Threading the Needle (40 page)

Aurek watched the Hollower dodge back into the concealing smoke, followed by his own men, then dropped his gaze back to the body lying on the ground. He eased forward while the rest continued to loot the cottages that lined this side of the village. A moment later, he stood over Billings' body. The man had been one of his guards before the Shattering. Mediocre but loyal, he got the job done when given a task, even if it wasn't always done quickly. He'd been found a few times blind drunk in the local taverns; something about drowning his grief over the deaths of his wife and two daughters after the fever swept through the northern plains five years ago.

Aurek knelt down next to the man, expecting to see his arm severed at the elbow. That's what it had looked like when the man had roared in agony and caught Aurek's attention. It had been a bellow of extreme pain, cutting through the more generic cries and shouts from the direction of the main fight. He'd turned to find Billings holding his arm to his chest, blood spouting from near his elbow, the Hollower sprawled on the ground. Then Billings had collapsed, writhing. The Hollower hadn't had his sword raised, but he'd had a sword. Aurek had assumed he'd caught Billings off guard.

“That's not a blade wound.”

Aurek didn't flinch at Devin's words, even though he hadn't heard his second arrive. “No, it's not.”

“Then what is it?”

“It looks as if Billings' arm exploded.”

Devin hesitated, then knelt down beside him, looking at the wound more closely. “You're right. The bone is splintered.”

“And the muscles and skin have been shredded, not cut.” A dull throb began in the back of Aurek's head. He considered the tattered and mangled flesh of Billings' arm, the rounded knob of bone from his forearm visible through the congealing blood, then stood abruptly, turning toward where the few men and women they'd encountered had retreated.

“What could have done this?”

“I don't think it's a what. I think it's who.”

Devin tore his gaze away from the wound to look up at him. “The White Cloaks.”

“We know there are White Cloaks here. That scout, Joss, admitted as much.”

“He only called them Wielders—”

“Wielders, White Cloaks, does it matter what he called them? They're here.”

“They never did anything like this before the Shattering.”

“They didn't have to. They had the Baron's Dogs to protect them. They were in a position of power. Not anymore. They're being forced to protect themselves. We need to find them and root them out, destroy them, before they learn to do something even worse.”

He abruptly began moving toward the wagons where his men were stacking the supplies. Devin lingered a moment, then joined him.

“What do you want us to do?”

“Are these the only supplies we've found so far?” Aurek lifted the lid of one of the boxes, discovered stacks of torn linens, and shoved the box aside so he could root through the rest of the material.

“Yes, from the cottages and what we could drag from the town hall before it was engulfed.”

Empty vials, blankets, mostly empty tins that smelled of dried herbs and spices, more linen and scraps of cloth, a few bottles of medicine so old their mouths were crusted with yellowed residue.

Aurek tossed a bottle to the ground in disgust. It shattered with a satisfying crack. “It's all old.”

“What do you mean?”

“All of the medicine is old! Worthless! And the rest of these supplies are remnants, the last dregs of their lives, the things deemed not important enough to take with them.” He spun toward Devin. “Call everyone back. Now. We need to regroup. The villagers aren't here.
And set fire to the cottages. To everything. I don't want a single building in this village left standing!”

Devin stepped away, already shouting to the men to stop their looting and bring out the torches. Aurek stood beside the wagon and stared in the direction where the force they'd encountered when they arrived had retreated. They'd known they were coming. They'd been prepared.

But had they fled or were they holed up somewhere?

He glanced down at the now-scattered remnants of the supplies from the cottages, thought about the people they'd found here. The first few had been surprised, caught off guard, even though their group had been seen by at least a few of the villagers on their way here. Someone had managed to ring the damn bell, but the village had already been mostly empty. He hadn't seen anyone emerging from the town hall before they'd hit it. Or from the cottages. Those that had been defending the village had been clustered near the center—

“Near the wagons.” He turned to Devin. “They're still close by.”

“How do you know?”

“Because those we attacked were here with the wagons. They must have been loading up the last of what they intended to take with them. If we'd attacked another day or two from now, the village likely would have been empty.”

“What if they were scavengers, like us?” one of the men standing nearby asked.

Aurek bristled. “We aren't scavengers. This village was housing White Cloaks. If you have any doubts, examine Billings' body over there. One of them killed him by using their power to tear his arm off.”

Half a dozen of the men glanced toward the inferno that was the town hall, flames now shooting from the roof, and the body lying in the dust beneath it. Most of the men had gathered, only the scouts and those that had trailed after the defenders absent.

“Were they the ones that caused that flash of light?”

The men flinched, a few glancing toward the sky.

“Don't be stupid. That came from the south.”

“From the south, yes. But we all know that's where the White Cloaks live, secure in their Needle.”

“So what are we going to do?”

They turned to Aurek. He thought about the three people they'd
seen on the outcropping not that far southeast of here. Could they be hiding that close? But no. His gut told him they would have run across signs of others if they were—trampled ground, signs of smoke from fires. And then there were the defenders here. The men they'd seen hadn't headed to the south. They'd fled west, the same direction their Dogs had retreated.

“They're hiding somewhere to the west.” He faced that direction, noted the barns in the distance, the signs of fields beyond that. “Spread out, but not too far. We'll follow the valley. Keep an eye out for any signs of a fresh path worn into the ground—wagon tracks or fresh dung from their animals. They couldn't have gone too far, not with an entire village to transport.”

“Who's there?”

Cory halted, searched the trees ahead where the voice had come from, but couldn't see anyone. Hernande and Jerrain came up behind him.

“It's Cory, with Hernande and Jerrain.”

Quinn stepped from behind a thick bole, arrow nocked and readied, but not pointed directly at him. “How in hells did you three get out here?”

“It doesn't matter. The raiders are headed toward the pathway that leads to the caverns, and no one has had a chance to hide it as planned.”

“What about Sovaan?”

“We never intended to have him hide the path. We aren't even certain he'll hide the cavern entrances. We always thought one of us would be there to take care of everything.”

“But the Hollowers—”

“Take us to Bryce.”

Quinn nodded at the command in Hernande's voice. Not the subtle demand Cory was used to as one of Hernande's students; this carried the steel of an alpha.

They wound down to the edge of a stream, where Bryce and the rest were gathered. Bryce and Braddon were deep in conversation with two others. All of the men turned at a shout from Quinn.

“You should be back at the caverns with the others,” Bryce said.

“We'd gone to investigate what caused that flash of light from the
south. We're here now, and the attackers are headed for the path leading to the caverns.”

“They've already found it. Reiss just came back with the news. We were hoping we could lure them away, divert their attention, at least for a while, but it didn't work.”

“Their leader appears far more intelligent than one would expect from a pack of bandits.”

“He's dressed as a lord. Perhaps he was one before the Shattering.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“They've found the path, but they haven't started following it yet. They appear to be regrouping, now that they know where we've gone. There's still a chance to stop them before they discover the caverns. Braddon, send everyone to the eastern side of the path.”

“The streambed?”

“That's our best option. The bank will provide some cover.”

They ran, Bryce and the rest of the group outpacing Cory, Hernande, and Jerrain. The Dog's figure was a blur through the foliage, the rest of the men scattered farther forward and to either side. They followed the streambed, splashing across its length occasionally on stones submerged beneath a few inches of chill water. The stitch started in Cory's side again, but before it could grow into a seizing pain, Bryce slowed and signaled quiet.

They crept forward. Ahead, Bryce suddenly started giving orders with the Dog's silent hand gestures, men scattering, heading away from the stream toward the rutted pathway that had worn itself into the earth as they shifted supplies to the caverns. Within moments, the rest of their group had faded into the trees.

Hernande watched the tree line where the others had disappeared. “We need to get ahead of the attackers so we can hide the path.”

“Both of you go. Bryce and the Dogs will slow the attackers down. You should have time.”

“And what are you going to do?”

Cory brandished his sword. “Help them.”

Hernande reached out to grip Cory's shoulder. “Good luck.”

The two mentors moved off, keeping to the stream under the cover of the bank. Cory watched them until they rounded a bend up ahead, then he headed toward Bryce and the others. He moved as quietly as he could through the fallen leaves and branches, wincing at every crack
of a twig. Within twenty steps, he picked out the backs and shoulders of some of Bryce's men, huddled behind boles or stumps or hummocks of earth. Bryce heard him approach, head spinning to look back like an owl's, but he didn't signal Cory back. He brought his hand to his mouth for silence and motioned Cory to the ground.

Cory crouched down low, heart thudding in his chest, as he caught the rustle of movement from the direction of the path. The earthy scent of loam tickled his nose, but he sank even lower, practically lying on the ground.

He stilled as figures appeared, moving along the path in a group, a few of them on the flanks winding through the trees. Their leader led them forward at a quiet, cautious pace.

Braddon signaled, but Bryce ordered him to wait.

The group of attackers edged past them, Bryce and the others shifting position so they remained out of sight. As soon as the last of the men had moved up the path, Bryce motioned everyone forward.

Cory exhaled with a gasp, tasted dead leaves and dirt as he inhaled and heaved himself back into a crouch, scrambling forward as the rest of Bryce's men broke cover and began sprinting toward the attackers from behind.

A moment before they struck, one of the attackers turned and saw them. He let out a shout, cut off in a gargle of blood by one of the trackers' arrows as it took him in the throat. But the short warning was enough.

The attackers spun as Bryce and the rest of the Dogs broke into roars and crashed into them. Swords clanged off of makeshift armor and men screamed as blood flew up in sprays. The sudden sound after the silence was deafening. Cory slowed. The section of forest ahead, cut by the ruts of the path, had fallen into complete chaos, men hacking and bellowing and surging back and forth like a tide. Bodies already littered the ground, blood pumping from chest wounds. Cory lowered his sword and reached forward, fingers ready to wrench the Tapestry, but the man's mangled arm flashed before his eyes. He gave a strangled cry.

He'd tried to train with the Dogs because he wanted to help defend the Hollow, but he could barely block with the blade, let alone kill with it. Killing the attacker on the ridge had been a fluke. Then he'd thought he could use the Tapestry in the Hollow's defense, but now he found he
couldn't even do that. He was useless, worse than Sovaan, because he kept trying and could never follow through. At least Sovaan was up front with his pettiness and instinct for self-preservation.

Then he felt the Tapestry twist and heard an earsplitting crack. Cory staggered backward as earth and men erupted into the air like a geyser. Dirt and stone rained down as two more explosions tore through the attackers. Cory felt each knot form moments before it was released, their centers buried deep beneath the earth. They were tight, energy and tension compressed into a space the size of a fist, as they'd practiced since the last attack.