None of this had been going on when Cutter had left.
He would have listened further, but Marc motioned their group forward, through the main gates and into the inner tent city.
The prickling unease that had only been an itch outside became a full-on shudder as soon as Cutter stepped into the tent-filled court. The fact that there were many more tents struck him first, along with the density of the people. They nearly filled the entire plaza, from the outer wall to the inner edge of buildings near the center. He’d grown up in the Hollow, knew that his distaste for crowds larger than ten or twenty could account for some of his apprehension, but not all. What he sensed ran deeper than mere distaste. This was a deep-seated undercurrent of discontent.
Marc and the others didn’t seem to notice. Larrin—their far-sighted scout—appeared happy to simply be back. The others were chatting about what they intended to do first, hailing an occasional passerby they knew. Cutter trailed in their wake, took note of the facial expressions and body language of the citizens he passed—the eyes that dropped abruptly when a few saw they were guards, the subtle shift in stance, a turned shoulder or narrowed glare. It only happened with a few, perhaps every tenth person, but it was noticeable.
They entered the ring of buildings surrounding the temple, and the closed-in thoroughfare only heightened the sensation. Cutter shouldered forward through the others as they neared the guard barracks and the temple, but he was pulled up short by Marc’s hand on his shoulder.
“Where are you headed in such a hurry?”
Cutter pulled out of Marc’s grip. “To report what we found to Commander Ty.”
“Come on, Marc,” one of the others said. “I’m certain Madame Busard has saved us all some ale.”
All of the guards except Larrin laughed, nudging and clapping each other on the shoulder.
Marc stared at Cutter suspiciously. “No,” he finally said. “Go on ahead. I think I’ll go with Cutter, make certain he gives Ty the real story.”
A flare of resentment burned up the back of Cutter’s throat, and he stiffened as Marc smiled. The others laughed again, one asking if Marc were certain, before cutting off into the barracks. Larrin hesitated, shuffling awkwardly in the crowded street, then gave Cutter an apologetic shrug and followed them.
Marc’s smile lasted until they’d left, then dropped like a stone. “Something’s wrong. Something other than the Gorrani attacks.”
Cutter nodded, and headed toward the temple, where guards surrounded the doorways to either side of the steps that led up to the second tier. “So you did notice the changes?” he asked, then pointed toward the guards. “The number of men guarding the temple has doubled. At the gates, everyone was being stopped and questioned. In the tent city and the inner city, many were apprehensive, touchy, and disgruntled. Can you feel the tension? It wasn’t like this when we left.”
Marc glanced around as they approached one of the entrances to the temple, eyeing the guards on duty there, but they were too close for him to comment.
Instead, the smile returned and he bellowed, “Wyat! It’s good to see a familiar face after being on patrol for so long with this insufferable woodsman as my alpha.”
Wyat flinched, startled, hand falling immediately to the handle of his sheathed sword. His eyes flicked from Marc to Cutter, jaw clenched and rough beard bristling, until he recognized Marc. Then he relaxed, Marc slapping him on the back.
“What’s been happening here at the Needle?” Marc asked. “I see you’ve doubled the guard on the temple.”
“You haven’t heard?”
“I’ve been on the plains for nearly a month, Wyat. Just got back fifteen minutes ago. Of course I haven’t heard.”
Wyat nodded in understanding, the rest of the contingent on duty around him remaining at attention, eyes focused on the street. “It’s that damn Kormanley priest, Father Dalton. He’s got the whole city riled up with some prophecy about the Needle being the center of a coming storm. Something about snakes and dogs. Ever since he spoke about it, Commander Ty and that Wielder, Kara, have kept him locked inside the temple. The citizens have swallowed the prophecy, hook and all, and now they’re screaming to let the priest speak. There was a riot in the plaza three days ago, and there’s been nothing but grumbling and muttering since. Everyone’s on edge.”
“Just like the old days back in Erenthrall,” Marc muttered, “with the damn Kormanley causing problems. Thank Bastion we have the enforcers to keep things steady, right?”
Wyat said nothing, a troubled expression crossing his face.
Marc caught Cutter’s eye. “We’ve got a report to make. I’ll catch you at the barracks, Wyat.”
They entered the temple, heading down one of the strange corridors with the walls angled slightly inward, headed toward the orrery that had become the official meeting room and audience chamber.
As soon as they were a discreet distance from the entrance, Marc said, “You were right. A lot has happened while we were gone.”
They found guards at the door to the orrery who refused to let them in at first, one of them entering to inform those inside of their arrival while the three others remained outside. A short time later, they were beckoned through the door, the guard stepping back out and closing it behind them.
Commander Ty, Wielder Kara, the mentor Hernande, and Marcus were seated at the large table to the right of the massive room that held the swirling, illuminated globes of the planets and moons in their orbits. Cutter still didn’t understand why it awed and fascinated nearly everyone he’d met. Until he’d arrived at the Needle and first entered this room, he hadn’t even known about these other planets, content with the knowledge that the sun and moon existed, that they revolved around each other, and that they provided them with plants and sustained the animals that they ate. He needed nothing more than that. The fact that there were other objects hurtling about overhead terrified him.
So he pointedly ignored the fiery orrery and headed directly toward the table. Marc did the same.
Commander Ty stood as they approached. “I assume you have something of importance to report, since you came directly here and didn’t report to your own alpha.”
“Has Allan returned?” Cutter failed to keep the surprise out of his voice. He hadn’t expected Allan and the rest of the party headed to Erenthrall to have returned so quickly.
Ty frowned. “No, they have not, but Allan Garrett is not your immediate alpha. It’s Captain Esker. Or if not him, then my second, Darius.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “But never mind. You’re here now. What did you find to the south and around Tumbor?”
“Gorrani,” Marc broke in. “Hundreds of them, raiding from their homelands in the Flats to the south up into the settlements around Tumbor, slaughtering everyone that they find.”
All four of those around the table shared looks. Commander Ty sank back down into his seat. “Go on.”
Marc deferred to Cutter, who explained what they’d found after investigating the smoke Larrin had seen on the horizon—the wooden stockade with the walls torn down, the massacre of the villagers who’d lived there, man, woman, and child, and the discovery of the dead Gorrani warrior on the path of retreat.
“We turned back immediately,” Cutter said, “heading to the Needle, but we decided to cut to the south of Tumbor, to see if there were any signs of other settlements being raided. We skirted a few stockades like the one we found at first, all untouched, but as we headed farther west that changed. In all, we came across three other settlements—not all stockades, some of them simply villages tucked into the plains—that had been razed to the ground. At each, the Gorrani herded the villagers into a central location and then butchered them.”
“They’re also killing anyone who’s not Gorrani that they run across as they raid,” Marc added. “We found a small party of Temerites headed east, all dead, their wagons burned, and
at least five other groups of ten to twenty, cut down like cattle at the slaughterhouse.”
None of the four spoke for a moment. Kara looked sickened, her face pale. Hernande was chewing on the end of his beard, the corners of his eyes creased in thought.
“What did Lecrucius do?” Marcus muttered.
“He angered the snakes,” Ty said, abruptly standing again. He gestured toward the table. “Show us where you found these villages, approximately. And where the isolated bands were killed.”
Cutter stepped forward with Marc and together they pointed out where the villages were on the impressive map worked into the top of the table. Ty placed black wooden markers at each of the burned-out stockades and villages, green markers at those that remained.
When he was done, it was clear what the Gorrani were doing.
“They’re spreading out from the Flats radially,” Kara said, her voice quiet, “killing everything in their path.”
“Our scouts to the southeast have reported running across isolated bands whose members had been torn apart and left behind, their body parts displayed almost religiously, like a warning, but none of them had seen who’d done it or found any evidence to indicate it was the Gorrani, although that’s who we suspected. But those parties were small, no more than thirty members. What you’ve reported . . . that takes the Gorrani attacks to another level of hatred.” He glanced up at both Cutter and Marc. “You’ve provided us with some essential information. We’ll need to discuss it. For now, you should get something to eat and rest up. You both look like hell.”
Cutter wanted to bring up what he’d seen in the city—the discontent and disgruntlement—but the dismissal was clear. Marc glared as he hesitated, then tilted his head toward the door.
With a sigh, he followed Marc out into the temple. As they stepped from the room, a wave of exhaustion rushed through him. He rolled his shoulders to fend it off, rubbed at the muscles of his right arm where he’d taken the arrow in Erenthrall, at the phantom pain there.
“We’ve delivered our report,” Marc said, not looking at him. “Now it’s out of our hands. One of the advantages of being a beta.”
“I should have warned them about what I sensed in the city from the people.”
“I’m certain they already know. Now, let’s take the commander’s advice and get something to eat. I’m famished.” He grabbed Cutter by the shoulder, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Madame Busard should have some nice roasted pork, with potatoes and carrots basting in the juice. A far cry better than rabbit blackened over a fire.”
Kara stared down at the ragged arc of black-and-green markers on the table’s map, her body numb, her arms tingling faintly. “Dalton’s right. The Gorrani are coming.”
“Simply because they’re attacking from the Flats?” Marcus asked. “That’s no reason to give credence to Dalton’s vision.”
Kara slammed her palm down flat on the table, making the markers jump. “I don’t want to believe Dalton can see the future any more than you do, Marcus, but look!” She stood and jabbed her fingers at the map. “They’ve already hit every settlement we know of within twenty miles of the edge of the Flats. If Cutter’s report is true, then they’ve begun edging out from there. That places the Needle less than fifty miles from their nearest attack!”
The chamber echoed with the vehemence of her words, and for a moment no one spoke. Marcus glowered at her, body stiff.
Hernande leaned forward, both hands on the table as he studied the map. “I’m forced to agree with Kara. It appears that Dalton’s prophecy that the snakes will come for us from the south are true. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander Ty?”
“It would appear so. Although I do not agree that the Gorrani are less than fifty miles from the Needle.” He motioned to the map. “The closest markers to us are black, yes, but they only indicate attacks on isolated families or groups, not settlements. It wouldn’t take an entire contingent of Gorrani to take a group like that out. I’d say most of those were slaughtered by scouting parties, perhaps of ten Gorrani or less. Based on the information we have now, I’d wager that the bulk of the Gorrani forces are here, near the distortion around Tumbor.”
“That’s where the resources are. Those less protected, anyway.” Hernande caught the commander’s eye as he said grimly, “But they will come here, to the Needle. We are the ones who destroyed their army, killed their warriors by the thousands, incinerated their leaders. They will not forget that.”
“Even if it wasn’t actually us?” Marcus asked sharply.
“Do you think you could convince them it was Lecrucius?” Kara snapped in irritation.
“They would never even give you the chance to speak,” Hernande said. “Before you uttered a word, they would chop off your head.”
“If they didn’t use you for sport first,” Ty mumbled. “Or after.” He looked to Kara. “We have to prepare. What should I tell the enforcers? If we mention what we know about the Gorrani, it will only feed the tensions about Dalton and the Kormanley.”
“Tell them nothing about the Gorrani,” Kara said. “Blame the heightened forces on raiders, nothing more.”
But Hernande was already shaking his head. “You’re too late. Cutter had more than one enforcer in his group. There were at least three others who didn’t accompany them to the orrery. They’re already in the barracks, if not out in the city. Half of the Needle probably knows about the Gorrani attacks near Tumbor already.”
“He’s right,” Ty agreed. “That secret is already out.”
Marcus swore. “Father Dalton’s followers are going to have a field day with this. Whatever control we’ve regained since the riot will be lost.”
“Based on the observations of my men,” Ty said, “we haven’t regained much control at all.”
“What do you mean?”
Ty considered for a moment, then pushed back from the table and poured himself a glass of wine from the tray at the far end of the table. “We haven’t had another riot, or even much more violence, but the streets of the outer city and the tent city are tense. The chalked snake-dog circles have started appearing everywhere. The enforcers are washing them off as quickly as possible whenever they find one, but it doesn’t take long for someone to draw a rough copy, and we’ve had no luck finding the culprits. Those we ask on the street merely shake their heads and claim they never saw who drew them, although I don’t believe that. Someone must have seen something. Someone knows who they are. They’re simply not telling us. Protecting them.”
His voice had grown hard, and Kara’s skin broke out in gooseflesh. She heard the Dog in him, saw it in the tension in his jaw as he stared down into his wineglass, his muscles clenched. With a sickening roil of her stomach, she recalled how the Dogs had manhandled her after capturing her at the University, dragging her up to the Amber Tower and thrusting her into the cell beneath it.
“So what else can we do?” Marcus asked.
Ty drank—one long swallow—then set the glass aside. “We know the names of some of those who were at the riot. We could bring them in, question them, make them talk. Even if they aren’t part of the main group, they will know someone who is.”
Kara’s mouth went dry. “No.”
Both Marcus and Ty turned toward her.
“Why not?” Marcus asked. “We need to stop this, before it escalates any further.”
“Because the enforcers aren’t the Dogs! And we aren’t the same as Baron Arent. Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re slipping back into the same situation that existed in Erenthrall before the Shattering. Except now it’s us against the Kormanley, not Arent. None of us liked what the Baron was doing to the Kormanley and the citizens with his Dogs back then,” she said, and then immediately realized she didn’t know if that was true—she didn’t know how Commander Ty felt about the Baron—but she forged on. “We can’t allow that to happen again here. We ca
n’t snatch people off the street, make them vanish inside the temple, as Arent did with his Amber Tower. I refuse to be a part of it. There has to be another way.”
Marcus and Ty shared a look, but Hernande said, “You could discredit Dalton.”
“How?”
“We’ve discussed it before. Part of his attack is centered on you and the Wielders, that you haven’t fixed the ley, healed Tumbor, repaired the white distortions over Farrade and the other major cities to the north and east and we presume elsewhere. The people would be more inclined to listen to you, support you, if you showed them that the Wielders were doing something.”
“We have done something,” Kara countered. “We created another crystal for the node. We’re working on how to use it more effectively. And we’ve started working with you and the other mentors and University students.”
Hernande shook his head. “Again, the people of the Needle can’t see that. Unless you plan on escorting those that want to see it into the node, or perhaps doing a public demonstration with my students.”
Kara winced, but Ty immediately said, “No. It’s too dangerous. It’s too great a risk.”
“But—”
“What if someone somehow destroys this Nexus?” Marcus countered. “Do you know how to set up another one? We’ve been working for two days to try to duplicate what Iscivius did and neither you nor I have even come close. Iscivius is still in a coma, one he may never awaken from. We can’t risk it.”
“We can do it without Iscivius. We simply need to practice.” Which was true—the process required an extreme level of concentration and a finely tuned skill with manipulating the ley. Both Kara and Marcus had been folding the ley over and over on itself as they’d seen Iscivius do, but neither one of them could manipulate it fast enough yet to create a crystal.
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