Threading the Needle (16 page)

They ran into the hills to the northeast of the village, the rest of the group shadowy figures to either side. Cory kept to the back. They slowed when they reached the steepest part of the hill, forced to ascend in a switchback pattern, the ground slippery. Cory slid two or three times, catching himself with one hand, before they reached the top.

Once there, they ran into another group, already settled in. Bryce spoke with the leader briefly, then headed east along the ridge, the group they left behind dousing their lantern as soon as they'd left. They passed four more groups before Bryce finally reached the location he'd chosen earlier.

“Spread out and settle in. And shutter that lantern. But don't lose sight of each other.”

As the others complied, Bryce snagged Cory's arm. “I meant what I said earlier. If we're attacked, race back to the village and make certain that bell is rung. There are other runners besides you, but don't count on one of them making it.”

Cory scanned the area, choosing the shadows of a fallen tree toward the back of the line, ten paces from where Bryce crouched down behind a large boulder.

The faint light of their lantern cut off abruptly, plunging Cory's spot into complete darkness. He heard rustling as the rest of the group adjusted their positions, one or two coughing quietly.

Then silence settled. Or what passed for silence in the woods. A breeze rustled in the leaves of the branches overhead. The boles of the trees creaked. Somewhere close, an owl hooted and the undergrowth crackled as smaller night creatures roamed the forest floor; they were too close to the village for larger game. Cory shifted as his leg began to cramp, resting his head back. Overhead, the sky was black, thick clouds obscuring the moon and stars. He could taste rain on the wind.

An hour later, a runner passed through, reporting to Bryce that no one had seen anything or anyone. Shortly after that, the rain started, a faint misty drizzle that strengthened into a chilling downpour. Someone groaned and another cursed, until Bryce muttered a curt warning. The group fell silent again, the sigh of the rain hitting the leaves above overriding all of the other night noises.

The adrenaline had long worn off when the birdcall came faintly from the northeast. Cory had nearly fallen asleep a dozen times, head jerking upward after his chin had sagged onto his chest. The call barely registered.

But Bryce shifted behind his rock and hissed a warning. Cory's hand fell to his sword as he twisted into a crouch, the earth wet and squishy beneath him. The rain hadn't slackened and water ran down his face, dripped from his chin. He shivered with the cold. To either side, the others shifted into ready positions as well. Cory glanced toward Bryce, who shook his head slightly, then focused on the darkness beyond their location.

He heard nothing but the rain for nearly ten minutes, then the unmistakable snap of a branch underfoot. His hand jerked involuntarily and he swallowed back a bitter taste coating his tongue.

Figures edged out of the darkness—three, then four . . . no, five. Bryce pulled back further behind his stone, letting the shrouded men creep closer. He signaled to the others, none of whom Cory could see through the rain, then ordered Cory to stay put.

When the bandits had come flush with Bryce's position, the Dog moved.

His dagger cut into the side of the nearest man as he drew his sword, the bandit dropping without a sound. He cut another man's throat as the bandit jerked back in surprise and began to shout, the warning ending in a gurgle. The others had attacked as well, figures dropping on all sides with only grunts or gasps of shock. It was over in moments, Cory's held breath expelled in a huff. He'd clutched the hilt of his sword so hard his fingers were cramping. His entire body trembled in aftershock.

He hadn't even moved from behind his fallen tree.

Bryce straightened from examining one of the bandits when someone shouted to the west, a roar breaking the odd rain-soaked night, followed by the sudden sharp clash of steel on steel. The sounds
escalated, the fight spreading. More shouts broke the stillness, coming from the north.

Bryce spat a curse. “Rex, stay here with Cory. The rest of you, come with me!”

They charged out along the ridge in the direction of the fight. Cory lurched upright. “What about the village? Do I ring the bell?”

But they were gone. He turned to Rex—

And saw two more figures emerging from the darkness, directly behind the Hollower.

“Rex!”

He lurched toward the swineherd.

Rex twisted as the lead figure reached him. He cried out, one arm snapping up to protect himself as the other lashed out with his sword in an unwieldy slash. The bandit's blade clanged into the makeshift armor Rex wore on his forearm, slid down to the joint and cut into flesh. Rex screamed, his own blade finding the bandit's gut and slicing across it. Blood gushed from both wounds, black in the darkness, the bandit roaring as his hand clamped down over his stomach. Larger than Rex, he sagged to his knees as he yanked his sword out of Rex's arm and tried to stab the Hollower again.

But his blade met Cory's. Cory didn't remember drawing it, didn't even remember moving. As the swineherd fell back, arm cradled to his chest, Cory shunted the bandit's sword to the ground, staggering as the bandit collapsed forward onto his stomach and groaned. The second bandit grinned, his teeth startlingly white in the darkness, face streaked with rivulets of rain, beard matted to his chest.

“Not much of a fighter, are ya?” He blew the rain from his mouth in a spray. His voice was thick and cracked at the edges. “None of ya are. Easy pickins, then.”

He lunged.

Cory dodged, slid in the slick muck on the ground as he scrambled aside. The bandit's blade snagged his pant leg and cut deep into the earth, the bandit cursing. Cory's leg twinged as he pulled himself into a crouch, back hunched, his entire left arm and side covered in chunky muck. But he still gripped his sword.

The bandit jerked his blade from the ground and glowered at him. “Quick bastard.” All of his light-hearted, malicious humor had died.

He struck quick and without forewarning, Cory barely bringing his
sword up in time. The clang of metal on metal shivered up Cory's arm, throbbed in his shoulder. But he didn't have time to recover, the bandit's next blow coming in hard from the opposite direction.

Cory stepped back, his feet hitting one of the already fallen bodies. He pitched backward. His back slammed hard into the squelching earth, jarring the breath from him, and his sword snapped out of his grip.

He rolled to the side, grasping for his blade, but the bandit kicked him hard in the gut. Pain exploded outward from his stomach and he gagged, heaving in a torn gasp of air, coughed it back out as he curled around his gut. He reached toward the sword again.

The bandit's feet appeared before him, one settling on his outstretched hand, pressing down hard. If not for the softened earth, Cory knew his wrist or the bones in his hand would have snapped. The pain made him yelp and he cocked his head so that he could look up into the bandit's eyes.

The bandit grinned again, as he ground his foot down harder.

Cory moaned.

Something inside him tore, and a white-hot anger poured forth.

He looked up through the scraggly tendrils of hair plastered to his face and reached for the Tapestry. He twisted it, pulled it tight and knotted it before the bandit's chest.

Then he punched it forward and released it.

The bandit reeled back, a startled look crossing his face as he tripped over another body, sprawling back. Cory snatched up his sword, the bones of his hand screaming in agony, then staggered to the bandit's side. Before the man could recover, he sank the blade into his chest. It slid in with surprising ease, one edge grating against bone, the sensation traveling up through his hand and into his arm and chest. The bandit bucked up and gasped, mouth opening as if to scream, but all that came out was a bloody cough, the fluid black. He coughed again, heels digging into the earth as he tried to push himself away, arms flailing. He'd dropped his sword.

Then he sank back to the earth, hands reaching for the blade jutting from his chest, his eyes searching out Cory's. Before he could grab the steel, he collapsed back, as if all of his strings had been cut.

Cory let go of the hilt and staggered back a step. He leaned forward, his bruised abdomen aching. The anger that had suffused him as the
bandit stepped on his hand had died, leaving him hollow and shaky. He sank down to his knees, hunched forward.

The ferric scent of blood slammed into him.

He retched, his gut screaming at the new abuse, but he couldn't stop, even after his stomach had emptied. When it finally ended, he sank to one side and spat.

He had only experienced terror like this once before, outside the walls of the University, after the Shattering, when everyone had loaded up into wagons to escape the quickening of the distortion. They'd been attacked by the Wolves.

But this was different. He and Hernande had protected one of the wagons loaded with supplies and children. The Wolves had gone after the Dogs and fighters, like Bryce. He hadn't needed to use the knife he'd held.

Here, he'd killed. And not a Wolf.

Another human being.

His stomach heaved again, and he rolled back to his hands and knees.

“Cory?”

The voice was barely discernible through the rain, ragged with pain.

Rex.

Cory jerked upright, stumbled toward where he thought Rex had fallen, but it was the bandit the swineherd had gutted. Slipping on to the next dark shape, he found Rex shivering, arm clutched to his chest, his face shockingly pale in the dark.

“C-Cory.” Relief flooded the herder's face.

“Let me check it.”

Rex withdrew the hand holding his arm to his chest.

Cory's stomach lurched again at the sight of bone, a sizeable chunk of Rex's arm near the elbow simply gone. “Stay there.” He crawled to the nearest body, removing the man's belt. Distantly, he heard fighting, but it was difficult to place through the hissing rain. Cursing, he scrambled back to Rex and hastily cinched the belt as tight as possible around Rex's upper arm, the herder moaning. Rex's eyes fluttered, and Cory slapped him to keep him conscious.

“Stay awake. I can't carry you.”

Then he wrapped his arm beneath Rex's neck and hauled him up into a sitting position. He tucked his shoulder into Rex's armpit, beneath his good arm, and with Rex's help managed to stand.

Through the pouring rain, they began making their way down the side of the ridge.

“Where . . . going?”

“Back to the Hollow. You need to get to Logan. And I need to make certain someone rings that damn bell.”

C
O
RY STAGGERED INTO THE HOLLOW'S CENTRAL AREA
, Rex's body a dead weight hanging on his shoulders. The swineherd had nearly made it to the village, then passed out within a hundred yards of the outlying cottages. Cory had dragged him the rest of the way, but now his strength gave out. He let the Hollower sag to the ground.

“Logan! Over here!”

In the center of the village, a small group of those left behind suddenly turned. They'd been focused on the ridge to the north, although they couldn't see or hear anything through the pounding rain.

“It's Cory!”

Cory settled Rex's body as carefully as he could as nearly the entire group raced toward him, Hernande and Logan in the lead.

“He took a sword to the arm. It's bad. It cut deep.”

Logan knelt on the ground, hands flying over Rex's body, looking for damage. Morrell threw herself down next to him.

Paul stepped forward, the others gathering around. “What's happening?”

Cory thrust himself up from Rex's side and pushed through the crowd. “The bandits attacked. Bryce and the others are fighting them off now. We need to get everyone to the caves.”

Paul grabbed his arm and halted him. “Are you certain that's necessary? We haven't seen or heard anyone.”

“Let go of my arm.” When Paul's grip merely tightened, Cory jerked his arm free. “We need to sound the alarm. Now.”

He spun, everyone stepping out of his way, and broke into a trot
toward the meeting hall and the medium-sized bell on a stand erected before it. Reaching beneath its mouth, he grabbed the rope hanging down from the clapper and began hauling it back and forth.

The sound was loud and higher-pitched than he expected, but he continued clanging away as everyone scattered on the square. Someone grabbed a nearby handcart, dumped out the wood already loaded, and dragged it toward Logan, who carefully picked up Rex and laid him down inside. Morrell raced for Logan's cottage. Everyone else headed toward the nearby cottages, pounding on doors or rushing inside to grab what little possessions they'd prepared for the caves. A smaller group raced toward the refugee camp, although they should be able to hear the alarm even with the rain. Sophia was arguing with Paul, heatedly.

Hernande made his way toward Cory after sending a small cluster of the Wielders and University mentors and students off toward the refugee camp.

“What are they arguing about?”

“Retreating to the caves. Paul thinks we should stay and defend the village.”

“He's stupid.”

“He's afraid.”

People were emerging from the cottages now, satchels and bags thrown over their shoulders. Mothers herded children toward the distant paths, at least one man in each group carrying a weapon. Some of the children and a few of the adults were sobbing. Cory saw Janis emerge from Morrell's cottage, figure hunched, lantern swinging from one hand. She settled a pack on her back and joined another group, helping to keep the children in line. They faded into the downpour, the lantern light dying quickly, as if smothered. More groups emerged from the screening forest between the refugee camp and the village, all of them headed northwest, most being led by Wielders or those from the University. Cory recognized Sovaan and Jerrain. Mareane, one of the younger Wielders, was carrying a struggling, yipping Max.

Cory started when Hernande's hand gripped his shoulder. “I think you can stop now.”

Cory relented and began massaging his shoulder, only now feeling the ache. He suddenly realized he hadn't been ringing the bell so much as beating it, his motions frantic, barely in control. His entire body felt stiff with tension, locked under rigid control.

But as the adrenaline rush of getting Rex help and sounding the alarm faded, he began to tremble.

Hernande squeezed his shoulder. “What happened?”

“The bandits attacked!” But that wasn't what Hernande meant.

He looked toward the ridge. “I . . . I killed someone.”

“Ah. Killing someone is a hard thing, isn't it? It isn't as simple as thrusting a sword and walking away. It's much more personal than that, even when you don't know the man or woman you have killed. Even if that man or woman was attempting to kill you.”

Cory looked down at his hand, the one the bandit had crushed into the mud with his boot. It still ached—a deep, internal pain. He flexed his fingers, making and unmaking a fist, telling himself it was to loosen it up.

“It was so easy.”

“Death is always easy.” Hernande let his hand drop from Cory's shoulder. “Dealing with the consequences is hard.”

“How would you know?”

“I wasn't always a mentor at the University.”

“What happened?”

“It was a long time ago, in the Demesnes. Right now, we need to get you and the others to the caves.”

He tugged on Cory's arm, but Cory resisted. “There's something else. I did something during the fight. I used the Tapestry.”

Hernande's eyebrows shot upward. “How?”

“I knotted it up and punched it into the bandit's chest. It's what knocked him over, made him lose his sword. It's what gave me the chance to kill him. Otherwise I'd be dead.”

Hernande considered him in silence, eyebrows lowered, knit together in thought.

“I was thinking, even before the attack, that those of us from the University—and even the Wielders—could do more than just hold swords. We can help in the defenses in other ways. But after what I did, maybe we can actually fight.”

“Perhaps. You'll have to show me what you did. But later.” He tugged on Cory's arm again, more insistent. “We need to go.”

Cory didn't resist this time. They trotted across the commons, toward the last of the people making their way in groups toward the caves. Joining Sophia and Paul and a few of the Hollowers who'd stayed
behind with weapons, they herded the last of the people through the paddocks and fields in the widest part of the valley into the trees beyond, abandoning the worn tracks and trails made by the herders and animals. Some of the stock brayed or bleated as they passed the barns, sensing the turmoil outside. Then they were in the forest, somewhat sheltered, rain dripping down from above. Lanterns trailed away ahead of them, flickering as the groups passed through the trees. Someone handed Cory another sword, which he accepted hesitantly. He took position at the back of the group with Paul and two others, watching their retreat.

Thirty minutes later they were at the entrances to the caves, people bunched up outside as they hauled the cart carrying Rex up over the steep slope leading to the mouth. The screen of vines and brush that had hidden the entrance had been ripped aside, the two openings—one significantly larger than the other—lit from within by lantern light. People were shouting, the sounds muted by the rain, punctuated by curses as the cart slipped in the slick mud. Others were filing past the group dealing with the cart, another group forming a chain into the smaller opening, handing up the smaller children and passing along whatever supplies or packs people had grabbed and brought with them as they fled.

Rex and the cart made it inside, Logan already shouting for people to get out of his way, his bellowing voice echoing out from the opening. The remaining men and women grabbed the last of the children and ducked through, leaving only Sophia, Hernande, and the rest of those with weapons outside.

To Cory's right, Paul spat a curse. “We'll never hide the entrances now. They've destroyed the cover.”

Hernande had been staring at the shredded vines and brush with a frown. He would have been chewing on the end of his beard, if it hadn't been soaked with rain. “I believe the mentors of the University can help with that.”

“How?”

Hernande moved toward the smaller entrance and Cory felt him reaching out for the Tapestry. As he'd seen his mentor do a thousand times in the practice rooms at the University grounds in Erenthrall, Hernande gathered up folds, plied them like cloth, careful not to stretch them too tight or tear them, and then layered them over the
opening. He tied one side off with a knot that could be easily removed, if you knew what to look for. As he did so, the mouth of the cave shimmered, and a curtain that looked like rock appeared over it. Except that the lantern light from within glowed through, as if the rock were sheer fabric.

“It needs some work.”

Paul's eyes widened and he looked toward Sophia. But she didn't object.

Hernande released the knot with a sharp tug and began refolding the Tapestry, this time in a slightly different shape. Cory moved up to see if he could help, letting the others better suited to wielding swords watch the surrounding woods.

“What do we do now?” one of them asked as he passed.

“We wait.”

Bryce ripped his sword out of another bandit's side, thrusting the gagging woman away from him as he did so. She landed in the muck and rolled, one arm clutching at the wound, then shuddered and stilled.

Bryce staggered back a step, exhaustion passing through him in a wave, but he gripped the slick handle of his blade and scanned the area. Bodies littered the ground between the trees, some of them Hollowers, most of them attackers. He watched Braddon cut another one down, the rest of those in sight either being finished off or fleeing back into the night.

“They're running!” someone shouted, and those nearest let out a triumphant roar, swords raised overhead. A few of them took off in pursuit, but Braddon called them back.

“Shouldn't we follow them?” someone asked. “Hunt them down?”

“In the dark? In the rain?”

“But they know where we are.”

“We'll send Reiss and the others after them. They'll have better luck tracking them in this mess.”

Bryce doubted Reiss and the trackers would have much chance of finding them all, not with the rain coming down this hard, but Braddon passed on the order.

Bryce turned to the rest. “Check all of the bodies. Get our wounded back to the Hollow, and if any of the attackers are alive, find me.”
Suiting action to words, he knelt down, sword at the ready, and rolled the woman's body toward him. She was dead, pale face streaked with tendrils of her hair, mouth open, the rain already washing away the blood and mud. He wiped his blade clean on her clothing, noting her makeshift armor. He spent a moment searching through her pockets.

Braddon joined him a moment later. “They aren't trained. And look at their armor, what few had any armor at all. They're thieves.”

“They're more organized than most. How many do you think attacked tonight?”

“No more than fifty.”

“Which is about how many Reiss and Cory reported seeing at their camp.” Bryce stood, staring off into the distance, blinking away the rain that dribbled down his face. “This wasn't their main force. I don't think they expected to meet any resistance. They thought they'd catch us by surprise, overwhelm us.”

“With fifty men and women?”

“They think we're just a rogue group, like those we've seen from a distance on the plains. They haven't realized how many of us there are yet, that we aren't a bunch of refugees with a few wagons and a desperate grasp on hope.”

“What happens when they figure out we have an entire town here?”

Bryce didn't answer. He glanced down at the dead woman at his feet. “Someone's not going to be happy. Send runners to the rest of the groups, the village, and the caves. Make certain there wasn't another group attacking on a different front. If not, tell everyone it's over for now.”

“Already done.”

“Then let's find Sophia, Paul, and the others. We need to talk.”

Kara bit back a curse as the Rats who had dragged her from the Clay District shoved her down, hard, onto the roof of one of their island buildings in the middle of the Tiana. Her hands burned where the grit had taken the skin off in a thin layer. To the side, Dylan cried out as they kicked his knees out from under him. He landed on his side, both hands clutching at his left leg. Adder, Kent, Gaven, and Jack fumed as they were all pushed down into kneeling positions. Their weapons had been seized back in the courtyard in Clay. Both Adder and Kent bore
the bruises from the minor scuffle that had followed after the Rats surrounded them. It had been a hopeless attempt. Jack hadn't even drawn an arrow, handing his bow over with a glare that promised retribution.