Allan halted abruptly within three steps of entering the massive foyer inside, and Dylan gasped. The room took up the entire front half of the brownstone, a grand staircase curving up one side to a second level. Doors led off to left and right, another straight ahead, watchmen posted to either side of them all, but it was obvious that the houses they’d seen from the street were an illusion. The entire block was really one large building, the doors to either side entrances to what, from the outside, would be the houses to the left and right. Allan guessed that the building was deeper than most would suspect as well, possibly even extending all the way to the next street.
“What is this place?” Bryce asked sharply, tension bleeding from him in waves.
“Welcome to what used to be Erenthrall’s Temerite embassy,” Lienta said.
He led them to the left. None of the watchmen acknowledged them; they didn’t move at all. Allan scanned the sparse furnishings of the foyer, noting the patched cracks in the walls caused by the recent quakes. It may have been cleaned up, but the Temerites weren’t as unaffected by the recent disasters as they’d like to pretend.
The room beyond contained a large desk stacked with disheveled papers, cloth sacks, and small boxes. A sizable crack traced its way diagonally across the wall behind the desk. In front of the windows that looked out onto the plaza, behind where the fake front door of the exterior house would have opened into the room, sat an array of chairs, a Temerite woman of at least fifty years ensconced in the center. She held a sheaf of papers in one hand, an attendant to her left, a small table to her right containing quill and ink and a tray with a carafe and short glass. She was clothed in a tan-and-dun shirt blocked in the usual Temerite style worn by nobility, with a shawl over her shoulders and a blanket spread across her legs. Rings adorned nearly every one of her fingers, and a fine but understated necklace surrounded her neck. Her skin was lined with age, but her gaze when she glanced up at their approach was sharp.
She set the papers aside and rested her hands on the sides of the chair, her back rigid with formality. “I see that Lieutenant Boskell’s note was correct,” she said, her voice cracking slightly but with steel beneath it. “You have found others. From the Needle, no less. And you thought it appropriate to bring them here.”
Lienta’s steps faltered for only a second, but the Matriarch wasn’t paying attention to him. Her gaze had raked through all three of those behind him and after that single pass had settled on Allan. He had been the subject of such penetrating gazes before; the most memorable had been Baron Arent before the Shattering. The Matriarch exuded the same sense of power and intelligence and control.
“Did Lieutenant Boskell also mention that they claim the White Cloaks are no longer in control of the Needle?” Lienta asked, coming to a halt directly before the Matriarch and executing a stiff bow.
“No, he did not.” The Matriarch sniffed her irritation, one eyebrow rising slightly. “Is this true?”
Lienta stepped to one side, since the question was obviously not directed at him. Allan moved forward, Bryce coming up on one side, Dylan on the other. The Wielder was nervous, his hands in constant motion.
Allan resisted the urge to bow. “There has been a shift in power at the Needle, yes.”
“I hope you saw fit to toss that Kormanley pretender who called himself Father off the Needle itself.”
“No,” Allan answered. “He’s still alive and still speaking to the people, giving his . . . religious services.”
“Pity. But if that’s the case, then how has the Needle changed? If this Father is still preaching his hatred of Erenthrall to the people—”
“He isn’t. Commander Ty of the Needle’s enforcers has him under control. He and the Wielders have forced Father Dalton to accept certain rules and restrictions. He is escorted to his sermons and allowed to speak by Commander Ty himself, then escorted back to his rooms. He isn’t allowed to roam free alone. All of the decisions regarding the Needle are handled by Commander Ty and Prime Wielder Kara Tremain.”
Dylan shot Allan a look at the use of the title Prime Wielder, but Allan knew that nearly every Wielder at the Needle considered her a Prime after her healing of the distortion. And he knew that the title would carry weight with the Matriarch.
“What happened to Prime Wielder Lecrucius?”
Allan was surprised she knew the previous Prime Wielder’s name. “He’s dead. He was killed during the Gorrani attack on the Needle and the collapse of the distortion, annihilated by a surge in the ley.”
“How fortunate,” the Matriarch said dryly. “And what about the Father’s Son, Marcus? He was a White Cloak. Why did he not seize control?”
Allan hesitated. The Temerites knew more about the Needle than he’d expected. Much more. He wondered how much of what he was telling her now was information she already knew. “Marcus still lives, but he follows Kara Tremain now. There is no more Son, and there are no more White Cloaks. Not like before.”
“Hmm.” The Matriarch reached to pick up the glass and sip at the dark brown liquid it contained. Allan caught a whiff of what smelled like brandy. She swirled the drink before setting it aside again. “Assuming what you say is true, why are you here now? From all our reports, the Needle has no need of Erenthrall. It has already ransacked it dry.”
“The White Cloaks may have traded or stolen whatever they could before the collapse of the distortion, but circumstances have changed. Tumbor is lost to us, along with all its resources. That leaves only Erenthrall and the supplies that were released when the distortion was healed.”
“The Needle has no rightful claim to those resources.”
“No claim stronger than anyone else’s, no,” Allan agreed.
“The White Cloaks before you would have brought in their enforcers and seized control of the inner city, at least until it was empty of anything useful. They tried that before.”
“Again, the White Cloaks no longer command the enforcers.”
The Matriarch leaned slightly forward. “So then, what do you propose?”
“An alliance. The Temerites are already established in Erenthrall. You have access to the supplies that we need.”
“And in exchange? What would we receive for this alliance?”
“Protection.”
The Matriarch and Lienta exchanged looks, Lienta shifting uncomfortably.
The Matriarch settled back into her chair. “Protection? We have our own Temerite soldiers here to protect us. Why would we need your help?”
Unease prickled across Allan’s shoulders. “I’ll admit that you have more guardsmen here than I expected. I didn’t realize the Temerite contingent in Erenthrall before the Shattering was that large.”
“It wasn’t,” the Matriarch said flatly. “Before the Shattering, the trade agreements between the Baronial plains and the Temerites were set to expire. My husband and I had traveled here with our household, including its guard, to renegotiate the terms and sign a new agreement. We had almost finished when the ley shattered. My husband—” Her voice caught, the only sign of emotion she allowed before her expression hardened. “My husband was in Grass at the time, in the Amber Tower. He did not survive.”
An awkward silence fell, broken by Dylan. “Why did you stay in Erenthrall, then? Why didn’t you return home?”
The Matriarch sucked in a sharp breath, expression tightening for a scathing retort, but Lienta leaped in. “It was considered. But we saw the pulse that headed toward Temerite lands down the ley line, and we could see what had happened to Erenthrall and the surrounding cities. Rather than risk traveling back to a capitol that had been destroyed, we sent messengers asking for information and orders, then set about fortifying our embassy here.”
“Needless to say, our messengers never returned,” the Matriarch added. “And now here we are.”
“So you’ve been cut off from Temer,” Bryce said. �
�You’re isolated here in Erenthrall. I don’t care how many of your household guards you brought with you, you must feel alone, surrounded by unknown and violent forces. I would think you’d welcome an ally or two, especially one who can control the ley.”
The Matriarch frowned at the last statement. Allan mentally sighed. Coming from Bryce, it sounded more like a threat than an offer of help.
“What Bryce meant—” Allan began, but the Matriarch cut him off.
“I know what he meant. As you likely noticed, we no longer trust the ley. But he raises a valid, if antagonistic, point. The ability to manipulate the ley, even if it isn’t completely stable yet, would be a distinct advantage against the groups that are amassing here in Erenthrall.”
Something seized hold of Allan’s gut and squeezed. “What do you mean? What groups?”
Outside, they heard a shout, muffled by the walls. Someone raced across the plaza bearing a torch, headed straight for the outer door. The Matriarch craned her neck to see, then motioned toward Lienta, who darted out of the room with a grim expression.
The Matriarch met Allan’s questioning look with a thin, humorless smile. “We may have need of your help sooner than you expect.”
In the awkward silence that followed, they heard the front door to the embassy open and the tread of panicked feet. Gasps were punctuated by a report that Allan couldn’t make out, but he did hear Lienta’s response clearly.
“Are you certain?” He swore at the answer. Then: “Spread the word. And bring back a report from each of the walls.”
The messenger charged out of the embassy, his torch cutting to the left outside as he raced away. Inside, Lienta snapped out orders, the guardsmen at the entrance and in the doorways running off in various directions, their heavy boots echoing against the embassy’s floorboards.
Then Lienta reappeared. “They’re coming.”
“Who’s coming?” Bryce demanded, but Lienta and the Matriarch ignored him.
“Which direction?”
“The main force is coming from the north, but there are groups converging on us from the east and west as well.”
“Then they didn’t manage to coerce the Underearthers into their little pact. Or the Gorrani.”
“And they must not know how weak our southern defenses are, or they would be targeting us there.” One of the guards reappeared and muttered something to Lienta, who turned back with a short bow. “I need to report to the walls, Matriarch.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “Go. And take our potential allies with you. It seems they chose a particularly bad time to approach us. Now our fates are intertwined, regardless.”
Lienta spun on his heel with a curt, “Come with me.”
Allan started forward, Bryce on his heels with a low mutter of, “What have we just stepped in?” as Dylan fell in behind.
In the foyer, Lienta gave a few last orders about securing the embassy and the Matriarch to the men waiting there, then stepped out onto the plaza, two of the guards joining him. Without a word, he broke into a run, headed north. There wasn’t any time for questions, even if they hadn’t been running. They reached the Temerite wall within three blocks of the embassy, the street once again closed off with a gate made of doors pilfered from some other building. Temerite soldiers were gathering outside, arriving in groups of five to ten, while others shouted down at them from the rooftops. Lienta cut immediately toward the building on the right, entering and sprinting up the stairs. As they ascended to the roof, Allan noted that stone debris spilled out of the doors to what had once been apartments on the side of the buildings facing out toward the city. He suddenly remembered the carts of stone headed toward the south, and Lienta’s comment that the wall to the south wasn’t as secure. They must still be fortifying the buildings they’d chosen to replace the distortion after it collapsed.
He motioned toward the stone, but Bryce merely frowned, not understanding. Then they burst out onto the roof, a gust of smoke-tainted wind catching Allan full in the face. He, Bryce, and Dylan paused on the threshold of the roof’s access, shoved aside a moment later by more Temerites, these men carrying satchels of arrows. They spread out across the rooftop, dropping the satchels every few dozen paces, scrambling over to the next roof and proceeding down the block.
“What are they doing here?” someone demanded.
Allan turned to see Lienta approaching Boskell, the beta glaring at them.
“The Matriarch wanted them here,” Lienta answered.
“Are they allies now?”
“Only by circumstance. Now tell me what you know.”
Boskell dismissed them as he edged up to the lip of the building. “Our scouts report that the largest group entered the outer districts about an hour ago. But unlike their previous excursions, this group is at least three times the size and they aren’t separating and scouring the city for food. They’re staying together, headed straight for us. They also report that the Rats are riled up, more so than usual, and recently left their lair to the west. We aren’t certain where they’re headed yet, but it seems too much of a coincidence they’re on the move at the same time as the other group, especially in such great numbers. We haven’t heard from our scouts to the east, but we can see the glow of torchlight headed this way. It’s safe to assume the Butcher and his crew are out as well.”
“But no movement from the Underearthers?”
Boskell shook his head. “No movement yet. They’re still holed up at the University. And we haven’t seen the Gorrani north of Grass since the sinking of the city.”
“The Gorrani won’t be working with anyone except their own,” Allan interjected from behind.
Boskell and Lienta turned back. “Why not?”
“Because five thousand of them attacked the Needle, and only a thousand walked away. The White Cloaks unleashed the ley on them, burned them from the walls. They aren’t going to trust anyone who isn’t Gorrani for a while.”
Boskell’s look of horror was almost comical. “You immolated them with the ley?”
“We didn’t,” Dylan snapped defensively. “The White Cloaks did. We stopped them as soon as we could. It just . . . wasn’t soon enough.”
“As long as they don’t band together with these other groups, it doesn’t matter.” Lienta’s voice cut across Boskell’s retort, and Allan stepped in before Boskell could recover.
“About these other groups: I’ve never heard of the Butcher; and what group is coming from the north?”
“The Butcher leads a group to the east, dominating a few districts there. Initially, they were simply scavengers, but when resources ran low, they turned to cannibalism. We thought they’d given that up once the distortion fell, since they had new areas to raid, but rumors are they still feed on whoever they can catch.”
Swallowing back the taste of bile, Allan asked, “And those from the north?”
“They came once before, but we hadn’t heard from them in a while. Once the city sank, they reappeared. They come from a place called Haven.”
Allan’s head dropped in resignation. When he raised his eyes, he found Lienta watching him. “Who’s their leader?”
Lienta shrugged. “They only call him Baron.”
It couldn’t be Aurek. They’d killed him before the walls of the Needle.
“What do you know about him?” Lienta asked.
“We’ve run into the group before. We killed their previous Baron. I don’t know who his replacement is. But if his beta survived the attack on the Needle and the quakes . . .”
Someone shouted, and everyone turned to see one of the archers pointing out toward the city with his bow. Crowding up to the lip of the building, a stone edge not quite waist-high, Allan strained to see what had caught the archer’s attention. He didn’t see anything . . .
But then the nearby streets across the wide thoroughfare that separated the
Temerite wall from the rest of the city began to fill with people. They emerged from side streets, alleys, and doorways, and dropped from windows with a steadily increasing roar, brandishing swords, axes, and clubs. A few even held spears and shields. Allan’s grip on the edge of the stone tightened as he recognized the makeshift armor, grizzled faces, and twisted, unkempt beards that marked them as coming from Haven. Except the closer he looked, more and more of them appearing below, it became obvious that these men weren’t as disciplined as Baron Aurek’s had been.
They began surging up onto the rooftops opposite the wall, screaming and hollering without any purpose, almost within bowshot.
“They’re wilder than they were before,” Bryce commented from over Allan’s shoulder. “More dangerous.”
Allan didn’t answer. Below, those on the street were parting, making way for someone. For two people, he realized, although his eyes kept slipping away from the second figure, as if he weren’t really there. It felt as if he had an itch on the back of his eyeballs, the sensation odd and yet familiar. He had to concentrate to keep the second man in focus.
But the first man he recognized instantly when he stepped from the edge of the raiders, hands on hips, and contemplated the closed gates. As his gaze drifted up to the rooftops, face exposed to the torchlight that lined the Temerite walls, Allan muttered, “Devin.”
And then he suddenly remembered where he’d felt that odd itching sensation.
He turned toward Bryce and Lienta in shock.
“A Hound. Devin has a Hound.”
Lienta frowned in confusion, but Bryce surged forward to take Allan’s place at the wall. His curse split the air a second later. “It’s difficult to pick him out, but he’s there.” His eyes scanned the rest of the raiders intently. “I don’t see any others. Maybe it’s just the one.”
“One is enough.”
“Where is this Hound?” Lienta asked, next to Bryce.
Reaping the Aurora Page 4