Threading the Needle (39 page)

“But we aren't abusing it, not like the Baron and the Prime Wielders were in Erenthrall.”

“Weren't we? We were manipulating it just as they were manipulating the ley.”

“But not to the same extent!”

Hernande held up a hand to forestall him. “I agree, in principle. And I don't think the shudder we felt has anything to do with our own manipulations of the Tapestry.”

“But that doesn't mean that what happened to the ley lines isn't somehow affecting the Tapestry,” Jerrain interjected.

“Recall what we were investigating with the sands. We were
researching the connection between the Tapestry and the ley, and we used that connection to map the ley system. Mentors have known for decades that the two systems are intrinsically tied together, but we've never known exactly how, even though we used those connections in Erenthrall to help the Prime Wielders build the ley system. All of the ley lines—the conduits, the ley barge routes, the nodes—all of those are stabilized by manipulations of the Tapestry, so that the Wielders aren't needed to constantly supervise every junction and line. Even the creation of the towers in Grass came about through Primes and mentors from the University working together, the mentors warping the Tapestry into appropriate channels, the Primes directing the ley through those channels to sow the towers. Once you'd finished your studies at the graduate level, you'd have been taught how the Tapestry can be used to construct artifices and fields that would funnel the ley into whatever configurations the Primes needed. It only makes sense that if you damage one, you damage both.”

“But the Tapestry didn't seem affected in Erenthrall after the Shattering.”

“Not in any obvious way.” The trees were beginning to thin. Ahead, Jerrain was pushing the lower limbs aside as they neared the edge of the forest and the outcropping. “But the Shattering was linked directly to the Nexus. Its destructive power was funneled through the ley line system. That's how it passed from city to city, until it covered the entire network across the continent, based on what we've seen of the cities within sight of the plains. I think it's safe to say that every city and town connected to the ley system was affected by the power surge to a great, most likely catastrophic, extent.”

“But if the Shattering mostly affected the ley lines and not the Tapestry, why would it be reacting now?”

Hernande raised his hands to ward off the branches that were snapping back into his face as Jerrain let them go. The elder mentor could be heard muttering to himself and spluttering up ahead as he forced his way through the last of the trees. “Something must have happened that disturbed the Tapestry more directly. Something still connected to the ley, otherwise the Wielders wouldn't have had such an adverse reaction. Something—”

“Something like that.”

Hernande shoved the last of the thick branches aside, holding them
so that Cory could pass. After the relative shadows beneath the trees, the direct sunlight blinded him, and Cory shielded his face, blinking into the distance.

When he finally realized he was seeing another distortion—one significantly more massive than the one in Erenthrall, although an orange-red-purple rather than the more familiar green and pink—his arm dropped to his side. “It's over Tumbor.”

Hernande shifted a few steps ahead of him, toward the edge of the finger of stone that jutted out from the ridge at a slight upward angle.

“The sheer size of it . . .” Jerrain trailed off. “Think of the power necessary to generate such a structure. Where did it come from?”

“The distortion over Erenthrall was siphoning power from the remains of the Nexus and the lake of ley beneath the city. The singularity over Tumbor must have been doing the same for the past ten months.” Hernande looked at Cory, as if for confirmation. “It's no surprise the result is so monstrous. There was no one there to halt or lessen its formation, like there was in Erenthrall.”

Kara.

Cory's gaze shot toward Erenthrall. But the distortion there appeared unchanged.

“It's too bad we can't go study it.” Jerrain was still eyeing the distortion over Tumbor. “Obviously its formation caused some kind of feedback or significant stress to the Tapestry. The formation of the one in Erenthrall must have done the same; we simply couldn't detect it. It must not have been as powerful.”

“Or we were preoccupied with survival.”

“Or that. I wonder if the damage to the Tapestry was more significant closer to Tumbor? Maybe what we felt was an echo. What would the manifestations of such damage be?”

Hernande began to stroke his beard in thought. “The distortion itself is damage enough. It's a fracturing of reality, isn't it? And isn't the Tapestry simply a more fundamental layer of reality, a layer beneath the surface that most people can't sense or manipulate? We probably should have studied the Tapestry and its connection to the ley more closely before using it.”

“Human nature demands we use the tools we discover, even before we understand them.”

Something flashed in the distance. Not from the direction of either
Erenthrall or Tumbor. This was much closer, coming from beneath them, from the forest below.

Cory stepped up to the outcropping's edge and looked down. He scanned the nearest hills, but he saw nothing except treetops and patches of earth and stone through the foliage.

Another flash snapped his gaze to the left and a little farther distant, to where the trees were broken by a ravine. He couldn't see the stream that had cut its way through the stone, but he didn't need to. The raiders were at the top. Three of them. One of them was pointing in their direction with his sword, the sun glinting off its flat side.

A moment later, one of the others yanked a bow from off his back and began to string it.

Cory spun toward Hernande and Jerrain. “Raiders! Get back!” He lurched forward and shoved both of the startled mentors toward the forest, Jerrain staggering and falling to his side with a sharp cry of pain. Hernande stumbled but didn't hesitate, crashing through the nearest branches as Cory leaned down and hauled Jerrain to his feet, practically throwing the light-framed elder into the trees. Branches scratched across his face and leaves slapped his face, but the expected pain of an arrow embedding itself in his back never manifested.

“What in hells!” Jerrain cradled his arm against his side. “What's gotten into you? You nearly broke my elbow shoving me to the ground like that!”

“Raiders. They're on the lip of the ravine to the east. One of them was stringing a bow.”

Hernande moved to peer through the trees. “Cory's right. How many did you see?”

“Three.”

“There are more than three now. I see at least two dozen. And they're headed toward the Hollow.”

C
O
RY CURSED AS A BRANCH
slashed across his face. By the tingling burn, he knew it had drawn blood, but before he could reach to verify it, his foot skidded in the damp, leafy slope and he fell, crying out.

Ahead of him, Hernande turned, then hurried back to help him upright. They could hear Jerrain spitting and thrashing his way down behind them, slowed by his age, the trees, and the steepness of the hill.

“Are you all right?” Hernande pulled him up by one arm.

Cory brushed dirt and leaves from the seat of his breeches. “I'm fine. We don't have time—”

From the northwest, the Hollow's warning bell sounded.

“They're near the village!” Jerrain batted at the branches surrounding him, then stumbled to a halt beside them, gasping. He sucked in a breath to continue speaking, but the distant toll of the bell suddenly faltered with a harsh clang and fell silent.

All three of them stilled.

“I think they're already at the village.”

“We have to help them.”

Hernande shifted his grip from Cory's elbow to his shoulder. “You can move faster if you leave us behind, even with your bruised leg.”

“Mentor—”

Hernande cut him off with a shake of his head. “There's no time to argue. We'll catch up. Go do whatever you can.”

He emphasized the words with a shove. Cory stumbled, then straightened and ducked beneath the nearest set of branches. His pace was slow at first; he was still hesitant about leaving them alone and
trying to be careful with his foot, but after their voices and the snap of branches as they followed faded, he gained speed. He plowed down the hill, dodged deadfalls and stumps, skidded in the earthy loam in soft patches and nearly tripped over hidden stones, but he stayed upright. His breath burned in his lungs, and within twenty minutes his side began to cramp. One hand raised to ward off branches, he dug a palm into the stitch and pressed onward. The landscape blurred into boles to be dodged, boulders to bypass, and exposed stone bluffs to circle. He headed toward the Hollow on instinct.

He splashed across a creek, feet and legs soaked to midcalf, and then heard the first screams. He halted halfway up the far bank, one arm reaching for the root of a birch, and listened. Through the harsh sound of his panting, the clash of weapons sifted through the trees, so faint it could have been drowned out by the rustling of the leaves overhead if there'd been a breeze.

He snagged the root and pulled himself up the bank, then broke into a halting jog, moving more cautiously now, searching ahead for any sign of the raiders. The sounds of fighting increased, but it was the smell of smoke that brought him to another halt.

“No.”

He darted forward and nearly missed the man standing guard at the edge of the path leading to the center of the Hollow. He was dressed in tattered black and gray, makeshift armor covering his shoulders and most of his chest and back. The man spun as Cory blundered forward, then grinned through his ragged beard, sword raised. His skin was pocked with red sores, and a single gold earring hung from his left ear.

“I knew someone would come running to me. It's why I didn't complain when they put me on sentry duty.”

With a leer of anticipation, the man stepped forward.

Without thought, Cory reached out unnecessarily with one hand while simultaneously stretching out with his mind. He snagged the Tapestry with his thoughts, then abruptly twisted, his hand following suit.

The bandit gasped, free hand slamming into his substandard armor as he tried to clutch at his chest. He staggered forward, sword dipping down to the ground, then dropped to his knees. He caught Cory's gaze, eyes wide in shock, and emitted a horrible, gurgling croak, as if his lungs were filled with fluid.

Then he fell onto his side, twitched once—a spasm that ran through his entire body—and stilled.

Cory's arm dropped to his side.

He glanced around, the smell of smoke growing stronger, then lurched forward, falling to his knees beside the man. He grabbed the bandit's sword and shoved it away, out of reach, before rolling the body to the side. He pressed his fingers hard into the side of the man's neck, beneath the jaw, but he already knew he was dead. His skin was pale, growing grayer as Cory watched. A single bead of blood had blossomed in his black beard beneath one nostril, strangely dark and somehow more alive than the rest of him.

“It worked.” Cory sat back onto his heels. A tremor coursed through him. He and the other University students had been practicing the knots for days, wreaking havoc on the slopes and forests around the caverns. But shattering rock and killing a man by opening up a knot in the center of his chest were utterly different experiences. He'd never felt numb when the stones splintered into fragments, never had this odd fluid sensation in his gut, as if his bowels were about to let go.

A scream pierced the numbness, jolting him. He jerked back from the body, tripped over the sword, then caught himself. Half-crouched, he ran his arm over his mouth, gaze darting through the forest around him and toward the thickening smoke. But the trees were eerily still, the pathway empty.

Standing, he scrubbed his hands on breeches and sucked in a steadying breath.

“It's what we practiced for.” He flinched at the sound of his own voice.

He shuffled forward a few steps, then halted and returned for the sword. It felt familiar and awkward in his hands at the same time. He turned to the pathway and edged into the denser smoke.

Within twenty paces he was forced to hold his free arm over his mouth and nose or choke on the fumes. His eyes burned and watered as he coughed, but through the swirling tendrils he could hear moans and screams, the sounds of fighting oddly distorted.

Then he stumbled over a body, one of the villagers, a ragged wound in the side of his neck. He wore a surprised expression, as if he'd never seen the attack coming. Cory paused long enough to verify he was dead, then moved on, crouching down where the smoke wasn't as thick.
Another body lay a few paces away, and he crawled toward it, but it was one of the bandits, his head stove in on one side, hair bloody and matted with brain matter and bone. Cory gagged and stumbled to the left—

And out of the smoke. He fell to one knee in surprise, coughing and blinking in the sunlight, vision blurred. Figures fought ahead, the clash of blade against armor and the grunts of effort shockingly clear and close. He recognized the shape of the village center, the communal oven and cottages to the left, the meeting hall burning to the right. At least two other buildings were on fire, but the bulk of the smoke came from the hall. He couldn't tell how many villagers and raiders were present, but it didn't appear to be many. Fewer than he'd expected.

Maybe the short warning signal they'd heard had been enough.

Then, eyes still watery, a shadow charged up from Cory's right, coming from the direction of the hall. Cory didn't have time to be surprised. He raised his sword to counter the half-glimpsed strike he knew was coming. A blade pounded down on his defense, numbing his arm, and he fell backward into a sprawl as he reached forward and twisted the Tapestry.

A squelchy crack—like a splintering tree branch, only wetter—sounded. The man bearing down on him howled in agony and dropped to the ground. Cory scrambled back further as the man writhed. His vision finally cleared. Bryce, Braddon, and a slew of the men and women recruited by the Dogs for training were hacking and slashing at the attackers as they slowly gave ground. The center of the village was littered with bodies, not all of them villagers. Those attackers not engaged with Bryce and the others were ransacking the cottages, heaving furniture and earthenware and anything else not of immediate use out into the square. They were being more careful at Logan's cottage, hauling out medical supplies and medicine and stacking it near a wagon. They were directed by a tall, thin man with a scruffy beard wearing a lord's jacket.

The man was watching him.

Cory swallowed, mouth dry, and his gaze fell to the man at his feet, whose howls had degenerated into low moans. He recoiled as he realized the man was clutching the lower half of his arm to his chest, the forearm hanging on by threads of skin near a wound at the elbow. Blood spurted from the ragged hole that had once been muscle and bone.

He'd missed the man's heart when he'd twisted the Tapestry and released the knot. It had exploded inside the man's arm, nearly ripped it from his body. He tasted bile at the back of his throat, but the leader of the raiders had caught the attention of three of the crew at Logan's cottage and motioned them toward Cory. The moans of the man were fading, his breath hitching now. Cory shot a glance toward Bryce and the others, but they'd retreated beyond the communal ovens, toward the barns and the fields beyond. Cory couldn't help them anyway, unless . . .

He fought back the bile and turned toward the leader. Reaching out with his free hand he grabbed the Tapestry and prepared to twist. But the man with the severed arm suddenly fell silent. No moans, no hitching breath.

No breath at all.

Cory sobbed and wrenched his hand back.

The three men had picked up weapons and were heading toward him. He lurched to his feet and back into the smoke pouring from the meeting hall, trailing along the length of the stone building's side. Sweat poured off of his face as he reached the far side of the smoke and the trees beyond. He leaned against the first trunk he came near, bent over, coughing harshly, lungs burning, but knew he couldn't linger. Shoving away, he stumbled deeper into the surrounding forest, his sight clearing slowly. He flinched when shouts erupted from behind him, ducking down behind a ragged stump. But the raiders hadn't seen him; they'd started a coordinated search, were spreading out, trying to track him. The smoke hindered their progress, driving them back as it shifted.

Gripping his sword tighter, his breathing more normal and his sight mostly returned, Cory waited until the smoke hid him from the others, then scrambled up and over the nearest ridge. He half ran, half limped away, heading deeper into the trees, and found himself following one of the many streams. He'd learned enough from Reiss and Quinn to know it was difficult to track someone through water, so he splashed through the center for a long distance, until his lower breeches were soaked up to the knee and his shoes squished, then climbed back out onto the bank. The chill water helped ease the dull ache in his foot. He hauled himself up the next ridge, aware that he'd started circling the village, heading for the caverns.

When the hand clamped onto his sword arm, he screamed. Another
hand closed down over his mouth, cutting off the sound, and he heard Jerrain curse. “Keep him quiet! He'll bring them all down on us!”

“It's us.” Cory could feel Hernande's breath on his neck. “Can I remove my hand from your mouth now?”

Cory nodded.

Hernande let go and Cory sucked in a ragged breath. He stepped back and spun to face the two mentors. They'd been hiding behind a hummock, an indentation where deer likely lay on the far side. He rubbed his arm where Hernande had initially caught hold of him, realizing the mentor had grabbed that arm so he could control Cory's sword.

“You're stronger than you look.”

Hernande merely raised his eyebrows. “Did you make it to the village?”

Cory drew in a breath and regretted it immediately, as he coughed until his throat was raw. Wiping his mouth, he finally answered, “Yes. Bryce and some of his new Dogs were defending it, but they were in retreat. Headed toward the caverns I think.”

“No, they aren't that stupid. They won't lead the attackers straight to our refuge.” Jerrain began to pace. “Do you think Sovaan can hide the entrance? He's not as good at it as the rest of us.”

“He'll do it. He always works better under pressure.”

“Meaning he's fine if he's saving his own ass.” Jerrain waved a hand in dismissal and turned on Cory. “How many of them are there? What did you see?”

“More than the last time. Over forty in the village, although I couldn't see everyone. They were inside the cottages, looting them. The town hall and a few of the other buildings were on fire.”

“They won't find much of value in the village. At least, not what they're likely looking for.”

“Agreed. Would you say they were rogues, or were they more organized than that?”

Cory thought about them carefully stacking the medical supplies next to the wagon. “Many of the men were scruffy and desperate, but they weren't exactly out of control. Their leader was calm. He sent men after me.” He looked directly at Jerrain. “I used the knots. On people. You were right. It's horrific.”

“I'm sorry you had to experience that.”

“I'm certain it was necessary.” Cory started to protest, but Hernande added, “You survived.”

“So what do we do? If what Cory says is true, then their leader is going to figure out there are far too few people and supplies left in the village. Or in what's left of the refugee camp.”

“Maybe they'll think that everyone left. Moved on.”

“We aren't that lucky. Plus Bryce and the Dogs were still there. Whatever we do, we have to be careful we don't lead the attackers back to the caverns.”

Hernande thought for a moment. “We need to find Bryce.”