Shattering the Ley

by Joshua Palmatier

  Allan sucked in a deep breath, then realized she was right. Morrell had begun to cry.

  He grabbed Janis by the shoulders, looked directly into her aged eyes, and said, “I’m leaving. The Dogs. Erenthrall. I’m leaving, Janis, and once the Dogs figure out I’m gone. . . .”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Janis’ eyes widened and she clutched at his arms. “But what about Morrell? Who’s going to look after Morrell?”

  “I will.”

  Janis said nothing, merely swallowed.

  He gently pushed her out of the way, shifted back to the kitchen area, tossed a few pots into the trunk on top of the clothes, a sack of rice, another of oats, then grabbed an empty sack and threw in what bread they had, packets of herbs and spices, everything he saw that was portable.

  When he spun, he found Janis bundling Morrell up into a swath of blankets. “What are you doing?”

  “You can’t do this alone, not with an infant. I’m coming with you.”

  He drew breath to protest, but she cut him off with a scathing glare.

  “You can’t protect her and care for her at the same time. It’s not possible. You need someone to help. My husband died three years ago. I have nothing left here in Erenthrall. And if what you say is true—that the Kormanley have attacked the Amber Tower, the Baron—then Erenthrall isn’t going to be safe for anyone. Besides,” she tucked the last edge of blanket into place, creating a sling across her torso, Morrell swaddled inside, and turned to face him, “how are you going to feed her? What are you going to feed her? And where do you intend to go? I know of a place to the west the Baron has no control over, one he doesn’t even know exists. The people there will take us in.”

  Allan hesitated. He had no place to run. He couldn’t go back to Canter; Hagger would send the Dogs there as soon as he lost track of him in the city. And Janis was right. Arent would explode. He’d already seen it in the aftermath at the Tower. The Dogs were scrambling. Everyone within the Tower, within the Great Hall, had been taken into custody, and the search for more Kormanley—anyone who knew anything about that attack—had already begun. As he’d left, he’d even heard Arent order Daedallen to call out the Hounds—

  The Hounds.

  Allan staggered, his legs suddenly weak. He leaned against the stone wall for support, felt the heat of the fire against his leg. He’d forgotten about the Hounds. Hagger would send one of the Hounds after him, if he could convince Daedallen and Arent he was important enough. And fleeing immediately after the attack would make them think he had been part of it somehow. They might even think he was Kormanley himself, especially after what Lord Gatterly had said about them infiltrating the Dogs.

  His stomach twisted and roiled and he groaned. But he had no choice. He was already committed. Hagger might have already noticed he was gone.

  He shoved away from the wall, swallowed down the sudden bile boiling at the back of his throat, and said, “We need to leave now. You handle Morrell, I’ll take the trunk.”

  Janis nodded, already moving to gather what Allan had missed for the baby. “We’ll have to stop by my place for a few things, but we can leave in ten minutes. I know someone in Copper who will loan us a pullcart. He can also let those in the Hollow know we’re coming. They’ll be suspicious of you at first, think you’re still with the Dogs, but I’ll convince them otherwise.”

  Allan watched her bustle around the room a moment, a woman twice his age, with graying hair pulled back in a bun, dressed in the simple garb of the working class. He’d have to find similar clothes before they traveled too far; his Dog’s uniform might be useful at first here in Erenthrall, but it would only draw attention outside the city.

  And if Hagger did sic one of the Hounds on him. . . .

  Then he’d have to distract the Hound himself and leave Morrell in Janis’ hands.

  Daedallen and Baron Arent stepped into the shattered remains of the Great Hall, their footfalls echoing in the chamber. The amber floor was covered with debris—overturned tables, shards of glasses and plates, the remnants of the feast, a few cracked ley globes. A breeze blew through the splintered balcony windows, reeking of charred skin and acrid explosives. A crack ran across the wall between the Great Hall and the Baronial meeting chamber, the fracture catching the sunlight oddly. The bodies had been cleared out, but there were still bloodstains on nearly every part of the hall beyond the burnt remains of the raised section that had held the Barons’ table.

  Arent spun on Daedallen, teeth gritted. “Find the Kormanley. I want them all dead. Hunt them down and execute them. Use those we already have in custody as an example to the citizens of Erenthrall. There is to be no mercy. Every last one of the Kormanley and all of those who support them, who have helped them, must be rooted out and exterminated. I will not tolerate such blatant defiance in my own city. Search every house, every manse, every hovel. Use whatever force necessary. I want the Kormanley eradicated!”

  “What about the lords and ladies of the city? They have rights—”

  “No one has rights anymore,” Baron Arent spat. “If they protest, seize them under suspicion. Throw Lord Gatterly’s complicity in their faces. No one is exempt. The Kormanley have gone too far. I am the ruler of this city, of the Baronies, and I will maintain control!”

  As if realizing he had already lost control, Arent sucked in a deep breath and clenched his fists. He cast one last scathing glance over the destruction in the Great Hall, then turned a baleful eye on Daedallen again.

  In a low, controlled voice, he added, “Consider the Dogs unleashed.” Then he stalked from the room.

  Daedallen shifted a few steps forward, ran his hand down the smooth amber wall until he intercepted the crack. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully, plans shifting into place in his head.

  A moment later, he emerged on the damaged stairwell, where numerous Dogs on watch in the Great Hall had seen Baron Leethe escape before the secondary explosion. His alphas Terrence and Branden were waiting, along with a dozen others, including Hagger. He didn’t see Hagger’s partner, Allan.

  “Orders?” Terrence asked briskly.

  “Bring the Hounds. All of them. Have them search the Great Hall for any possible leads. They are free of the leash for the hunt, but they are to bring any members or suspected members of the Kormanley back to us alive. Then organize the Dogs. We’re going to track down every last one of the Kormanley, no matter what it takes.”

  Terrence nodded. Everyone in the stairwell shifted nervously, but beneath the unease he could sense relief as well. They were finally being given enough leeway that perhaps they would be able to root out the Kormanley and put an end to them.

  “Branden,” he said, stepping past his two alphas and continuing on down the stairs as he talked. “Have the Dogs ready the Kormanley prisoners we already have in custody. Clean them up as much as possible.”

  “What for?”

  “Baron Arent wants a display of his displeasure, and we’re going to give it to him.”

  “When do they need to be ready?”

  “By tomorrow.”

  “Very well.”

  Daedallen had reached Hagger’s position. He motioned the grizzled Dog to walk beside him, Terrence and Branden jogging out in front to begin carrying out their orders. The rest of the Dogs present were falling in behind. “Where’s your partner?”

  “He hasn’t come in yet this morning.”

  “Why not?”

  Hagger shifted uncomfortably. “His wife was killed in the explosion last night. She was one of the servers.”

  Daedallen halted abruptly. In the aftermath of the explosions the night before, he had been too intent on protecting Baron Arent, clearing out the survivors, and dealing with the wounded to take notice of who had died. Aside from Baron Ranit, of course. Except for the Barons, the survivors had been held in the Tower for questioning. The city guards wer
e taking care of that, with a single Dog supervising each interview.

  Because he needed the Dogs elsewhere.

  “Give him until midafternoon,” he finally growled. “If he hasn’t come in then, find him. We’re going to need the entire pack for this. Until then, help Terrence with the Hounds.”

  Hagger grimaced, but nodded.

  “Dalton!”

  Dalton glanced up from his printing press in irritation as Tyrus crashed through the door at the base of the stairs, located him in the jumble of ink, paper, letter blocks, and other supplies, then fumbled his way toward him. Tyrus’ face was edged in panic, smudges of soot across his forehead, what appeared to be blood on the formal dress shirt he must have worn to the Baronial Meeting the night before. Dalton quelled the disappointment at seeing his fellow Kormanley. He had hoped that Tyrus had died in the Great Hall, a victim of proximity, especially after he hadn’t reported in after the explosions like most of the rest of the splinter cells involved.

  Instead, he rose from where he was leaning over the block flat for the upcoming edition of The Ley and plastered a smile on his face.

  “Tyrus! I was worried. I heard about what happened at the Amber Tower last night—I’m trying to print a report in The Ley right now—but when you didn’t report back in, I feared the worst.”

  Tyrus wove through the last desks and supplies, leaning heavily on a work stool as he attempted to catch his breath. “They kept . . . everyone who was still . . . in the Tower . . . overnight.” He wiped one arm across his forehead, smearing even more soot across his brow. “They’ve been questioning us . . . all morning. I was only just released.”

  “And you came straight here.”

  Tyrus completely missed the dangerous undertone in his voice. “I had to warn you.”

  Dalton stilled, fear shooting through his arms, tingling in his hands. He’d woken up screaming that morning, suffocating on imagined ash, the filth falling about him like snow. It had taken him ten minutes of coughing to rid himself of the illusion he was choking to death on embers; he still hadn’t shaken the terror of the vision of Erenthrall’s destruction. “Warn me of what?”

  “The Baron,” Tyrus gasped. “He’s unleashed the Dogs. They’re going to execute all of the Kormanley they’ve captured in various districts tomorrow. And they’re using the Hounds. They’ll find out that I’ve been helping them!”

  Dalton couldn’t suppress the shudder that coursed through him. Erenthrall hadn’t experienced the Hounds in force in decades, but everyone knew of the bloodshed they’d caused during Arent’s seizure of power. Entire Baronial families had been wiped out, or whittled down to only a few survivors. Like Baron Leethe.

  If they’d pushed Baron Arent to that extreme, then perhaps the Kormanley had succeeded after all, even if Arent himself had not died in last night’s attack.

  But it still called for drastic measures. The Dogs might not be able to trace the members of the cells, but the Hounds. . . .

  And Tyrus had come straight here, to the production offices of The Ley.

  It was time to abandon the newspaper front. Time to scatter the cells. He’d have to put the order out immediately, before the executions. And he needed to vanish.

  He turned a cold eye on Tyrus, his fellow Kormanley taking an involuntary step backward. A knife rested on the edge of his desk, within easy reach. He could kill Tyrus, end at least one trail leading to him.

  But no. The Dogs likely already knew about the newspaper. They’d discover he was part of the Kormanley even if they didn’t follow Tyrus’ trail here. But Tyrus would be a useful diversion. Let them hunt the clerk down while Dalton found refuge somewhere else. He wasn’t certain where, or how he would elude the Hounds—he wasn’t even certain of their abilities, his knowledge based on folklore, superstition, and rumor—but whatever time he could glean to escape would be necessary.

  “Warn the others,” he said, tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Tell Calven and the rest of that cell to disperse.”

  Tyrus shook his head. “No. We need to go to the Dogs right now, tell them what we were doing, tell them we were only trying to figure out who was supporting the splinter Kormanley ourselves first. It’s our only chance!”

  Dalton cursed himself. He’d forgotten Tyrus wasn’t part of the splinter group.

  He surged forward and grabbed Tyrus by his shirtfront, felt the gritty dried blood there grinding between his fingers as he yanked the weak clerk close. “Don’t you see? They won’t believe us. They’ll think we’re only trying to save ourselves. It’s too late to try to convince them otherwise. We have to run while we still can.”

  “But—”

  Dalton shook him. “Do you honestly think they’ll let you go? You forged permits to get them into Seeley Park! You planted one of their bombs on a ley barge!” He pulled Tyrus close enough that he could smell the blood and ash on his shirt. “You vouched for those who brought the carts and explosives into the Tower yesterday.”

  Horror bloomed in Tyrus’ gaze, his breath catching in his throat. “But if you verify what I’m saying—”

  Dalton snorted and dropped him. He’d already dismissed him from his mind. “I don’t intend to get caught.”

  He left Tyrus gasping where he stood, moved into the back section of the basement, where an old fireplace had been built into the stone wall. Long dead coals were scattered in the pit, from the past winter when he’d worked late and needed the warmth—there was no ley heating down here. A small stack of wood and kindling abutted the wall.

  He began building a fire.

  Behind, Tyrus fidgeted, then shifted forward. “What are you doing?”

  Dalton glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to burn the newspaper’s office down. That may slow the Hounds.” His gaze narrowed. “I’d start thinking about where you intend to run if I were you.”

  He turned back to the fire, used flint and crumpled paper to start the flames, shoved it beneath the wood he’d stacked, then moved toward his office. He gathered what little he thought he’d need from his files and desk into a satchel and slung it over his shoulder. When he returned to the outer room, Tyrus was gone. He grunted and began scattering sheets of parchment for the printing press about the room, stacking it near the supports of the building above, then spilled the containers of oil for his lanterns through the maze of supplies and desks, hesitating over the press itself, but ultimately splattering the oil over its intricate mechanics. He coughed as the fumes filled the room, pulled his shirt up to cover his mouth as he used a poker to scatter the now charred wood of the fire before he edged toward the stairs, making certain the flames had caught. He told himself it was the reek of oil and the smoke that caused his eyes to tear.

  Ten minutes later, he stood across the street, teeth clenched, hands fisted, as the first few tendrils of smoke wafted through the cracks around the small door tucked between the shops to either side. When flames appeared, and the patrons of the two shops began pouring out onto the street, coughing, he spun and headed toward his apartments. He needed to send word to Dierdre and Darius. They hadn’t associated with any of the cells, so they should be able to go unnoticed, at least initially. They could continue their work. But he’d have to let them know he’d be gone for a while. At least until the Baron’s rage had cooled.

  They still hadn’t accomplished their ultimate goal: a return to the natural ley system, before their arrogance and abuse brought about the destruction he had seen in his visions.

  Hagger pounded on the door to Allan’s apartment and shouted, “Allan, are you in there?” His words fell hard into the silence. He hesitated, doubt niggling at the back of his mind. He had tested Allan after all, had forced him to interrogate Lord Gatterly. Allan had done everything they’d asked of him.

  And yet. . . .

  The suspicion and rage overwhelmed the doubt and he bellowed, “Allan!”


  He glanced over his shoulder at the two Dogs who accompanied him, both tensing and drawing blades.

  Then he kicked in the door, charging through the opening into the flat, already knowing what he would find.

  An empty room.

  He spat a curse, motioned the other Dogs to fan out, even though there was no reasonable place to hide. They began tearing the room apart, flipping the bed, slitting open the mattress and scattering the compact straw, opening and overturning trunks, tossing the contents of the single cupboard out onto the floor. A sack of flour ripped and spread in a fan of white, a cloud rising into the air. Hagger coughed and waved a hand in front of his face as he moved to the opposite side of the room toward a firepit. He knelt, leaned forward with a spread hand. The embers and coals were cold. To one side, a stone had been removed from the wall and when he reached into the opening the space beyond was empty.

  His anger ratcheted one notch higher and his chest rumbled with a low growl as he stood to find the two Dogs waiting.

  “There’s no one here,” one of them said.

  “Of course not,” Hagger snapped. “The traitor ran as soon as he could. He must have been working with the Kormanley.” The two Dogs traded looks, their stances hardening. He motioned them out of the room. “Question the neighbors. See if anyone saw anything, heard anything.”

  As soon as they left, Hagger searched the room himself but found nothing of interest. As far as he could tell, his partner had left with almost nothing. “He must have returned, grabbed some clothes, maybe some food—” he glanced toward the hole near the firepit, “—some money and the whelp, then run. But where would he go?”

  He paced, brow furrowed, the sounds of the other two Dogs—beating on doors, opening a few forcefully amid cries of protest—echoing around him. Would Allan retreat back to the sticks? What was the name of that village he said he’d come from? Cannon? Candor?

  The two Dogs reappeared in the doorway, the lead shaking his head. “Nothing. Although someone reported that the woman who was acting as their wet nurse is missing.”