Shattering the Ley

by Joshua Palmatier

  Then they were inside, hand gestures flying, Allan sticking close to Hagger. Signals indicating empty rooms flared from both sides as Dogs ducked through doors and returned. Hagger sent another group up to the second story, then motioned Allan and three others into the back rooms. Allan noted the lack of servants, as the Hound had reported. They encountered the kitchen area, passed through to a massive dining room, a parlor lined with tall paintings, a sitting room, and what appeared to be Lord Gatterly’s office, a map of the known world lined with trading routes to the east and west drawn in black on a central table, a massive desk to one side. The Dogs sent upstairs returned, the lead shaking his head and shrugging. Hagger grimaced and motioned back toward the kitchen.

  They found the narrow servant door that led to stairs up and down. Ley light glowed from those leading downward, and Hagger’s expression broke into a cruel grin of triumph. He waved two Dogs toward the stairs leading up, then turned his entire focus on those going down.

  They descended slowly, the only noises the creak of the stairs and the sounds of the Dogs’ leather armor and their heavy breathing. The stairs turned, then turned again, the ley light brightening. They opened up onto a narrow corridor lined with cut stone, two doors to one side, another straight ahead. The one straight ahead was carved raggedly with the Kormanley symbol, just as the Hound had reported.

  Allan’s heart thudded in his chest and sweat dripped from his face, itching in his armpits and along his chest and back. The Dogs settled around the door, listening. The murmur of voices reverberated through the heavy wood of the door, indiscernible. Hagger waited until everyone was set, meeting all of their gazes with a quick flicker of confirmation—

  And then he cut his hand forward.

  Allan hit the door hard, felt a moment of resistance before Hagger hit it beside him and it gave with a loud crack of splintering wood. They burst into the room beyond, the scent of smoke tickling Allan’s nostrils as soon as he and Hagger spilled out onto the floor. The Dogs behind leaped over them, pouring forward with a sudden barrage of shouts and growls, the room erupting into screams and curses, a scuffle of feet as the Kormanley—all dressed in the white robes of the priests—scattered in an attempt to escape. From the floor, Allan caught sight of two men in the center of the room inside a ring of candles, one kneeling with tears coursing down his face, the other standing regally over him. The man spun on the one that knelt and slapped him hard across the face, shouting, “You bastard! You led them straight to us!” A knife suddenly appeared in the man’s hand.

  “Ibsen,” Allan murmured.

  To his right, Hagger grunted. “And Lord Gatterly.” He heaved to his feet and headed straight toward the lord: the tall man with the neatly trimmed mustache and beard holding the dagger. Hagger snagged the lord’s shoulder even as the lord lunged toward the cowering Ibsen, jerking Gatterly back and bringing his own sword up to the lord’s throat. At the same time, the Hound appeared from the brawl that surrounded them, stepping forward and dragging Ibsen out of range, hunkering over the man with a feral look of protection on his face.

  Allan surged to his feet and joined the rest of the Dogs in subduing and rounding up the other Kormanley, shoving the white-robed members to their knees against one wall. Two bodies sprawled across the floor, blood staining their robes, both taken out in the initial attack, both still alive although the one closest to the door had been trampled. Allan held his sword on the group and Hagger herded Lord Gatterly to the other side of the room, the Hound keeping watch over Ibsen, who appeared to have fainted. There were twelve others besides those two, all glaring at the Dogs who held them. Candles and chairs were scattered, a few tilted onto their sides, and bookcases lined the wall opposite the door. Maps of the city filled another wall, each district shaded in different colors. Allan recognized at least three of the most recent Kormanley attacks marked in red on it.

  In the center of the map, the Amber Tower had been circled. Scrawled next to it was a date.

  The day of the Baron’s Meeting.

  Hatred flared and he turned to face Gatterly, but the lord’s attention was caught by Daedallen. The captain stood in the door to the room, his gaze passing over everything, taking it all in, then falling on Gatterly in his white robes.

  Anger creased the captain’s brow and he stepped to within inches of Gatterly, Hagger pressing the tip of his sword to the lord’s skin hard enough that blood trickled down his neck.

  “What are you planning?” Daedallen said, his voice pitched soft, but rough, like the first warning growl from a guard dog.

  Gatterly’s eyes narrowed and he laughed, the sound cut to a short hiss as Hagger’s sword dug in deeper.

  “You can’t stop it,” he said tightly, defiantly. “It’s already been put in motion. You can do whatever you want to me—kill me, even—but it’s already begun.”

  Daedallen said nothing for a long moment, simply stared at Gatterly, until the lord swallowed, his gaze flicking toward Hagger, whose face was impassive, uncaring. Then the captain murmured, “You won’t die. Not for a long time.”

  He turned, scanned all the rest of the Kormanley they’d captured, including Ibsen.

  “Take them,” he said harshly. “Take them all to the Tower and find out what they know.”

  Hagger thrust Lord Gatterly across one of the cells beneath the Amber Tower, the man grunting as he hit the far wall. Allan closed the door as three other Dogs fanned out around the lord. Gatterly pushed up onto his hands. Blood had smeared across his face, and livid bruises were already rising across one cheek. He hadn’t come willingly, and the Dogs had shown him no mercy as they hauled him out of his estate.

  Looking up from where he sprawled, Gatterly reached up to wipe the blood from his lips and sneered at Hagger.

  “I’m a lord of the Barony,” he said. “You can’t touch me.”

  Hagger’s resulting smile sent a shiver through Allan’s spine. “You’re not a lord any longer.”

  He glanced toward one of the other Dogs, who moved to a narrow table against the far wall and tossed down a leather case. Metal clanked, the sound dulled by the leather, but as he untied the bundle and rolled it out he made certain Lord Gatterly saw the array of knives, hammers, and other implements that were secured within. Fear shot through the lord’s eyes for the first time, and Allan felt his stomach roil in distaste. He shifted where he stood by the door and Hagger shot him a dark look that he couldn’t interpret. Coldness settled against the back of Allan’s neck and he stilled.

  Hagger’s attention shifted back to Gatterly. He moved forward and knelt at the lord’s side. “You already know what’s coming,” he said, his voice reasonable, and as if on cue a hollow scream came from one of the adjacent rooms. “Tell us what you know and it will go easier for you.”

  Gatterly shifted into a sitting position. Hagger tensed, although his eyes brightened, as if he were hoping the lord would try something. “I know what happens down here, yes. And no matter what I say, you won’t believe it’s everything I know. There’s no such thing as ‘easy’ once you’re taken by the Dogs.”

  Hagger grinned. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

  He glanced toward the two remaining Dogs and motioned with one hand as he stood. They pounced on the lord, wrestling him to the stone floor on his back, pinning down his arms by thrusting the heels of their hands into his shoulder joints. Gatterly kicked his legs out, trying to catch Hagger as he stepped away, but the third Dog stomped on the lord’s stomach and sat on his upper thighs. With cold efficiency, he tied restraints around Gatterly’s ankles and knees, cinching the leather straps tight, binding his legs together. He could still bend at the waist and knees, but his motions were awkward and obviously caused him pain. He snarled as the Dog stood and returned to the table.

  Hagger had come to a halt next to Allan and now stood watching the lord with narrowed eyes. His hand massaged the handle of
his sword restlessly. The same agitated excitement Allan had felt at Ibsen’s flat radiated from him.

  Easing slightly away from him, knowing that Hagger was aware of his every move, Allan said, “I should probably go organize the wagons bringing the contents of the Kormanley room to the tow—”

  “No. You’re staying right here. You’re going to help us interrogate him.”

  The calm in Hagger’s voice, and the finality of it, forced the coldness at the nape of Allen’s neck to spread down into his shoulders. He licked his lips, drew in a careful breath—

  And Hagger turned to look at him. His eyes were hard, and Allan could see the rage in them.

  “Are you a Dog or not?” he asked.

  Fear sluiced down through Allan’s arms, tingling in his fingers, but he steeled himself, forced his expression to remain neutral. He’d done it so many times before with those the Dogs captured, and with Hagger, that it came naturally. But his stomach churned. He didn’t dare move, like the hare who has just caught the scent of the dog and realizes it’s already too close.

  Hagger reached up and grabbed him by the neck, a hold half friendly, half brawl, his fingers digging in painfully even as he smiled and tugged him toward Lord Gatterly. “I think you should break him in, don’t you agree, boys?”

  The other three Dogs grinned, and Allan suddenly realized they were three of Hagger’s staunchest allies, the ones he’d hand-picked that morning for the group set to follow the Hound. He should have noticed it earlier, but hadn’t, too distracted by the activity as they’d arrived with the wagonload of Kormanley, the chaos as the Dogs descended on the group with ley globes blazing, Captain Daedallen barking commands in the background. He hadn’t paid attention when the Dogs were split up, the prisoners separated.

  Cursing himself, he let Hagger lead him to Gatterly. “Now straddle him. Keep his legs immobile.” The elder Dog emphasized the order with an excruciating pinch of his neck muscles before thrusting him forward and retreating to the table where the third Dog stood.

  Allan hesitated, but only for a breath, aware that the two Dogs holding the prisoner were watching him. He straddled Gatterly, the lord grimacing and wriggling until Allan dropped to his knees, captured the lord’s legs between them to keep him from bucking, and then sank his weight back to hold him down. This close, he could smell the fear sweat on the lord, even though his face was twisted in disdain and defiance. He met Allan’s gaze and Allan’s heart wrenched inside his chest. Gatterly knew what was coming, but he was attempting to hide it.

  He wasn’t going to break easy.

  Hagger planted his feet to either side of Gatterly’s head, wrenching the lord’s attention away from Allan.

  “We know you’re Kormanley. Ibsen’s presence incriminated you, even if we hadn’t found you in the middle of a meeting. What we want to know is what you have planned for the Baronial Meeting.”

  “As I said at my estate,” Gatterly spat, “it’s already been set in motion. You can’t stop it.”

  “Then there’s no reason not to tell us.”

  Gatterly said nothing, merely smiled.

  Hagger looked up at Allan. “Hit him. Don’t break his jaw.”

  Allan had been expecting it. His arms still tingled with numbness, but he balled his hand into a fist and punched Gatterly as hard as he could high in the face, the shock of it jangling up through his wrist into his elbow. Shock also crossed Hagger’s face, there and then hidden in the blink of an eye. Gatterly’s head slammed back into the floor and he cried out, then spat blood to one side. His breath quickened, but Hagger didn’t give him time to recover, growling, “Again.”

  Allan began pummeling the lord, something inside his head slipping, separating him from the feel of Gatterly’s flesh beneath his fists, removing him from the slickness of the blood and snot that coated his hands as he continued, Hagger barking commands, Allan following through without thought. He kept Moira and Morrell’s faces before him, trying to convince himself he was doing it for them, knowing that it was fear. Fear of Hagger, fear of the Dogs, of Captain Daedallen and Baron Arent. Fear of what he’d become.

  So he did what Hagger told him. He hit Gatterly until the lord’s face was nothing more than bruised and bloody flesh, his nose crushed and unrecognizable, his neatly trimmed beard matted. But he left the lord’s jaw alone. Gatterly didn’t break. So Hagger brought out the knives. They began on his fingers, the lord bucking beneath Allan while Hagger and the other Dog worked. Screams filled the chamber, echoed on either side by those in other chambers. When told, Allan laced his fingers together and pressed his palms into Gatterly’s chest, weight forward to compress his lungs and make it harder to breathe. He did this repeatedly, taking the lord to the edge of consciousness before Hagger allowed him to back off. Then they began on his feet.

  When they started on his chest, Gatterly sobbed something unintelligible, the first words he’d muttered besides curses trapped between screams and pitiable begging. Hagger and the other Dog drew back from their work, hands and uniforms streaked and stained with blood. They shared a glance, then turned to Allan.

  Choking down the nausea that roiled in his stomach, Allan leaned forward, his thighs screaming at the motion after remaining in the same position for so long. He forced himself to get close enough to Gatterly’s face that he could hear his gurgled breath, could smell the coppery stench of the blood that had pooled on the floor beneath him. It lay thick on the air, enough he thought he could taste it on his tongue.

  Keeping his own breath shallow, he murmured, “What did you say, Lord Gatterly? We didn’t hear you.”

  Gatterly’s breath puffed against Allan’s cheek and he drew back slightly before realizing that the lord was chuckling, the sound broken. Through the mess of his face, Allan thought he was even grinning, or at least trying to, the attempt hideous.

  “You . . .” he hitched, barely audible, voice thick with fluid, “. . . yo-you don’t . . . even realize. . . . The Kor . . . Korman . . . Kormanley. . . . They’ve already . . . already infiltrated . . . the . . . the . . .”

  “The Tower?” Hagger burst out, crouching down next to Gatterly’s head. “Are they already within the Tower?”

  Gatterly chuckled again, shaking his head. Then he opened his eyes, the steely blue and white startling in the dark red, black, and purple remains of his face. “They’re already in the Dogs,” he hissed, and then he laughed, choked off by pain, but laughter nonetheless.

  Hagger jerked back, surprise flickering across his face before it shifted into anger edged with panic. He glanced at the other three Dogs, then turned to Allan.

  For a single moment, the panic in Hagger’s gaze was tinged with suspicion and Allan straightened, tensing as he prepared to defend himself. But then the suspicion faded, settling into grim determination.

  “We have to tell the captain,” Hagger said.

  “I still believe approaching Kara about the Kormanley is a bad idea,” Ischua said, raising his voice enough to be heard above the clatter of the printing presses hard at work in the next room. He’d found Dalton at work on the next edition of The Ley in the basement printing hall. After seeing that the press was running smoothly, Dalton had taken him to an office to one side, shutting the door behind them. It cut the noise enough they didn’t have to shout.

  Now, Dalton poured a cup of tea for Ischua and handed it across the disorganized desk littered with papers and notebooks and a scattering of printing blocks. He stared at the aged Tender and suppressed his irritation. “Why?”

  Ischua sipped the tea but set it aside immediately. “She still associates the Kormanley with her parent’s death. Every time I mention them, even in passing, she tenses and becomes belligerent. And I don’t see how we can even begin to approach her about helping us with restoring the ley without bringing in the Kormanley. However . . .”

  Dalton raised an eyebrow at Ischua’s hesit
ation. “You have something else in mind?”

  He watched the conflict play out on Ischua’s expressive face, in the creases of his brow and the lines around his mouth. But finally Ischua’s forehead smoothed and his mouth thinned. “Not something else, someone else.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’ve noticed that Marcus’ hatred of the Primes has grown, especially since Kara and he encountered the distortion at the Eld station. The Primes have been keeping a close watch on Kara since. Marcus resents it. Most of the other Wielders at the Eld node do as well—they’re protective of their own—but not to the same extent as Marcus. I think we should focus on him. He may not have the same potential as Kara, most certainly will not become a Prime, but he has the passion.”

  Dalton sat forward, elbow on the edge of his desk. “Kara and Marcus have been partnered, right?”

  “Yes. They were teamed up when Kara arrived. Since then, it’s grown into something more significant.” He added the last with a wry, indulgent, yet approving smile. “Much more significant if the rumors coming from Eld are true.”

  “Indeed.” Dalton massaged his chin in thought. If they could turn Marcus to their cause, perhaps he could convince Kara. Then they would have two Wielders placed within the ranks. Even if the current strike against the Baron and the Primes succeeded, they would need Wielders to break the Nexus.

  “Do you want me to approach him?” Ischua asked after a long moment.

  Dalton sat back. “No. You’re too valuable an influence on Kara. I don’t want to destroy that if something goes wrong with Marcus. I’ll have Dierdre approach him. But we’ll move slow. I don’t want to startle him, or have him do anything rash.” Not to mention Dalton was a little busy preparing the Kormanley for the attack at the Baronial Meeting.