Threading the Needle (17 page)

They'd been herded through the city, skirting the fight that had continued between the Rats and the Tunnelers, the excitement of the group escalating into a near frenzy until Richten, the Rats' leader, had shouted out orders and punctuated them with a few punches and kicks. Subdued, the group had left the battle behind, most of the Rats sullen and disgruntled.

That hadn't lasted long. Their excitement grew as they drew closer to their home base and they began anticipating the reaction from Fletch. Their speculations as they shoved their prisoners forward grew steadily more gruesome and graphic, turning Kara's stomach and terrifying Dylan.

Kara recalled what Allan had said the Rats had done to the Temerites they'd captured. He hadn't provided any details, but if even half of what the Rats had gleefully imagined on the way here were possibilities—

Richten gave a half-hearted kick to Dylan's kidney, eliciting a choked cry from the Wielder, before stepping over him and moving toward an empty chair. He turned to face the Rats that surrounded them—at least fifty more than the three dozen or so that had dragged them here from Clay. When he raised his hands, a knife glinting in the firelight, the already riled Rats roared, stamping their feet and clanging weapons against bits of metal armor or the stone firewalls that protruded a few feet above the rooftop. Three bonfires burned in stone firepits, one of them off to one side of the chair. At least a dozen torches were scattered throughout the group. To the right, the shattered outer edge of the distortion glowed a feral orange-pink, rising into the night sky. Kara couldn't see the river from their position, but she knew it was below. She'd seen it as the Rats extended the bridge to the adjacent rooftop and marched them across it to their lair. The water came up to the edge of the building on the sides that she'd seen. She didn't know how deep it was, but maybe she could make it to the edge of the building and leap off.

She scanned the nearest Rats, practically climbing over each other, like their namesakes. There were too many of them, and more appearing from the depths of the building every moment. How many of them
were there? She'd say at least a hundred here on the roof. How many were still in Tinker battling the Tunnelers?

“We come from the battlefield!” Kara's attention snapped back to Richten as the Rats in attendance roared again. Someone began beating on a drum, the sound low and hollow, joined a few moments later by two others. “And we bring prisoners!”

Someone rushed to Richten's side with a water skin, and he drank as the Rats flew into a steel-edged frenzy layered with anticipatory violence. Many of them were yelling out suggestions. Kara could practically taste the bloodlust.

But Richten raised his hands again. The frenzy quieted, but didn't die.

“I brought them back for Fletch.” A tide of barked disdain and hisses of disapproval washed over the rooftop. Richten pointed his knife at the Rats, circling so he caught everyone watching. “You know Fletch is searching for something. For someone. Would you deny him? You know his wrath. You've witnessed it here many times! The Temerites refuse to answer and they die. The Underearthers spit at our feet and they die. The White Cloaks . . . well, the White Cloaks elude us for now. But not for long.”

Kara shot a questioning glance toward Adder and the others as the Rats hooted and gloated in response. Adder met her gaze, but shrugged.

Richten turned back to face them. “No, the White Cloaks won't escape us for long. Fletch will take care of that. And Fletch will take care of these as well.” He sidled forward, toward Kara, knife pointed at her face. He halted a few paces away, locked gazes with her. His eyes were a dark, muddy brown. His hair was a wild mess that, if cleaned, would be a light brown. He had a scar along one cheek, near his left ear, the lobe missing, as if it had been torn off. Beneath the scrim of dirt were freckles.

He was probably fifteen, but the hatred in his eyes was far older.

“Who are you?” He held the knife steady. “Where did you come from?”

Kara swallowed, trying not to look at the point of the blade, keeping her eyes on Richten's. She didn't answer.

Richten shifted his gaze to Dylan, who watched in horror where he lay. He flinched as Richten passed by him, hunched forward, eyes closed. Richten sneered, but left him, halting in front of Gaven. The wagonmaster raised his chin in defiance.

“What about you? Will you answer me? What group are you with? Where are they hiding?”

Gaven ground his teeth together, didn't respond. The shouts of the Rats surrounding them turned derisive, many laughing at Richten, others calling out suggestions. Richten didn't look toward them, but the needling jests were getting to him.

He flicked the blade forward, Gaven sucking in a sharp breath as the edge settled against the skin of his throat, just beneath his jaw. The Rats on all sides went eerily silent and still.

Richten bared his teeth. “No answer? Afraid we'll slaughter your friends if we find them?” He twisted the knife and Gaven stiffened, head tilted away from the blade. Blood trickled down the wagonmaster's neck, stained the collar of his shirt.

Richten laughed and pulled the knife away, the Rats breaking into another roar, half encouragement, half disappointment. Richten displayed the blood on the blade and the roar escalated.

Then he spun toward the Dogs and Jack. “I think they all believe they're safe without Fletch here.” He twirled the knife in his fingers. “But they're wrong.”

With two quick steps, he reached Kent's side and plunged the knife into his throat.

The Rats erupted into a frenzy, the sound smothering Kara as nausea rose with a hot bubble of bile. She swallowed it down as Kent arched back, Richten twisting the knife in his neck viciously before jerking it free and shoving the Dog's body backward into the hands of the waiting Rats. They swarmed over him with a howl, not heeding the arterial splash of the Dog's blood as they surged over him, spears and blades sinking into flesh even as they lifted his body up and began parading it around the rooftop. Kent bellowed in belated pain and rage, began to buck, but they were too strong. The Rats began to chant. Kara was too stunned to make out the words. Beside her, Dylan rolled to one side and vomited onto the roof, the stench slamming into Kara's senses, overriding the metallic scent of Kent's blood. She wanted to reach out to Dylan, drag him to his feet and flee, but she couldn't see any way through the Rats, not to the roof's edge, not even to the numerous rat holes that led down into the building.

Her gaze skimmed over the chaos of faces surrounding them. Something struck her shoulder, the pain sharp, and she whirled, faces leering
down at her, taunting, screaming, laughing. She jerked back, one hand landing on the roof for support. She'd half climbed to her feet when she caught sight of Adder.

He shook his head, flicked his eyes to the right.

She glanced in that direction, saw Richten standing still, watching her with a hunter's look, muscles tensed, anticipatory, waiting patiently for the prey to bolt so he could pounce and savor the kill.

She choked on a gasp, a wave of dizziness passing over her. She was hyperventilating, her breath too short, her chest tight.

Bowing her head, she sank back down to her knees and sucked in a large lungful of air to steady herself. Disappointment crossed Richten's face before he turned away to watch the rest of the Rats parading Kent's body around the roof. The Dog was still bellowing in rage, although it sounded weaker. Kara blocked it out, crawled forward to Dylan's side, and rolled him gently toward her. His eyes were glazed, mouth slack. Bile smeared one side of his chin, its acidic reek sickening, but she reached out and slapped his face.

“Come on. Wake up. You don't stand a chance if you're catatonic.”

She slapped him again and he jerked away from her, arms flailing in self-defense. Kara caught his wrists. “Dylan, it's me!”

He tried to pull away until her voice registered, his eyes latching on to her face. “Kara? What happened?” As if finally becoming aware of his surroundings again, his eyes widened. “Kent.”

“You need to stay with us if you're going to make it out of here.”

She helped him to hands and knees. He winced in pain, favoring his left leg.

The Rats had migrated to the edge of the roof. Kara watched as they hoisted Kent's body up for display, the Dog limp now, covered in blood from a hundred cuts, the most garishly visible the one Richten had made in his neck. Then they tossed him over the side.

She didn't hear the body hit the water of the river below. The roar from the Rats was too loud, the drums beating in a rapid rhythm that thrummed in Kara's skin.

“Now.” Kara's head snapped back in Richten's direction. He'd moved closer, still held the knife, Kent's blood on the blade. “Who are you and where do you come from?”

Allan signaled to the Dogs and Cutter to remain silent as their weapons were taken and their hands were bound. The two Wielders and Aaron followed suit, no one protesting. They were forced to kneel on the rooftop where they were captured, a group of the Tunnelers guarding them, most clustered near the edge of the roof where they could see the fight still going on below. He was certain these were from the group beneath the ley station now. They were older—maybe fifteen to twenty-five—and now that he'd had time to study them, he realized they were dressed better. The clothes were cleaner, had been patched and repaired, and most of them wore shoes or boots. The Rats went mostly barefoot. And they'd bathed recently.

Glenn caught his eye and nodded toward the open trapdoor on the rooftop where the Tunnelers had cut them off. Only three of their captors stood guard there, one of them the youngest of the group. They could probably knock all three off their feet and be down the stairs inside before those gazing down at the street below even realized they'd moved.

But then what? There were bound to be more of the Tunnelers on guard inside the building, and even if they made the street, where would they run with the fight raging just below? He doubted they could wade through that without drawing attention, especially with their hands still tied.

He shook his head at Glenn. Artras had noticed the exchange. She appeared to be trying to tell him something with her eyes, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

Then the sounds from the street below shifted, drawing away, and the oldest of those on guard—a young woman, maybe twenty-two, who Allan had heard one of them call Sorelle—drew back from the roofline. She had long, dark hair, nearly black, and her expression was hard.

“Jaimes, Laura, get the rest. We're moving.”

Laura headed for the stairs and disappeared below. Jaimes' group surrounded Allan and the others.

Sorelle came to stand in front of Allan. She carried a sword in one hand, loosely, her stance casual, unthreatening, but he could see the alertness in her muscles. She could kill him within a heartbeat if he made a move.

Allan found himself reassessing the group. Especially this woman.

“Stand up.” Sorelle emphasized the order with a twitch of the blade.

He climbed to his feet, wincing as muscles in his leg and back that had been strained by their flight twinged. “What are you going to do?”

“Take you below.”

Jaimes grabbed his arm from the side and shoved him toward the trapdoor, the other Tunnelers closing in on the Dogs and Wielders. Carter jerked out of the grip of the boy holding him, then stumbled and fell face-first to the rough stone of the roof. A few of their captors snickered as he moaned and rolled himself to his knees, his face now scraped and bloody, but they were cut off with a sharp word from Sorelle. The Dogs had all tried to move to protect the Wielder, but were held back.

Jaimes hauled Carter to his feet, and then they were all hustled toward the trapdoor and maneuvered down through the building and out into the street. As soon as he ducked through the battered door, Allan glanced east toward the distortion, muscles tensed, but the fight had carried the Tunnelers and Rats in that direction, and the thoroughfare was clogged with the melee. The street outside was littered with bodies, splashed with blood, a group of Tunnelers younger than the fighters methodically looting whatever they could. Wagons had been pulled up and were being loaded with weapons, armor, and even some clothing and food as the children raced back and forth along the street, going body to body.

Sorelle paused outside the door, staring in the direction of the fight, then shook herself and pointed with her sword back toward the ley station. “Walk.”

They wound through Tinker, past the house where they'd holed up when the Rats arrived, then into the wide plaza before the ley station. The barricades the Tunnelers had hastily erected were still up, the bodies of Rats being removed from the stakes where they'd been impaled and stacked to one side, more children scavenging here. Sorelle was challenged by a slew of fighters on guard, but she gave a curt password at each post and they moved on without stopping.