

When he turned back, he saw Janis watching him, her expression set. “Just what do you think you’re doing? I know you must be upset, but this—” she waved around at the scattered mess on the floor from the trunk, the rock he’d tossed aside “—is unacceptable. You’re upsetting the baby!”

Allan sucked in a deep breath, then realized she was right. Morrell had begun to cry.

He grabbed Janis by the shoulders, looked directly into her aged eyes, and said, “I’m leaving. The Dogs. Erenthrall. I’m leaving, Janis, and once the Dogs figure out I’m gone. . . .”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Janis’ eyes widened and she clutched at his arms. “But what about Morrell? Who’s going to look after Morrell?”

“I will.”

Janis said nothing, merely swallowed.

He gently pushed her out of the way, shifted back to the kitchen area, tossed a few pots into the trunk on top of the clothes, a sack of rice, another of oats, then grabbed an empty sack and threw in what bread they had, packets of herbs and spices, everything he saw that was portable.

When he spun, he found Janis bundling Morrell up into a swath of blankets. “What are you doing?”

“You can’t do this alone, not with an infant. I’m coming with you.”

He drew breath to protest, but she cut him off with a scathing glare.

“You can’t protect her and care for her at the same time. It’s not possible. You need someone to help. My husband died three years ago. I have nothing left here in Erenthrall. And if what you say is true—that the Kormanley have attacked the Amber Tower, the Baron—then Erenthrall isn’t going to be safe for anyone. Besides,” she tucked the last edge of blanket into place, creating a sling across her torso, Morrell swaddled inside, and turned to face him, “how are you going to feed her?
What
are you going to feed her? And where do you intend to go? I know of a place to the west the Baron has no control over, one he doesn’t even know exists. The people there will take us in.”

Allan hesitated. He had no place to run. He couldn’t go back to Canter; Hagger would send the Dogs there as soon as he lost track of him in the city. And Janis was right. Arent would explode. He’d already seen it in the aftermath at the Tower. The Dogs were scrambling. Everyone within the Tower, within the Great Hall, had been taken into custody, and the search for more Kormanley—anyone who knew anything about that attack—had already begun. As he’d left, he’d even heard Arent order Daedallen to call out the Hounds—

The Hounds.

Allan staggered, his legs suddenly weak. He leaned against the stone wall for support, felt the heat of the fire against his leg. He’d forgotten about the Hounds. Hagger would send one of the Hounds after him, if he could convince Daedallen and Arent he was important enough. And fleeing immediately after the attack would make them think he had been part of it somehow. They might even think he was Kormanley himself, especially after what Lord Gatterly had said about them infiltrating the Dogs.

His stomach twisted and roiled and he groaned. But he had no choice. He was already committed. Hagger might have already noticed he was gone.

He shoved away from the wall, swallowed down the sudden bile boiling at the back of his throat, and said, “We need to leave now. You handle Morrell, I’ll take the trunk.”

Janis nodded, already moving to gather what Allan had missed for the baby. “We’ll have to stop by my place for a few things, but we can leave in ten minutes. I know someone in Copper who will loan us a pullcart. He can also let those in the Hollow know we’re coming. They’ll be suspicious of you at first, think you’re still with the Dogs, but I’ll convince them otherwise.”

Allan watched her bustle around the room a moment, a woman twice his age, with graying hair pulled back in a bun, dressed in the simple garb of the working class. He’d have to find similar clothes before they traveled too far; his Dog’s uniform might be useful at first here in Erenthrall, but it would only draw attention outside the city.

And if Hagger did sic one of the Hounds on him. . . .

Then he’d have to distract the Hound himself and leave Morrell in Janis’ hands.

Daedallen and Baron Arent stepped into the shattered remains of the Great Hall, their footfalls echoing in the chamber. The amber floor was covered with debris—overturned tables, shards of glasses and plates, the remnants of the feast, a few cracked ley globes. A breeze blew through the splintered balcony windows, reeking of charred skin and acrid explosives. A crack ran across the wall between the Great Hall and the Baronial meeting chamber, the fracture catching the sunlight oddly. The bodies had been cleared out, but there were still bloodstains on nearly every part of the hall beyond the burnt remains of the raised section that had held the Barons’ table.

Arent spun on Daedallen, teeth gritted. “Find the Kormanley. I want them all dead. Hunt them down and execute them. Use those we already have in custody as an example to the citizens of Erenthrall. There is to be no mercy. Every last one of the Kormanley and all of those who support them, who have helped them, must be rooted out and exterminated. I will not tolerate such blatant defiance in my own city. Search every house, every manse, every hovel. Use whatever force necessary. I want the Kormanley eradicated!”

“What about the lords and ladies of the city? They have rights—”

“No one has rights anymore,” Baron Arent spat. “If they protest, seize them under suspicion. Throw Lord Gatterly’s complicity in their faces. No one is exempt. The Kormanley have gone too far. I am the ruler of this city, of the Baronies, and I will maintain control!”

As if realizing he had already lost control, Arent sucked in a deep breath and clenched his fists. He cast one last scathing glance over the destruction in the Great Hall, then turned a baleful eye on Daedallen again.

In a low, controlled voice, he added, “Consider the Dogs unleashed.” Then he stalked from the room.

Daedallen shifted a few steps forward, ran his hand down the smooth amber wall until he intercepted the crack. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully, plans shifting into place in his head.

A moment later, he emerged on the damaged stairwell, where numerous Dogs on watch in the Great Hall had seen Baron Leethe escape before the secondary explosion. His alphas Terrence and Branden were waiting, along with a dozen others, including Hagger. He didn’t see Hagger’s partner, Allan.

“Orders?” Terrence asked briskly.

“Bring the Hounds. All of them. Have them search the Great Hall for any possible leads. They are free of the leash for the hunt, but they are to bring any members or suspected members of the Kormanley back to us alive. Then organize the Dogs. We’re going to track down every last one of the Kormanley, no matter what it takes.”

Terrence nodded. Everyone in the stairwell shifted nervously, but beneath the unease he could sense relief as well. They were finally being given enough leeway that perhaps they would be able to root out the Kormanley and put an end to them.

“Branden,” he said, stepping past his two alphas and continuing on down the stairs as he talked. “Have the Dogs ready the Kormanley prisoners we already have in custody. Clean them up as much as possible.”

“What for?”

“Baron Arent wants a display of his displeasure, and we’re going to give it to him.”

“When do they need to be ready?”

“By tomorrow.”

“Very well.”

Daedallen had reached Hagger’s position. He motioned the grizzled Dog to walk beside him, Terrence and Branden jogging out in front to begin carrying out their orders. The rest of the Dogs present were falling in behind. “Where’s your partner?”

“He hasn’t come in yet this morning.”

“Why not?”

Hagger shifted uncomfortably. “His wife was killed in the explosion last night. She was one of the servers.”

Daedallen halted abruptly. In the aftermath of the explosions the night before, he had been too intent on protecting Baron Arent, clearing out the survivors, and dealing with the wounded to take notice of who had died. Aside from Baron Ranit, of course. Except for the Barons, the survivors had been held in the Tower for questioning. The city guards were taking care of that, with a single Dog supervising each interview.

Because he needed the Dogs elsewhere.

“Give him until midafternoon,” he finally growled. “If he hasn’t come in then, find him. We’re going to need the entire pack for this. Until then, help Terrence with the Hounds.”

Hagger grimaced, but nodded.

“Dalton!”

Dalton glanced up from his printing press in irritation as Tyrus crashed through the door at the base of the stairs, located him in the jumble of ink, paper, letter blocks, and other supplies, then fumbled his way toward him. Tyrus’ face was edged in panic, smudges of soot across his forehead, what appeared to be blood on the formal dress shirt he must have worn to the Baronial Meeting the night before. Dalton quelled the disappointment at seeing his fellow Kormanley. He had hoped that Tyrus had died in the Great Hall, a victim of proximity, especially after he hadn’t reported in after the explosions like most of the rest of the splinter cells involved.

Instead, he rose from where he was leaning over the block flat for the upcoming edition of
The Ley
and plastered a smile on his face.

“Tyrus! I was worried. I heard about what happened at the Amber Tower last night—I’m trying to print a report in
The Ley
right now—but when you didn’t report back in, I feared the worst.”

Tyrus wove through the last desks and supplies, leaning heavily on a work stool as he attempted to catch his breath. “They kept . . . everyone who was still . . . in the Tower . . . overnight.” He wiped one arm across his forehead, smearing even more soot across his brow. “They’ve been questioning us . . . all morning. I was only just released.”

“And you came straight here.”

Tyrus completely missed the dangerous undertone in his voice. “I had to warn you.”

Dalton stilled, fear shooting through his arms, tingling in his hands. He’d woken up screaming that morning, suffocating on imagined ash, the filth falling about him like snow. It had taken him ten minutes of coughing to rid himself of the illusion he was choking to death on embers; he still hadn’t shaken the terror of the vision of Erenthrall’s destruction. “Warn me of what?”

“The Baron,” Tyrus gasped. “He’s unleashed the Dogs. They’re going to execute all of the Kormanley they’ve captured in various districts tomorrow. And they’re using the Hounds. They’ll find out that I’ve been helping them!”