Shattering the Ley (31 page)

“But—”

“He was sent to find me, not you, not Morrell. If you go, he won’t follow.”

“You can’t let him take you,” Janis snapped, angry. “You have a responsibility.”

Allan’s tongue stuck to the top of his mouth, but he worked up enough spit to say, “I don’t intend to let him take me.”

Janis’ eyes widened in understanding.

“Now go,” Allan said harshly, to hide the heated ache in his chest. “Morrell is your responsibility now.”

She stiffened as if to protest, then softened and stepped back to retrieve her satchel from the cart. She scuttled across the street, to the side opposite the Hound, then strode along its edge toward the open plains beyond. She kept Morrell protected against her chest, clutched in one arm. Once she’d passed the Hound’s position, she picked up speed.

The Hound kept his eyes on Allan the entire time. He hadn’t moved to draw any of the weapons Allan knew he carried, even with Allan’s sword bared. His face was in shadow, the sun setting behind him, but still Allan recognized him.

“You were the one who found Ibsen Senate.”

The Hound shifted stance and Allan tensed. He was sweating, knew it reeked of fear, but he couldn’t seem to slow his heart. He wondered what the Hound’s orders were. Seek, most definitely. Subdue? Kill?

He licked his lips, his tongue rough and gritty. “I’m not Kormanley. I didn’t help them with the attack.” The words sounded flat in his ears. Pathetic. He grimaced.

The Hound’s head tilted as if in question. Allan flinched, caught a hint of the Hounds’ nostrils flaring—

Then the Hound turned and walked away.

Allan flinched, his sword jerking forward, until he realized the Hound was leaving.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Why are you leaving? Weren’t you sent to find me?”

The Hound halted, already half lost to shadow. But he looked over his shoulder and said, his voice cracking like an adolescent boy’s, “You aren’t a traitorous Kormanley bastard.”

Then he was gone.

Allan stood in shocked silence, completely confused. But then the import of the Hound leaving hit and his entire body began to tremble. A wave of weakness overcame him and he sank into a crouch, ass on his heels, chest heaving, head bowed down as the adrenaline crash shuddered through him. Tears coursed down his face and dripped from his chin. He couldn’t seem to stop them.

He sat that way for over ten minutes, until he’d calmed his breathing and strength had returned to his legs. Then he stood, wiped the tears from his face, tasted their salt on his lips, and resheathed his blade.

He didn’t understand what had just happened, but he wasn’t going to wait around to figure it out either.

Grabbing the handles of the pullcart, he lifted—it was surprisingly light without Janis weighing down the back—and trotted forward. He intended to catch up to her before the sun set fully.

And then they would leave Erenthrall behind.

Report.

I have located the . . . prey.

The Guide registered his hesitation.

Explain.

My orders were to seek the “traitorous Kormanley bastard” and subdue him. The prey is not Kormanley.

The Guide did not respond. The Hound shifted uncomfortably, suddenly uncertain, the fear of a reprimand and punishment shivering through his skin.

The prey has left Erenthrall
, he added.
Should I pursue?

More silence, broken a moment later.

No. Return to the den.

“C
APTAIN DAEDALLEN.”

Daedallen broke off his conversation with four of his alphas and spun, immediately recognizing Baron Arent’s voice through the raucous noise of the Dogs’ den. Others did as well, as the cacophony of laughter, camaraderie, and the clang of swords and the pummel of fists against flesh in the training pit died out.

Daedallen could not remember the last time he’d seen the Baron in the Dogs’ lair. He stepped forward instantly.

“Baron Arent. Did you summon me?”

The Baron’s gaze grazed all of those present, dismissing all of them except for Daedallen and those the captain had been speaking to on his arrival. “I did not summon you, no. I came to discuss your progress with the Kormanley.”

Daedallen shifted into a formal stance. “I was discussing that with my alphas when you arrived.”

“Then continue.”

He hesitated, then nodded and turned back to the others. All four of them stiffened, their unease clear at having the Baron listening in. Daedallen nodded toward Terrence. “It’s been five days since the crackdown after the riot in Calder. What’s the status of that district?”

“Activity there has quieted. The Dogs say the citizens are still on edge, and there have been reports of attacks on the Dogs and the city watch within the last day. I would not recommend decreasing the Dogs stationed there for at least another few days.”

Daedallen grunted. It had been the last execution. The dissent in the crowds had grown steadily at each one, the fear and anger finally snapping. Over thirty citizens had been killed in the riot that followed. Fires had broken out in five locations; one had burned down an entire block, the smoke visible from the Amber Tower for two days. The Dogs had flooded the streets and thousands of residents had fled to neighboring districts.

But not all. Hundreds had remained behind, some in passive defiance, going about their daily lives as if the Dogs weren’t hovering in pairs or triples at every street corner, while others had been more forceful. Two dozen coordinated attacks on the Dogs and city watch had killed half a dozen guardsmen in the streets. At least forty had been injured by thrown rocks, bricks, and loose cobblestones, or by vicious beatings when groups ambushed the guards and dragged them into darkened alleys or closed-up shops. Daedallen feared that the majority of the attacks happening not just in Calder but all over Erenthrall were not being instigated by the Kormanley.

“Agreed. But rotate those stationed in Calder to other districts and replace them with fresh guardsmen. I don’t want any of this fighting to become personal.” He skipped to Branden. “What about the search for the Kormanley? We had a lead. The Hounds were searching for the clerk and the owner of the newsprint
The Ley
, weren’t they?”

Branden’s gaze slid toward the Baron and he licked his lips before answering. “We captured the clerk, Tyrus, two days ago. He’s down in the cells. But we haven’t gotten anything useful from him.”

“Why not? Can’t you make him cooperate?”

Branden snorted. “He’s
too
cooperative. As soon as we captured him, he began spilling his guts. He claims there are two sets of Kormanley—the peaceful one he belongs to, and a second splinter group that’s behind all of the recent bombings. He gave us the name of the leader of the peaceful group—Dalton, the owner of
The Ley
—but the Hounds were already looking for him. They haven’t reported back yet. He also gave us the names of the members of the splinter cell he supposedly infiltrated, but he couldn’t be more specific than that. He’s told us everything, but it’s all information we already knew or it’s useless.”

The Baron had shifted forward as Branden spoke. “What about their meeting places? We can send the Hounds there, have them pick up the conspirators’ scents.”

“He gave us those locations as well. They were all taverns or inns. One was a slaughterhouse. The Hounds are sorting through the scents now, but hundreds if not thousands of patrons have passed through each room. They’re having a hard time picking out the Kormanley from all of the rest.”

“What about Allan Garrett?” Hagger asked, his voice rumbling.

Daedallen ground his teeth together, the other Dogs staring at the floor. He drew breath to reprimand Hagger, but Baron Arent spoke first.

“Who is Allan Garrett?”

Hagger turned toward him, his voice tight and formal, but laced with hatred. “Allan Garrett was my partner. He ran after the bombing at the Amber Tower.”

“We thought he was Kormanley,” Daedallen interjected. “We sent a Hound after him. The Hound reported back that he’d left Erenthrall and,” he said pointedly to Hagger, “that he was
not
Kormanley.”

Hagger’s lip twitched into a scowl. “Even so, he is a Dog. He cannot be allowed to run.”

Daedallen felt more than his alphas’ eyes on him. No Dog had ever been allowed to leave the pack, except in death. Allan needed to be found, brought back, and punished. What he had done was inexcusable, denigrated them all with its cowardice. His hand clenched on the pommel of his sword, the knuckles white.

But Baron Arent shook his head. “He is inconsequential at the moment. We will hunt him down later. Right now, our focus must be on the Kormanley and the dissent ripping this city apart.” His cold eyes fell on Daedallen. “You are not being aggressive enough. I said to unleash the Dogs.
Unleash them
. Find the Kormanley and destroy them. Purge them from this city.”

Daedallen frowned. “What of the resistance we met in Calder? There are signs of it elsewhere. The dissension is coming from more than the Kormanley and their supporters.”

Baron Arent stepped close, glared up into Daedallen’s face. Daedallen could smell the fish the Baron had eaten for lunch on his breath. “The Dogs and the Hounds were created to instill fear. That fear brought the Barons to their knees. Make the citizens of Erenthrall fear the Dogs and the Hounds, as the Barons fear them.”

Without waiting for an answer, the Baron backed away, then strode from the den. The tension he’d brought with him did not abate.

Daedallen wiped the sweat from his palms on his shirt.

“Gather your men,” he said to his alphas. “Double the number of Dogs on patrol and seize the owners and employees of all taverns, brothels, and slaughterhouses where the Kormanley were known to meet. If anyone resists . . .” He hesitated. He knew what would happen, but the Baron had given him orders, here, in the den, before a significant portion of his men. He could not alter those orders now.

“If anyone resists,” he said again, meeting the gaze of each of his alphas squarely, “kill them.”

Marcus emerged from the shop on Archam that sold expensive chocolates, his purchase wrapped up in a small box tied with a length of blue ribbon. His smile faltered when he caught sight of the group of three Dogs loitering across the street and he ducked his head as he turned in the opposite direction. The Dogs were everywhere now. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. They hadn’t done anything against the Wielders at all. In fact, they appeared to be actively staying out of the Wielders’ way whenever possible.

He shrugged his unease aside and pushed the Dogs and the lingering effects of the execution from his mind. He gripped the box of chocolates harder. He was running late. Kara would be waiting for him at the market, probably with that annoyed expression that quirked the corners of her mouth in that way he enjoyed so much. She didn’t realize how it dimpled her cheeks. He grinned.

Distracted, he didn’t see the woman until they’d slammed into each other, both cutting the corner at the end of the street. They crashed to the ground, arms and legs tangled, the woman crying out in startled surprise and affront. Marcus’ heart thudded in his chest as he dropped the box. His shoulder struck the flagstone of the walk, pain shooting into his chest, and one of the woman’s elbows crunched into his face, but he shoved her aside and rolled, keeping the box in sight. It clattered to the stone, came to a rest on its side. He disentangled himself and scrambled to it, snatching it up and inspecting it for damage.

“Well,” the woman he’d run into said from the ground. “I see where your priorities lie.”

Seeing no damage except a minor scuff mark, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned toward her. “Sorry. I just spent two weeks’ worth of errens on this and—” He halted, brow furrowing in confusion. “Do I know you?”

The woman brushed long black hair off her face and reached out a hand. He grabbed it without thinking and hauled her to her feet. She smiled. “My name’s Dierdre. We talked briefly during the execution last week. I accused you of being a Baron sympathizer, remember?”

Brow still furrowed, he nodded. “I remember.”

“The beheading was disgusting,” Dierdre said, brushing herself off. “The Dogs should never have been allowed to get away with it.”

Marcus’ heart leaped up into this throat and he spun to see if the Dogs he’d noticed earlier were close. They’d been arresting people in Eld for less than what Dierdre had just said, had killed a few who resisted, right on the street. No trial, no pretense of hauling them off to the Tower for “questioning,” never to be seen again.

But the Dogs were gone.

Dierdre chuckled and he turned back. “I knew they were gone,” she said. “I’m not stupid.” She looked him up and down, her expression so speculative he blushed. “You don’t strike me as being stupid either. Young, but not stupid.”

“I’m not,” he said.

She shifted closer, lowered her voice. Pedestrians streamed by them on either side, no one paying them any particular attention. “I don’t think you like the Dogs very much either. Am I right?”

He frowned, sweat suddenly breaking out across his back, beneath his armpits. “I’m a Wielder. I have no problem with the Dogs.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s not what I saw at the execution, nor when you spotted them coming out of the shop just now.”

He shifted back, unconsciously gripping the box harder in his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dierdre chuckled again, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down Marcus’ skin. “No need to worry. I’m not working for the Dogs. I’m not an informant.” Hatred tinged her voice and her gaze flicked from Marcus to the street, where the Dogs had been standing, then back. “I know many people who don’t like them. Maybe you’d be interested in meeting them sometime?”

Marcus sucked in a sharp breath, then coughed, retreating two steps, three. He glared at Dierdre uncertainly. His body shook with shock, rebelling at the thought. And yet part of his mind whispered,
The Dogs are out of control. And the Primes have lost control.

But the Kormanley had killed Kara’s parents.

Was this woman Kormanley? She hadn’t said anything about the ley, only the Dogs.

Confused, he said, “I’m late. I’m supposed to be meeting someone at the market.”

Dierdre’s shoulders sank, but she smiled. “Forgive me. I did not mean to detain you.” She glanced down toward the box. “A gift for . . . ?”

“My partner.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Your partner.”

He blushed again, but lifted his chin. “We run patrols together.”

“I see.”

He began to step away, but she grabbed his arm, a light touch, but insistent. “If you change your mind, ask for me at the Tambourine. It’s a little café on Bittersly Street.”

Then she let him go, merging into the bustle of the walk. He lost sight of her black hair when she rounded a corner.

He clenched the box of chocolate to his chest, then shook his head and moved in the opposite direction, toward the market.

Dalton noticed the Dogs trailing him when he paused to pick up a loaf of bread. His hand clenched involuntarily, fingers punching through the hardened outer crust into the soft warm interior. He barely heard the baker protest and demand payment, his body rigid with fear. But her shrill voice finally penetrated, and he dug hastily in his pocket for change when he realized the Dogs hadn’t noticed him yet. They appeared to be watching someone else.

“Here,” he said, handing over far too many errens for the bread. Her shriek cut off, but the disgruntled look on her face didn’t fade, nor the glare.