He sat that way for over ten minutes, until he’d calmed his breathing and strength had returned to his legs. Then he stood, wiped the tears from his face, tasted their salt on his lips, and resheathed his blade.
He didn’t understand what had just happened, but he wasn’t going to wait around to figure it out either.
Grabbing the handles of the pullcart, he lifted—it was surprisingly light without Janis weighing down the back—and trotted forward. He intended to catch up to her before the sun set fully.
And then they would leave Erenthrall behind.
Report.
I have located the . . . prey.
The Guide registered his hesitation.
Explain.
My orders were to seek the “traitorous Kormanley bastard” and subdue him. The prey is not Kormanley.
The Guide did not respond. The Hound shifted uncomfortably, suddenly uncertain, the fear of a reprimand and punishment shivering through his skin.
The prey has left Erenthrall, he added. Should I pursue?
More silence, broken a moment later.
No. Return to the den.
Sixteen
“CAPTAIN DAEDALLEN.”
Daedallen broke off his conversation with four of his alphas and spun, immediately recognizing Baron Arent’s voice through the raucous noise of the Dogs’ den. Others did as well, as the cacophony of laughter, camaraderie, and the clang of swords and the pummel of fists against flesh in the training pit died out.
Daedallen could not remember the last time he’d seen the Baron in the Dogs’ lair. He stepped forward instantly.
“Baron Arent. Did you summon me?”
The Baron’s gaze grazed all of those present, dismissing all of them except for Daedallen and those the captain had been speaking to on his arrival. “I did not summon you, no. I came to discuss your progress with the Kormanley.”
Daedallen shifted into a formal stance. “I was discussing that with my alphas when you arrived.”
“Then continue.”
He hesitated, then nodded and turned back to the others. All four of them stiffened, their unease clear at having the Baron listening in. Daedallen nodded toward Terrence. “It’s been five days since the crackdown after the riot in Calder. What’s the status of that district?”
“Activity there has quieted. The Dogs say the citizens are still on edge, and there have been reports of attacks on the Dogs and the city watch within the last day. I would not recommend decreasing the Dogs stationed there for at least another few days.”
Daedallen grunted. It had been the last execution. The dissent in the crowds had grown steadily at each one, the fear and anger finally snapping. Over thirty citizens had been killed in the riot that followed. Fires had broken out in five locations; one had burned down an entire block, the smoke visible from the Amber Tower for two days. The Dogs had flooded the streets and thousands of residents had fled to neighboring districts.
But not all. Hundreds had remained behind, some in passive defiance, going about their daily lives as if the Dogs weren’t hovering in pairs or triples at every street corner, while others had been more forceful. Two dozen coordinated attacks on the Dogs and city watch had killed half a dozen guardsmen in the streets. At least forty had been injured by thrown rocks, bricks, and loose cobblestones, or by vicious beatings when groups ambushed the guards and dragged them into darkened alleys or closed-up shops. Daedallen feared that the majority of the attacks happening not just in Calder but all over Erenthrall were not being instigated by the Kormanley.
“Agreed. But rotate those stationed in Calder to other districts and replace them with fresh guardsmen. I don’t want any of this fighting to become personal.” He skipped to Branden. “What about the search for the Kormanley? We had a lead. The Hounds were searching for the clerk and the owner of the newsprint The Ley, weren’t they?”
Branden’s gaze slid toward the Baron and he licked his lips before answering. “We captured the clerk, Tyrus, two days ago. He’s down in the cells. But we haven’t gotten anything useful from him.”
“Why not? Can’t you make him cooperate?”
Branden snorted. “He’s too cooperative. As soon as we captured him, he began spilling his guts. He claims there are two sets of Kormanley—the peaceful one he belongs to, and a second splinter group that’s behind all of the recent bombings. He gave us the name of the leader of the peaceful group—Dalton, the owner of The Ley—but the Hounds were already looking for him. They haven’t reported back yet. He also gave us the names of the members of the splinter cell he supposedly infiltrated, but he couldn’t be more specific than that. He’s told us everything, but it’s all information we already knew or it’s useless.”
The Baron had shifted forward as Branden spoke. “What about their meeting places? We can send the Hounds there, have them pick up the conspirators’ scents.”
“He gave us those locations as well. They were all taverns or inns. One was a slaughterhouse. The Hounds are sorting through the scents now, but hundreds if not thousands of patrons have passed through each room. They’re having a hard time picking out the Kormanley from all of the rest.”
“What about Allan Garrett?” Hagger asked, his voice rumbling.
Daedallen ground his teeth together, the other Dogs staring at the floor. He drew breath to reprimand Hagger, but Baron Arent spoke first.
“Who is Allan Garrett?”
Hagger turned toward him, his voice tight and formal, but laced with hatred. “Allan Garrett was my partner. He ran after the bombing at the Amber Tower.”
“We thought he was Kormanley,” Daedallen interjected. “We sent a Hound after him. The Hound reported back that he’d left Erenthrall and,” he said pointedly to Hagger, “that he was not Kormanley.”
Hagger’s lip twitched into a scowl. “Even so, he is a Dog. He cannot be allowed to run.”
Daedallen felt more than his alphas’ eyes on him. No Dog had ever been allowed to leave the pack, except in death. Allan needed to be found, brought back, and punished. What he had done was inexcusable, denigrated them all with its cowardice. His hand clenched on the pommel of his sword, the knuckles white.
But Baron Arent shook his head. “He is inconsequential at the moment. We will hunt him down later. Right now, our focus must be on the Kormanley and the dissent ripping this city apart.” His cold eyes fell on Daedallen. “You are not being aggressive enough. I said to unleash the Dogs. Unleash them. Find the Kormanley and destroy them. Purge them from this city.”
Daedallen frowned. “What of the resistance we met in Calder? There are signs of it elsewhere. The dissension is coming from more than the Kormanley and their supporters.”
Baron Arent stepped close, glared up into Daedallen’s face. Daedallen could smell the fish the Baron had eaten for lunch on his breath. “The Dogs and the Hounds were created to instill fear. That fear brought the Barons to their knees. Make the citizens of Erenthrall fear the Dogs and the Hounds, as the Barons fear them.”
Without waiting for an answer, the Baron backed away, then strode from the den. The tension he’d brought with him did not abate.
Daedallen wiped the sweat from his palms on his shirt.
“Gather your men,” he said to his alphas. “Double the number of Dogs on patrol and seize the owners and employees of all taverns, brothels, and slaughterhouses where the Kormanley were known to meet. If anyone resists . . .” He hesitated. He knew what would happen, but the Baron had given him orders, here, in the den, before a significant portion of his men. He could not alter those orders now.
“If anyone resists,” he said again, meeting the gaze of each of his alphas squarely, “kill them.”
Marcus emerged from the shop on Archam that sold expensive chocolates, his purchase wrapped up in a small box tied with a length of blue ribbon. His smile faltered when he caught sight of th
e group of three Dogs loitering across the street and he ducked his head as he turned in the opposite direction. The Dogs were everywhere now. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. They hadn’t done anything against the Wielders at all. In fact, they appeared to be actively staying out of the Wielders’ way whenever possible.
He shrugged his unease aside and pushed the Dogs and the lingering effects of the execution from his mind. He gripped the box of chocolates harder. He was running late. Kara would be waiting for him at the market, probably with that annoyed expression that quirked the corners of her mouth in that way he enjoyed so much. She didn’t realize how it dimpled her cheeks. He grinned.
Distracted, he didn’t see the woman until they’d slammed into each other, both cutting the corner at the end of the street. They crashed to the ground, arms and legs tangled, the woman crying out in startled surprise and affront. Marcus’ heart thudded in his chest as he dropped the box. His shoulder struck the flagstone of the walk, pain shooting into his chest, and one of the woman’s elbows crunched into his face, but he shoved her aside and rolled, keeping the box in sight. It clattered to the stone, came to a rest on its side. He disentangled himself and scrambled to it, snatching it up and inspecting it for damage.
“Well,” the woman he’d run into said from the ground. “I see where your priorities lie.”
Seeing no damage except a minor scuff mark, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned toward her. “Sorry. I just spent two weeks’ worth of errens on this and—” He halted, brow furrowing in confusion. “Do I know you?”
The woman brushed long black hair off her face and reached out a hand. He grabbed it without thinking and hauled her to her feet. She smiled. “My name’s Dierdre. We talked briefly during the execution last week. I accused you of being a Baron sympathizer, remember?”
Brow still furrowed, he nodded. “I remember.”
“The beheading was disgusting,” Dierdre said, brushing herself off. “The Dogs should never have been allowed to get away with it.”
Marcus’ heart leaped up into this throat and he spun to see if the Dogs he’d noticed earlier were close. They’d been arresting people in Eld for less than what Dierdre had just said, had killed a few who resisted, right on the street. No trial, no pretense of hauling them off to the Tower for “questioning,” never to be seen again.
But the Dogs were gone.
Dierdre chuckled and he turned back. “I knew they were gone,” she said. “I’m not stupid.” She looked him up and down, her expression so speculative he blushed. “You don’t strike me as being stupid either. Young, but not stupid.”
“I’m not,” he said.
She shifted closer, lowered her voice. Pedestrians streamed by them on either side, no one paying them any particular attention. “I don’t think you like the Dogs very much either. Am I right?”
He frowned, sweat suddenly breaking out across his back, beneath his armpits. “I’m a Wielder. I have no problem with the Dogs.”
She pursed her lips. “That’s not what I saw at the execution, nor when you spotted them coming out of the shop just now.”
He shifted back, unconsciously gripping the box harder in his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dierdre chuckled again, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down Marcus’ skin. “No need to worry. I’m not working for the Dogs. I’m not an informant.” Hatred tinged her voice and her gaze flicked from Marcus to the street, where the Dogs had been standing, then back. “I know many people who don’t like them. Maybe you’d be interested in meeting them sometime?”
Marcus sucked in a sharp breath, then coughed, retreating two steps, three. He glared at Dierdre uncertainly. His body shook with shock, rebelling at the thought. And yet part of his mind whispered, The Dogs are out of control. And the Primes have lost control.
But the Kormanley had killed Kara’s parents.
Was this woman Kormanley? She hadn’t said anything about the ley, only the Dogs.
Confused, he said, “I’m late. I’m supposed to be meeting someone at the market.”
Dierdre’s shoulders sank, but she smiled. “Forgive me. I did not mean to detain you.” She glanced down toward the box. “A gift for . . . ?”
“My partner.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Your partner.”
He blushed again, but lifted his chin. “We run patrols together.”
“I see.”
He began to step away, but she grabbed his arm, a light touch, but insistent. “If you change your mind, ask for me at the Tambourine. It’s a little café on Bittersly Street.”
Then she let him go, merging into the bustle of the walk. He lost sight of her black hair when she rounded a corner.
He clenched the box of chocolate to his chest, then shook his head and moved in the opposite direction, toward the market.
Dalton noticed the Dogs trailing him when he paused to pick up a loaf of bread. His hand clenched involuntarily, fingers punching through the hardened outer crust into the soft warm interior. He barely heard the baker protest and demand payment, his body rigid with fear. But her shrill voice finally penetrated, and he dug hastily in his pocket for change when he realized the Dogs hadn’t noticed him yet. They appeared to be watching someone else.
“Here,” he said, handing over far too many errens for the bread. Her shriek cut off, but the disgruntled look on her face didn’t fade, nor the glare.
When she turned her back to get change, he slipped down the street, trying to move slowly, as if still browsing the shops. He dodged pedestrians and surreptitiously scanned for whatever held the Dogs’ attention.
It took him a moment, but then he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and his gaze focused on not something, but someone. A lean figure with straggly brown hair and a narrow face, a sharp nose, freckles. Slightly taller than himself, the man moved through the crowd without effort, the patrons in the streets stepping out of his way unconsciously. No one appeared to notice him at all, except the Dogs, who kept him in sight at all times.
Dalton slid into an alley—nothing more than a shoulder-width narrow between two stone buildings—and watched.
The Hound—it had to be a Hound—moved fluidly through the crowds, eyes darting back and forth, searching faces, acutely aware of every move made by those around him. The intensity of his features sent a shudder through Dalton’s shoulders and down his back. His focus was inhuman, and there was something odd about his breathing. Every so often, his head would tilt and his nostrils would flare—
Dalton sucked in a harsh breath, held it. Scent. That’s why they were called Hounds. They hunted by scent.
At the same moment, the Hound spun and lashed out with one hand, seizing the baker’s arm as she turned from arguing with another woman. Dalton heard her gasp in pain from his position across the street. Her perpetual disgruntled expression fled, replaced with pure panic as she caught sight of who held her and the Dogs now rushing toward her position.
“Where is he?” the Hound demanded.
“Who?” she asked, then tried to jerk free. The muscles in the Hound’s forearm flexed and she bit back another gasp, her arm now canted awkwardly to one side.
“The man who was just here,” the Hound said, and Dalton shrank back deeper into the narrow. Icy tendrils cascaded down his legs and into his feet, his toes tingling, as the Hound continued. “Where did he go?”
The woman’s jaw set, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t know.”
The Dogs had arrived, everyone on the street giving the baker’s stall a wide berth. But even though the other pedestrians kept their distance, Dalton sensed a dark undercurrent welling up, heightened when the Hound twisted the woman’s arm further and she cried out through clenched teeth.
The Dogs’ alpha must have sensed it as well. He motioned with one hand, the rest of the Dogs fanning out. Some of
those on the street had stopped, were glaring at the altercation. “Was he here?” the alpha growled.
The Hound’s lip curled. “He was here. Within the last ten minutes.” He drew in a deep breath, turned in Dalton’s direction, searched with those odd, animalistic eyes—
And caught Dalton’s gaze.
Shock bolted from Dalton’s brain to his feet at the ferocity he saw there and he lurched back.
At the same time, the Hound said, “We don’t need her,” and wrenched the woman’s hand, the motion casual. Dalton heard the snap of bone as the baker screamed.
Then he spun in the narrow and dashed between the buildings, shoulders scraping on either side. A pounding filled his ears, muting the baker’s shrieks from behind and the sudden uproar from those who had watched. He heard the alpha bellow a warning, heard outraged growls from the few who’d gathered around to watch, heard a fight break out. But the bloodrush in his ears dampened everything except the harshness of his own breathing.
He cried out as he burst from the narrow’s other side into another street, nearly stumbling. Someone helped him steady himself, but he jerked away and staggered to the right, heading toward the market, toward the thicker crowds. He’d eluded the Dogs and the Hounds for more than three weeks. He’d thought he’d escaped their notice. How had they found him? How had they—
He jolted to a halt in the middle of an intersection as it hit him. His scent. It had taken them a while to follow his tracks through Eld, especially since he’d traversed nearly all of these streets for years, but they’d found him.
And they’d find him again. Unless he could figure out a way to hide his scent. To destroy his tracks.
A roar of outrage from the street he’d just left drew his attention. The Dogs were piling out of the narrow, spreading out. The Hound was already honing in on Dalton’s direction.
Shattering the Ley Page 30