She twisted her neck so she could see the far northern skies. She’d taken the barge high enough—out of bowshot—that they could see over the edge of the surrounding cliffs toward the mountains of the Steppe. The light from the ley geyser washed out most of the stars, but it couldn’t obliterate the harsh pinpricks of the Three Sisters, nor hide their steady pulse. The largest had accelerated since the last time they’d seen it, before descending into the sunken city. It beat faster than her own heart. The other two weren’t far behind.
Below, the strange hissing chants of the Gorrani grew into a roar, mingled with the sound of shattering glass and splintered wood.
“They’ve broken through the doors,” Grant said, pulling back from the railing slightly. He glanced toward Kara, his thoughts clear on his face. “They’re storming the main hall.”
“I won’t leave him,” Kara said.
Grant said nothing, stoic, implacable. One of the Wolves howled again, the sound forlorn.
“We can’t reach the Nexus without him!” Kara shouted, ignoring the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes.
“If he isn’t already dead, he’s trapped—”
Grant’s words cut off as something caught his attention below. He stepped to the railing, hands gripping onto the wood so tight his knuckles turned white.
“What is it?”
“It’s Allan,” Grant snapped. “Take us down! He’s climbing out onto the roof of the main hall.”
Kara let the strength of the ley lessen, causing the ship to descend, as Grant began frantically searching the deck. But she couldn’t see where she needed to go, not standing at the mast.
Biting back a curse, she inched to the port side, what remained of the University coming into view. The barge shuddered as some of her control slipped, her concentration split between plying the ley and searching for Allan. She cried out when she found him, scrambling up the steep slope of the roof toward its peak. Leaning onto the rail, risking an arrow from the Gorrani who were swarming the hall below, she shouted, “Allan!”
The ex-Dog didn’t respond, struggling up the last of the slate shingles onto the peak.
“Allan!”
“Descend faster,” Grant growled, giving her a start as he appeared at her side, a rope in hand. He began tying it off on the railing.
Kara focused on the ley.
The ship dropped suddenly, her stomach rising into her throat as they dipped and dove toward the hall’s roof. Allan looked up at them, crouched over the roofline. Then he glanced down.
Gorrani were beginning to climb out of the upper-story window, where Kara assumed Allan had emerged. One of them was already on the roof, but he slipped on the steep pitch and plummeted to the ground below with a hissed scream. The closer they came to the roof, the louder the enraged shouts of the Gorrani inside the building and the University grounds grew, a strange combination of battle cries, chanting, and destruction. It sounded like they were tearing the interior of the main hall apart.
A few arrows slammed into the side of the barge, one shattering on impact, but Kara merely ducked back slightly. She didn’t let go of the railing. Wind whipped her hair behind her as they fell toward the roof, directly toward Allan.
Then Grant shouted, “Kara!” and she let the ley surge upward again, catching the sail and lifting the prow of the barge. Grant heaved the coils of rope over the side and Kara heard them slap onto the slate. The arrows halted as they passed over the building and she leaned forward again, caught sight of Allan snatching for the rope, three Gorrani already halfway to his position.
Allan snagged a coil, looped it around one arm once, twice, then grabbed on as the rope pulled taut.
The barge lurched as he lifted from the roof, swinging wildly. Kara seized the ley and held on tight, carrying them out over the building and up as fast as possible. Fresh arrows shot toward them, the deck and rail shuddering as Allan flailed around in the open below. Grant reached over the rail and began hauling him up, grunting with effort as the muscles in his arms and back bulged.
Moments later, Allan appeared, Grant grasping at his free arm and heaving him over the side. He sprawled on the deck, gasping and heaving, before rolling onto his back. He patted himself down, still breathing hard, then reached out a hand so Grant could help him up.
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
The entire ship suddenly listed hard to starboard, everyone snatching at the railing for support.
Through gritted teeth, Kara said, “Allan, get as far away from the sail as possible. I’m barely holding the ship up.”
Allan scrambled for the hatch leading down to the hold below, the ship continuing to list as he moved. Kara wrapped an arm around the railing as the deck canted down, Grant doing the same. Allan began to slide across the deck but grabbed onto the hatch’s handle. Their satchels slid to the railing, catching on the edge. The wood of the ship groaned as Allan heaved the hatch open and dove headfirst inside. They heard him drop to the shallow hull beneath and roll, followed by the scratch of claws as the Wolves moved about.
As soon as he fell below the deck, the obstruction in the ley causing the list abated. She immediately began leveling the ship out, although it continued to shudder at odd moments.
When Kara felt stable enough to release her death grip on the railing, Grant grasped her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She wiped at her face—at the residue of tears and the tightness of the skin. “He’s blocking the ley, like a stone in a river. On deck, he’s too close to the sails for me to maneuver the ley around him. If he’s near the hull, I have enough room.”
“Good.” He looked over the side, the University and the Gorrani snake people dropping away behind them. “Now what?”
Kara coughed and pulled a few strands of her hair away from her face, letting the wind take them. She faced forward, toward the prow, the shattered towers of Grass and the towering ley geyser rising before them. “Now we get as close to the Nexus as we can in this ship. After that, it’s up to Allan.”
“. . . will protect you! Korma will guide us through these troubled times! Commander Darius is at the gates, the enforcers on the walls. Iscivius protected us with the ley for as long as he could, until he collapsed in exhaustion within the Nexus. But fear not! The walls will hold! Put your faith in Korma, cast out your doubts. Recall that it was the abuse of the ley by the Baron of Erenthrall and all the surrounding Baronies and nations that brought us to this place! It was their meddling with the natural order that caused the Shattering and brought this retaliation by nature upon us all. Did we not reclaim our control from the usurpers? Did we not seize control when yet another attempt to abuse the ley failed with catastrophic results, destroying Tumbor? We do not need the ley to protect us! We do not need to use natural powers that we do not understand! We have ourselves, our enforcers, and our faith in Korma and our belief in the natural order! Our walls will hold! Commander Darius and his men will—”
Father Dalton’s words faltered when he saw the main gates of the outer wall swing open.
He’d come to the jut of stone overlooking the square where he’d given his sermons as soon as he realized Iscivius wouldn’t be able to hold the ley wall any longer. He’d started preaching before it fell, first to only a smattering of people from the city, but word had spread. By the time the protection of the ley collapsed, the plaza below had been filled. He didn’t know how much the citizens below could hear—not with the gusts of wind carrying his voice away—but it didn’t seem to matter. The populace was terrified. He could feel it coming up from the square in almost physical waves. He’d scoffed at them, at their lack of faith.
Until the gates opened. Then, as his words broke and dragged down into silence, the first niggling worms of fear began to gnaw into his gut.
The specter of his own vision—of the serpents and the
dogs, of the pulsing light of the Three Sisters exploding—suddenly crawled up onto his back and sank claws into his shoulders, its weight significant. He’d used the vision to unseat Kara Tremain and the Wielders from their grip on the Needle, but he hadn’t seriously considered the ramifications of what it meant. He hadn’t actually believed in it.
Until now.
He let his arms fall to his sides, the wind blasting his face, the banners of the Kormanley snapping fitfully on either side along the mostly empty tier behind him. Four enforcers had remained with him, at the insistence of Darius, but the rest had been sent to the walls.
They wouldn’t be enough. Not against the dogs or the serpents. Most certainly useless against the annihilation promised by the Three Sisters, pulsing far to the north even now.
He dropped his gaze from the gates—still surprisingly empty—and stared down at the mass of people below, jammed in between the buildings on either side. Their hands were raised toward him, their cries of fear and adoration rising from below in counterpoint to the screams and beating drums and clash of the fighting outside the walls, muted by distance but still audible, carried by the wind.
His vision flickered, and he saw the entire plaza below littered with bodies. The building off to the right was burning. Gorrani were picking their way through the slaughter.
He choked and stepped back, shot a glance back toward the main gates. Men were pouring in through the opening now. It was too distant to be certain, but he thought they were Devin’s men, not the Gorrani.
Footsteps behind him. Then one of the enforcers said, “Father? Is everything all right?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but only one word came out: “How?”
An uncertain shuffling of feet from behind. “I don’t understand. How what?”
Dalton spun, anger spiking up through his fear. “How are the gates open? How could Darius have failed me so miserably? How could all of you have failed me?” He seized the man by the front of his armor and dragged him closer, began shaking him. The guard’s eyes widened, but he didn’t resist. “I did everything the visions that Korma sent told me to do! I did everything I could to warn everyone, to guide people, to keep everyone safe! And look what has happened! Look what has happened!”
“But . . . didn’t you predict all of this?”
Dalton halted at the profound look of confusion on the man’s face, then shoved him backward. His arms dropped. He turned and faced the auroral lights flickering far out over the plains in the direction of Tumbor, then shifted so he could see the Three Sisters. Shouts and the sounds of fighting began to rise through the gusts from the direction of the city below. The clamor of those in the plaza had risen, steeped now with uncertainty brought on by his sudden silence. And perhaps they could hear the fighting inside the city as well. Perhaps they could hear the cold serpents’ hiss and feel the hot breath of the dogs on the backs of their necks, as he did.
“I survived the Shattering,” he said to himself. “I will survive this as well.”
Something wet splashed the back of his neck. He reached up in annoyance, his fingers returning with dabs of thick blood.
He spun in time to see a man tip the body of the enforcer he’d yelled at over the edge of the stone, the guard’s throat slit. The other three guards lay dead on the tier behind them.
The man who’d killed them all said, “I don’t think you will.”
Dalton took a step back, but his heel found the edge of the jut of stone. He swallowed.
“Who are you?” He found it difficult to focus on the man, his gaze sliding off to one side. Even his special vision was unsettled, as if somehow the man wasn’t really there.
The man stepped forward, the motion casual, as if he were unconcerned they were standing on a thin outcropping of rock with a deadly drop on either side. “I’m a Hound.”
Dalton saw the knife flicker on his vision seconds before the Hound actually moved. He lurched back in response, foot stepping out into empty air, and the blade merely nicked his throat, the pain icy sharp and sweet.
The Hound reacted instantly, free hand snapping out and catching hold of Dalton’s shirt front before he could plummet to the square below.
Irritation flashed across the Hound’s face. “You can’t escape that easily.”
The Hound swung again and Dalton felt a tug beneath his jawbone from side to side. Blood spurted onto the Hound, who stepped back. Dalton’s hands shot up to his throat, to the gash there that felt horrendously wide, his fingers coated instantly as he tried to stem the flow, his blood shockingly warm. He staggered forward, tried to speak, but fell to his knees instead, then forward onto the stone. His lower body had gone completely numb, his upper torso cold, his arms tingling, one hanging over the side of the jut. As blood pooled beneath him, began to drip over the edge of the stone, he heard the first screams of terror from his followers below.
Except they weren’t screaming for him, he realized, as his vision began to fade.
Devin’s men had reached the square.
Cory stood as soon as the sounds of fighting in the corridor outside faded. The rest of the members of the University watched as he shifted toward the door—now concealed behind a fold of Tapestry that created the illusion that no door existed here at all—and listened.
Sovaan rose and joined him, still using the wall for support. “Should we leave?”
“Not yet. We need to wait to make certain the fighting has shifted to another part of the temple.”
He glanced over the exhausted group. They’d hunkered down in this room as soon as Cory realized they wouldn’t make it to the wall, not with Sovaan and Jerrain barely able to walk. When they’d run across this storage room containing food, and with no one currently trailing them, he’d forced them all inside to rest and created the illusion to hide the door. It wouldn’t hold forever—someone was bound to come looking for the food in here eventually—but as far as he could tell, everyone was preoccupied with whatever was happening outside the temple. Everyone they’d run into had been scrambling toward the front of the temple, guards and servants alike, or barricading themselves behind their own doors.
Everyone had eaten, even Jerrain, who’d roused long enough to get food and drink before fading away again. Even that small period of consciousness had been encouraging.
While they’d remained hidden, the fighting had escalated and surrounded them, like a wave. At one point, the clash of swords and the screams of the dying had echoed through the hidden door in the hall just outside. It had lasted for an eternity, a pool of blood seeping beneath the door and into the room. Then the fighting shifted down the hall, farther away but still close. Someone had lain outside, moaning, until even that choked off into silence.
They’d huddled in the darkness without speaking, Tara with a hand clamped over Mirra’s mouth to keep her quiet as she sobbed.
But now Cory couldn’t hear anything, not even distant fighting.
They waited until Cory couldn’t stand it anymore.
He tugged on Sovaan’s sleeve to catch the administrator’s attention. “I’m going outside to see if it’s safe.”
“I think I’ve regained enough strength I can conceal the door again after you’ve left. The others are looking better as well.” He dropped his voice. “If you think we can reach the walls, I’d advise doing so now, while we still have a chance.”
Cory dropped the illusion on the door and pulled it open. Torchlight spilled into the room, everyone blinking and holding up hands to block the sudden brightness. Bodies littered the floor outside, enforcers, servants, and others dressed in dirtier clothes with makeshift armor that reminded Cory forcibly of the bandits that had attacked the Hollow under Baron Aurek.
He pointed a few of them out to Sovaan. “I’d guess Devin has attacked the Needle with his men from Erenthrall. Somehow they breached the walls.” He glanced back towa
rd the others. “Scavenge whatever weapons you can from them, just in case.”
He stepped through the bodies, finding it difficult to get decent footing. He pulled in breaths shallowly through his nose, the stench of blood and vomit and innards worse than a slaughterhouse. At the end of the hall, he turned back to see Sovaan and Tara pulling knives from those that still had them. Then he stepped around the corner.
The temple was quiet. Doors had been splintered open, the occupants killed inside or dragged out into the hall and slaughtered. Some of those hiding had fought back, one of Devin’s men occasionally mixed in with the bodies, but most were servants from the temple and enforcers.
He found the kitchens, the fires in the ovens still roaring, although the cooks had either run or lay dead. Using a basket, he loaded up whatever he could find that didn’t look ruined by the bloodshed, then stepped back into the hall.
Distantly, he could hear fighting again.
He stood rooted to the spot, his entire body vibrating as he listened. But the fighting didn’t get closer.
Relaxing, he turned back in the direction of the hidden room just as two men rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor.
Everyone stilled. They had swords drawn, were streaked with blood. Four more guards dressed the same appeared behind them, and Cory could swear there were others out of sight.
He reached for the Tapestry.
“Cory?”
Hesitating, he squinted. “Lienta?”
The swords lowered, and the men began moving closer at a trot. As they drew near, Cory could see the Temerite uniforms through the blood. He shuddered in relief, nearly sagged against the wall.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“We came across the chasm with Marcus and some others so they could seize control of the Nexus here, but we got separated before the real fighting began. Since then, we’ve been combing the temple corridors trying to find a way out or find Marcus and the others.”
Reaping the Aurora Page 48