Shattering the Ley (33 page)

Marcus struggled with his disappointment for a moment, the pain clear in the contours of his face, but then he sighed. “I suppose it is unexpected. I just . . . don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” She kissed him in reassurance. It lacked the intensity of before, but still felt different. That part of their relationship had changed permanently.

“Kara? Marcus?”

Kara started at Ischua’s voice, a flush creeping up her neck as she took a step back from Marcus and turned. “Ischua!” she gasped, a little too loudly. “What are you doing here?”

Ischua’s gaze traveled from Kara to Marcus and back again, measuring and weighing, taking in everything. Kara’s skin prickled under the scrutiny. “It’s a market, Kara. I’m here shopping.” He held up a package wrapped in paper and tied with twine.

“Oh. Yes.”

An uncomfortable silence followed until Ischua said with a cocked eyebrow, “Did I interrupt something?”

“We were just discussing. . . .” Marcus floundered, glanced toward Kara in panic.

She sighed in resignation. “You’ll find out soon anyway. Marcus told me I may not be staying at the Eld node for much longer. We were thinking of living outside the node, getting a place of our own.”

Ischua stiffened as she spoke. “You’re being transferred out of Eld?”

“Timmons said the Primes were talking about moving her, after the incident at the barge station,” Marcus said. “He doesn’t know where yet, or when. But within the next year.”

“Earlier than usual,” Ischua said. Then he muttered under his breath, “I was trying to keep them from noticing your potential this soon.”

“What do you mean?”

Ischua hesitated. Then: “You exhibited power early, Kara. That’s usually a sign of great potential. I tried to keep your power hidden from the Primes until the testing at the school when you were fourteen, but then your parents died. At that point, the best option was to let the Wielders take you. But I still didn’t tell them exactly what you had done with the stones in Halliel’s Park. I was hoping you would blend in with the others, that you would be overlooked, at least for a while.” He shook his head, lips pressed tight together. “The training from the Primes can be . . . harsh. They care only for themselves and for the ley system. They will use whatever—and
whoever
—they can to retain control of it. Their abuse of the power and those who wield it is what drove me to retire and become a Tender. I didn’t want them to notice you until you were strong enough and confident enough to face them, to stand up to them if necessary.”

Something swelled inside Kara’s chest, threatened to close her throat. “You think . . . I could be a Prime?” She couldn’t voice the question she really wanted to ask, but it appeared Ischua knew anyway.

He smiled, reached out and gripped her shoulder. “Didn’t I say so after you received your purples? And yes, Kara, I have always and will always be proud of you.” He squeezed his hand, then turned his attention to Marcus, his expression becoming grave. “As for you . . . will you protect her and cherish her? Honor her and keep her safe?” His tone was only half-mocking.

Marcus straightened. “I will.”

“Hmm . . . we shall see.” The words carried a veiled threat, but Ischua broke into a smile. “But for now, I give you both my blessing.”

Someone spat a curse, not far distant, followed by someone else bellowing in protest and a woman’s shriek.

Ischua glanced up beyond Kara’s shoulder at the commotion, and an instant later his face fell, the benign smile collapsing into fear and recognition. “Korma preserve us.”

Marcus and Kara spun. Kara frowned as she caught sight of a single man tearing through the market, shoving men and women out of his way, stumbling over blankets and displays of wares as he came. He was of average height, black hair, mixed with a smattering of gray. His face was lined with desperation.

And then his gaze fell on Ischua and it transformed into determination, into purpose. He altered his course, tripped over a stack of brightly colored fabric, but caught himself with one hand and launched himself forward, ignoring the merchant’s protests. He plowed between Kara and Marcus, knocking them to the side, and slammed into Ischua, grabbing onto the Tender’s shirt. Ischua had braced for the impact, but he still staggered back a step, holding onto the man’s upper arms to steady them both.

“You have to run,” the man growled. “The Dogs have found me. They’re after me now, with one of their Hounds. If they found me, then they’ll find the others. They’ll find
you
. You have to warn them. Warn them all to get out of Erenthrall!”

At the edge of the market, fresh screaming rose and the man pushed himself away from Ischua. He gathered himself, the panic and fear Kara had first seen on his face dissolving completely as a brace of Dogs thrust themselves forward through the crowds and into the large, packed square. They were a pace behind a much leaner man that Kara found difficult to focus on. All of them were searching the market, the lean man’s nostrils flaring.

The black-haired man, now composed, scowled. “They hunt by scent, Ischua. Remember that.”

And then he brushed past them all, moving swiftly, but no longer crashing through those blocking his way. Kara lost sight of him within moments, turned back to Ischua. “Who was that?”

Ischua shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They do.” He nodded toward the Dogs.

The patrons in the market had grown agitated. Someone shouted, “What do you think you’re doing?” Others repeated the sentiment. A few called out curses or oaths. Someone spat in contempt on the ground near where Kara stood.

The lead Dog stepped forward, almost to the side of the lean man they followed. He raised his voice so that it boomed over the protests and grumbling. “There is a Kormanley accomplice hiding in this market! The life of anyone who hinders our search, resists, or harbors or aids this man in any way will be forfeit!”

His warning given, he nodded to the lean man and gestured to the rest of his Dogs. All of them drew swords, the lean man in front stepping forward, nose tilted slightly into the air.

The rumbling in the crowd increased and Kara felt the same oceanic surge of discontent she’d felt at the execution roiling around her. Except this undercurrent was deeper and deadlier than that, because of what had happened in the weeks since the beheading. Everyone knew of the riot in Calder, of the vicious retaliation of the Dogs in that district and others since. In the last week, the presence of the Dogs on the streets had doubled. A weight had settled over the city, oppressive and menacing, felt in the streets during the Wielders’ patrols. Riots had broken out in other districts, the streets left behind afterward riddled with the dead. Yet nothing of significance had happened in Eld.

But now the discontent in Eld had a focus.

Ischua stepped to Marcus’ side, grabbed his arm to catch his attention. “Both of you, get out of here. Head back to the node and stay there until this blows over.” When Marcus bristled, he added, “Do it! To protect her if nothing else.”

Marcus glanced toward Kara and subsided.

“What about you?” Kara demanded.

“I’ll head back to Halliel’s Park and close the gates. Now go!”

Marcus tugged her away from Ischua as the Dogs began forcing their way forward through the market’s crowd. Kara resisted, uncertain why, something dark and insidious clutching at her chest. Ischua gave her a last nod of encouragement. Then he turned away, his expression hardening, his eyes glinting with anger.

“Kara, come on!” Marcus growled, pulling her along. But she refused to turn.

Beyond Ischua, the Dogs were meeting resistance. Some of the people were desperately trying to get out of their way, but others were standing their ground, shouting protests that the market was a public area, that everyone had the right to be there, that the Dogs couldn’t simply force them to leave. The Dogs were tossing those who resisted to the side, trampling those on the ground, kicking aside stacks of fruit, piles of pottery, toppling small handcarts and spilling the contents across the markets’ flagstone. The lean man—the Hound, Kara assumed—simply stalked forward, heading directly toward Ischua, who didn’t move.

“Wait,” Kara muttered, then raised her voice to be heard over the increasing tumult near the Dogs. “Marcus, wait!”

Marcus halted. “What is it?”

Kara didn’t answer. Behind, someone threw a metal pot at the Dogs, the tin clanging against the lead Dog’s head, making him stagger backward. He caught himself, shook his head once, then scowled. More projectiles were launched—fruit, broken shards of clay pottery, a head of lettuce—and he bellowed, “Dogs! No mercy!” Then he thrust a woman out of his way, stomping down on her ankle as she tried to crawl from his path.

Kara winced, too distant to hear the bones break or grind together. But she wasn’t too far to hear the woman’s agonizing scream.

Everything within the market paused, held for a single collective breath. In that moment of silence, the oceanic tide of hatred and contempt rose in a chokehold, then crested and broke in the space of a heartbeat.

The entire market exploded into chaos, men and women surging toward the Dogs with roars of defiance and hate. Those closest struck them instantly, hitting them hard, grappling with them as they tried to bring them down. But the patrons of the market didn’t carry weapons and the Dogs did. The lead Dog shouted orders and swung his sword in a tight sweep, cutting two attackers across the chest, both collapsing to the ground with shocked expressions and sprays of blood. One of them writhed in silent agony, blood pouring from between his hands where he clutched his wound. The other remained still. But no one paid them any attention, the lead Dog falling back a step, the Dogs regrouping, their blades flaring in the sunlight as they began hacking at their attackers. Kara saw two more cut down, one of them a woman. The entire market had gone mad, a frenzy of confusion as people lurched toward the Dogs in rage or scrambled to get out of the way. The madness rolled across Kara’s skin in waves. Her gut tightened. Her breath came in shortened, sharp gasps. Her chest ached. She was being jostled on all sides as people tried to flee, the glimpses of those who ran past her studies in panic.

Marcus seized her arm. “Kara, let’s go.”

“Ischua.”

The Tender hadn’t moved. The crowd surged around him as if he were a stone in a river, a monolith of calm.

His attention was fixed on the Hound.

Kara had forgotten about him. But the lean man had his own blade out, was carving a path of death toward Ischua’s position, his motions fluid, subtle, precise, and deadly. His sword slid out to the side as he was attacked, slicing deep into an arm, a cheek, a thigh, or a gut, blade twisting and flicking too fast to be seen, but his attackers fell to either side. He kept his attention forward, shifting only to dodge the bodies or step over a moaning form. While the Dogs had nearly been overwhelmed, the Hound hadn’t even been touched, hadn’t broken stride.

He halted a pace away from Ischua. Kara tensed as the two stared at each other. The Hound said something. Ischua responded, and then the Hound glanced toward Kara and Marcus. Marcus sucked in a breath through his teeth, but the Hound wasn’t looking for them. He looked beyond, in the direction the man who’d lurched into Ischua had run earlier. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

With a casual thrust, the Hound sank his blade into Ischua’s stomach. The Tender sagged forward over the Hound’s hand. The Hound caught his shoulder, yanked his sword free, and let the Tender drop to the ground. Blood coated the front of Ischua’s clothes, dribbled from his mouth and into his beard.

Shock kept Kara rooted to the flagstone for one breath . . . two.

And then she screamed, “Ischua!” the Tender’s name ragged at the end as something in her throat tore. She leaped toward his crumpled form, images of her parents’ corpses flaring before her eyes with sickening clarity, but Marcus’ arm snaked around her waist and hauled her back. She struggled, shrieking, tears blurring her vision, but Marcus held on tight. The Hound shot her a curious glance, paused in his hunt, then continued on past them, picking up his pace as the crowd thinned. Kara kept her gaze locked on Ischua, kicking and scratching as Marcus pulled her away. The Tender coughed up more blood, rolled onto his side, struggled to rise, one arm clenched across his stomach, that hand still absurdly holding the package he’d shopped for earlier. But he had no strength. Sobbing hysterically, Kara watched him collapse onto his side, curl inward upon himself, face contorted in pain—

And then their eyes met.

Across the distance, their sightline cut off occasionally by patrons of the market as they ran between them in blurs of motion, Ischua’s brows knit in consternation and he frowned. He nodded once and mouthed the word, “Go.”

A reprimand. An order.

Then he laid his head down against the bloody flagstone and died, his entire body going slack.

All of the strength ran out of Kara’s arms and legs. “Ischua.”

Marcus cursed and thrust them both through the press of people clogging the market, dragging her along beside him. Kara dangled from his hold, his arm pressing painfully up under her ribs, until Ischua’s form was lost from sight. She slumped forward a moment, let her feet scrape along the flagstones, bump over debris—a blanket, the remains of a woven basket—and then she pushed against Marcus’ arm, struggled to regain her feet. He squeezed tighter at first, then realized she was trying to help him and let her go, catching hold of her arm instead as she sank into a crouch.

“Kara,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I know,” she muttered, her voice weak. Her throat hurt when she spoke or swallowed. “I know, Marcus. Give me a minute to catch my breath.”

He looked her over, then nodded, releasing her arm and standing over her protectively as the chaos of the market flowed around them. They’d reached the edge opposite where the Dogs had entered the square. It was calmer here, although people were still racing away from the fight, or toward it.

Marcus stirred beside her, his leg nudging her shoulder. “The fight is growing,” he said. “More Dogs have just arrived. We shouldn’t stay here much longer.”