Shattering the Ley (29 page)

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.

But then a new figure mounted the platform, head cloaked in a black hood, a massive pike with an ax-shaped head held in his hands.

“They’re going to behead him,” Marcus snapped.

Bile rose at the back of Kara’s throat. “I don’t want to see this,” she said, reaching to grab Marcus’ arm for support, “no matter what the Prime Wielder ordered.”

Marcus’ muscles were tense, his body rigid.

“Marcus?”

“Wait,” he muttered.

On all sides, the crowd shifted, people beginning to murmur beneath their breath as realization struck. The tendrils of unease and dissent she’d felt since they’d left the node grew. The emotions of those gathered on the square became suddenly thick and fluid, like an ocean, currents beginning to ripple and flow around them all, like the currents Kara felt in the ley when she entered the pit, only black and dangerous. She glanced toward Cory and Ischua, saw shock and horror in Cory’s eyes, a dark disapproval in Ischua’s drawn frown and lowered brow.

Captain Daedallen stepped to the edge of the platform, glaring out over everyone gathered. He waited a moment, the growing rumble from the crowd increasing, then dying out in uncertainty.

In a voice that growled out across the square, Daedallen said, “We are here today to mete out the Baron’s justice, to answer the challenge the Kormanley issued two nights ago at the Baronial Meeting. Prime Wielder Augustus?”

Augustus shifted to Daedallen’s side. He smoothed out his formal black Wielder’s robes, his expression stern. “Two nights ago, the Kormanley viciously attacked the Barons, lords, and ladies of Erenthrall at the Baronial Meeting in the Great Hall of the Amber Tower. Dozens were killed and hundreds were injured in this cowardly bombing. Captain Daedallen and the Dogs learned of the attack days in advance, after capturing Lord Gatterly and this man, Ibsen Senate, along with a dozen other Kormanley priests,” he spat the word, “on Lord Gatterly’s estate, but they were unable to stop the bombing.

“But Baron Arent wants to be clear. Such outright defiance of the Barony, such blatant disregard for the Baron and those that serve him, will not be tolerated! Even though the Baron survived, and even though the Nexus and the ley system were never in danger, he will not sit back and allow such violence to wreak havoc in his city!

“Lord Gatterly, Ibsen Senate, and all of those who were captured before the attack have been charged with crimes against the Baron and threats against the safety of all of those in Erenthrall. As such, they have all been sentenced to death. By association, anyone who claims to be Kormanley, who preaches against the will of the Baron, who violently attacks in the name of the Kormanley the sanctity of the ley system or threatens the Wielders who keep the citizens of Erenthrall safe, will be arrested and immediately put to death.

“I am here acting as the voice of Baron Arent. If any of you have information regarding the Kormanley or their associates, he encourages you to step forward and inform the Dogs.” Prime Augustus turned toward Daedallen. “As decreed by Baron Arent, I charge you with carrying out the execution of Ibsen Senate.”

“Very well.” Daedallen waited as Augustus stepped out of the way, then nodded toward the Dogs standing over Ibsen Senate. The one who’d forced Ibsen to his knees now jerked him back, twisted him around so that he faced the wooden block, then bent him forward so that his head and chest rested against its top. The Dog planted one of his heavy boots into Ibsen’s back, holding him down, while the hooded guard with the ax-like pike shifted into position.

The roil of unease that had quieted as Daedallen and Augustus spoke suddenly swelled, the mumbles and murmurs from before erupting into a few scattered shouts. Someone cried out, “You can’t do this!” Another shouted, “Are we just going to let them kill him right here, in front of us?” A few answered, or called out their own judgments or denials. The press of the crowd grew closer and shifted forward, Kara suddenly crushed up against the man before her. An elbow dug into her side and she grunted, pushing back, struggling as sweat broke out in her armpits. Her skin felt flushed, heated. She couldn’t breathe. She swallowed against the panic, called for Marcus, for Ischua or Cory, but her words were choked, nothing more than a gasp. She couldn’t see them anymore. They were lost in the crowd. On the platform, Daedallen noted the resentment of those gathered and motioned the Dogs on the stage to its edge, where they bolstered those already holding the crowd back. Then he gestured to the executioner, the motion curt.