With one last glance up the tower’s side, the entire building glowing with veins of pale white tinged a slight green, he ascended the wide steps, keeping to the rounded half-wall on one side, where the shadows were deepest. When he reached the tower, he paused, scanning the street below in both directions, then slipped to the center of the doors.
The handle was in the shape of a curling vine, even though it had petrified after its sowing. He reached forward, gripped it tight, then pulled.
The doors didn’t move. But he felt a tingling in his hand, one that was familiar.
The Tapestry.
He sent a small surge into the handle of the door, felt the power within hesitate, as if testing him, tasting him, and for a moment he thought what little power he had would not be enough.
But then the door gave, nudged outward by the pressure he’d exerted.
He pulled it open enough to slide through, then closed it behind him.
Inside, he shifted to the edge of the room as he scanned the interior. A single huge ley globe hovered far overhead, near the apex of the arched and vaulted ceiling. The round foyer contained three doors, the stone floor a smooth pattern of twisting vines. The Hound drew in a deep breath, scented the hundreds of people who had passed through the room, along with all the varied incense and other odors that had mingled here. He filtered through them all, found the one that mattered—Baron Leethe—and stepped toward the door on the left.
It led to steps heading down. The Hound paused to listen, heard the murmur of voices from behind, beyond the foyer through one of the other doors, but nothing from below. He descended, his hand loosening one of the knives hidden about his body. He breathed in and out steadily, concentrating on the scents. His blood heightened. He recognized a few of those who had accompanied Leethe: Chief Enforcer Arger the most prominent; a few of the other enforcers that Leethe kept close. He growled low in his throat at this further betrayal by the Primes, but continued, ignoring the corridors that opened up on a few landings. He judged he’d circled to the northern edge of the building before the Baron’s scent broke away from the steps into a central room.
The Hound hesitated, breathing in deeply, but no one had passed through here recently. He stepped into the new room, realized that the architecture had changed. The walls were formed from the reddish-brown rock of the surrounding lands, molded by the ley, not the sown and petrified vines that had been used for the tower. Vertical slivers of ley light illuminated the room at regular intervals. Three more corridors branched off from this room, but the Baron had only traveled through one of them.
The Hound frowned. If his sense of direction hadn’t been thrown, this new room and the corridor beyond led away from the tower.
He glanced back up the stairs, then started toward the new corridor, halting at the edge of the door when he heard voices approaching. He slid to one side, back against the wall, knife now cupped loosely in the palm of his hand, and quieted his breathing and heart. There were no shadows here, no places to hide. He would have to rely on inattention and his skill with the Tapestry.
A heartbeat later, two Primes emerged from the corridor, arguing intently. The Hound tensed. But neither Prime turned, too focused on their argument. They passed through the room and into the tower beyond without turning, their voices fading as they ascended the stairs.
Relaxing, the Hound headed down the corridor, lit in the same manner as the room, moving swiftly. He wouldn’t be able to remain unnoticed if someone came down the corridor now; the hallway wasn’t wide enough. As he moved, he estimated his location in relation to the tower, realized the underground passage led across the thoroughfare to the north of the tower and beneath a park. He hadn’t paid much attention to the park in his attempts to follow the Baron, except to note that the gates to the park had been closed and sealed. Now he wondered why.
He slowed as the hallway came to an end, sensing a massive chamber beyond, lit with a much more intense source of ley than that in the corridor and shivering with an immense power he could feel vibrating in his bones. He shielded his eyes, heightened his sense of hearing and smell, and stepped to the edge of the room.
The corridor ended in a short landing that circled around a massive cavern, the floor dropping down to another, wider ledge of stone encircling a pit. Stairs led down to the lower ledge on the left and right.
But it was the pit that held the Hound’s attention. It was filled with ley light, so intense he couldn’t look at it directly. But he could see sheets of ley undulating back and forth, arching outward and curling back, captured and refracted through prisms of crystal, edged in various colors as it moved and shifted. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, exotic and beautiful and pulsing with so much power he could feel it throbbing in his blood, crawling across his skin. All of the hairs on his arms were standing on end, tingling, and his teeth shuddered, the sensation excruciating. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away from the mesmerizing lights, scanning the ledge below, noticing Primes scattered about, their attention fixed on the display before them. Some had their eyes closed, their brows creased in concentration; others appeared to be meditating. A few were arguing as they motioned toward the pit.
And then it struck the Hound what he was seeing, what this display of ley must be: another Nexus, one to rival that in Erenthrall. Tumbor had its own Nexus, of course, built by Augustus and the other Primes when the ley was first harnessed here in the southern city, but that Nexus lay in a different part of the city, and from what the Hound had seen from the outside, was perhaps only half the size of this one.
His grip tightened on the knife in his hand and he struggled with the urge to descend to the ledge below and begin killing the Primes immediately. He’d taken two steps toward the stairs before he seized control, his plan of attack on the Primes already half formed. But his orders weren’t to kill. Not yet. His orders were to gather information.
His lip curled into a snarl of disdain. Hounds were not meant to be spies, they were meant to destroy. His nose twitched at the remembered scent of blood, at the ecstasy that overwhelmed him when the prey was located and the bloodlust took over. He shuddered as he suppressed that urge yet again, growled as he twisted himself away from the pit and the victims below, retreating back down the corridor toward the tower.
He needed to find a ley station. He needed to touch the ley lines so he could report back to his handler. Baron Arent would want to know what Leethe had done, what he had created.
And then, the Hound thought with a vicious smile, perhaps he would be fully unleashed.
He could smell the Baron’s blood already.
Allan drew the flatbed wagon to a halt before Vanter’s warehouse, scanning the street on all sides as he did so. One of the two horses snorted and stamped its foot, not liking the stench of East Forks. Allan agreed. He also didn’t like the shadows in the alleys created by the heavily overcast day. It wasn’t yet noon, but the cloud cover darkened it to nearly dusk. Rain threatened, but so far the black clouds hadn’t broken.
He shifted in the wagon seat, making certain that the eyes he could feel prickling against his neck knew he carried a sword, then jumped down to the broken cobbles of the street and rapped on the wide loading doors of the warehouse. Movement registered in one of the alleys, and he thought he caught the glint of a blade. A frisson of fear and the stark memory of the attack three days before returned, tightening his shoulder blades and making him shudder, but then the doors rattled partway open and Allan turned to find Vanter peering out.
The broad-shouldered man grunted as he recognized Allan, surprise flickering across his face even though Allan had returned the day before to ask about the medicinal herbs and to verify he would pick up his other purchases today. Vanter had appeared nervous and distracted, but he’d found the herbs and everything was set for the pickup. Now, the black market dealer glanced up and down the street, ignoring the alley
where Allan had seen movement, before locking gazes with Allan.
“You’ve got transportation, I see,” he said, but he didn’t move to open the door further.
Allan touched the pommel of his sword and frowned. Something wasn’t right. He thought of Morrell, hidden in the flat in West Forks, of the rest of those in the Hollow who were depending on him to bring back what they needed for the winter. He’d already sunk most of his remaining funds into this deal.
Swallowing his unease, he said, “And the money. Are we going to deal or not?”
Vanter grimaced, but pushed the door open further, motioning him inside. “Bring your wagon inside. We’ll load it up for you.”
Allan nodded and climbed back into the seat. He flapped the reins and tsked the horses into motion, shooting one last glance at the shadowed alley before passing into the warehouse. Two of Vanter’s guards pulled the doors closed behind him, Vanter waiting at the far end, beside his desk. The goods that Allan had purchased were stacked before him. Allan pulled the wagon to a halt again and slid from the seat. As he moved toward Vanter, three of the man’s guards emerged on Allan’s right side, the two who’d closed the doors coming up on his left.
Allan’s eyes narrowed and he fixed a hard look on Vanter. “What’s going on, Vanter?”
Vanter smiled. “A business transaction, nothing more. Just . . . not the transaction you were expecting.”
He stepped to one side, and from the deeper shadows of the warehouse, Hagger appeared.
Allan’s reaction was instantaneous. Even as his stomach lurched with dread and horror tightened his chest, he reached for his sword, drawing it in a smooth, soundless motion while dropping into a defensive crouch. He backed up against the wagon, gaze darting toward Vanter’s men. But none of them made a move, their expressions blank, their gazes fixed on the floor. None of them looked at Allan, or at Hagger.
The older Dog laughed, the sound hollow in the cavernous warehouse. “Good to see you, too, old partner,” he said, but his voice was dark and promised blood. “I never expected you to return to Erenthrall. I was shocked when you fled—all of the Dogs were—but none more so than me. I sent a Hound after you, after your betrayal, but he claimed you weren’t part of the Kormanley. And the Baron was too busy destroying them to worry about a deserter Dog. After the Purge, no one cared anymore about a traitor who’d already fled the city. No one except me. And now here you are.” His voice hardened. “Didn’t I warn you that no one—no one—ever leaves the Dogs?”
Allan tensed as ten other Dogs stepped into the lantern light. Behind Hagger, Vanter grimaced. He shot a glance toward his men, who began shifting out of the Dogs’ way.
The black market dealer’s face settled into distaste as he caught Allan’s eyes. “He came to me,” he said apologetically. “And I have a business to run.”
Then he turned and motioned his own men into the shadows of the warehouse.
Allan spat a curse, searching frantically for a way out. The main doors were clear . . . but he knew that Hagger would never have left them uncovered. The movements in the alley must have been Dogs waiting to close the trap, not the gutterscum he’d assumed. Which meant Hagger wanted him to run, wanted him to try to escape. The street outside must be packed with Dogs.
He turned away from the doors and gripped his blade tighter. He’d trained hard while in the Hollow, but not enough to best this many men. Yet he couldn’t lose; he had to get back to Morrell.
Some of the other Dogs had edged forward. The two horses sensed the tension in the room and snorted, shying away from those closest, their feet pawing the rough stone floor. Allan ignored them and the Dogs, focusing on Hagger.
“What’s wrong, Hagger? Your pack seems hesitant.”
Hagger scowled and gestured with one hand.
Three of the Dogs moved in instantly, the youngest of the group, their faces only minimally scarred, but their eyes dark with hatred. Allan’s stomach roiled sickeningly—Hagger wanted to play, otherwise he’d send them all in at once—but then the one on the right struck.
Allan moved, stepping forward into the swing, catching the Dog’s blade with his own even as he twisted inside the youth’s guard and slammed his elbow into his gut, then rotated his clenched fist up into his face. The Dog gasped and staggered back, but Allan had already turned to the other two, coming in hard. He parried the first’s blade, kicked his knee out from beneath him, and barely managed to turn the second’s sword. He wrapped his free arm around the second attacker’s throat, slipping in behind him and leaning him backward, then spun both of them around to face the rest of the Dogs.
None of them had moved. Of the three who’d attacked, one lay on the floor moaning. The other climbed to his feet, favoring one leg, his grimace vicious.
Allan tightened his hold, the Dog flailing, back bent into an awkward stance. His face began turning red and his breath escaped in harsh, desperate exhalations.
A moment later, his struggles increased and his eyes began to flutter. Then his body went limp, his sword clattering to the floor from his loosened grip. Allan eased his body to the ground and stepped to one side, the wagon again at his back.
“You aren’t training them as good as you used to, Hagger,” he said.
Hagger glowered. “You’ve had more practice.”
The remaining seven moved in suddenly, joined by the one remaining, limping Pup. Allan met them head on, swords clashing, men grunting as blows were landed, blades slicing into skin. He’d tried not to harm the Pups, but he released himself on the Dogs, taking every advantage presented. He cut clean through one Dog’s guard, his blade sinking into the man’s chest, but as he roared in pain and reared back, someone cut in along Allan’s thigh. The sting of the blade made Allan hiss, but he turned, flashed his blade across the Dog’s face, and punched hard with his left hand. Pain flared in his lower back—another cut, another slash of blood—followed by one to his upper arm. A glancing blow numbed his sword arm. He felt his blade tumble from his fingers, closed them into a fist and began to brawl, punching hard left and right, aiming for faces, for kidneys. He heard Hagger bellow something, felt the Dogs shift patterns, swords giving way to fists. He sucked air through his clenched teeth as blows landed hard, coming from all sides. A punch caught him on the jaw, another driving into his lower back, and as he bent into the pain, someone hit him with a sharp upper cut.
His head snapped back and he fell, dazed, the world tilting around him, the lantern light blurred. Stone slammed into his face and he tasted blood as he bit the inside of his mouth. Fists shifted to kicks, boots slamming into his gut, and he unconsciously curled to protect his stomach. His ears rang, the sounds of the beating muffled, and as the taste of copper and salt filled his mouth he thought of Morrell. What would she do when he didn’t return? Would she flee back to the Hollow? He wasn’t even certain she could find it on her own.
At least he hadn’t brought her with him.
Then, dimly, he realized the Dogs had stopped.
He opened his eyes—didn’t remember closing them—and blinked through the haze of pain. He heard heavy footfalls, rolled his head back and rocked half onto his back to see Hagger approaching, his old partner halting to stare down at him. He grinned, then knelt, reaching out to seize Allan’s jaw with one hand, pinching hard to keep Allan focused.
“I think that’s enough for now,” Hagger said.
“What if he doesn’t cooperate?”
“Oh, he’ll cooperate.” Hagger released his jaw and motioned to one side. “Won’t you, Allan?”
Allan concentrated, blinking the haze from his eyes—
And then his chest seized, his body going still, his eyes wide.
From the depths of the warehouse, two Dogs appeared, shoving Morrell before them.
Hagger stood. “Take them to the Amber Tower.”
Dalton read the orders from Baron Leet
he one more time, controlling the tremors in his hands with effort, then set the single sheet of thick paper onto the table before him. The Baron’s representative stood on the other side, watching him through narrowed eyes. He wore street clothes, nothing that would make him stand out in West Forks, but he’d recited the correct code words, and the paper the orders from Leethe were written on was of the same coarse stock Dalton had given the Baron for use in communications. But still Dalton hesitated. There was tension in the air. He could feel it pressing against his skin, against the inside of his head, like the approach of a storm. He sensed it in his visions.
“Are the orders clear?” Leethe’s messenger asked.
“The orders are clear.”
“Then your Benefactor expects you to carry them out.” The messenger turned to leave, reaching for the door.
“How much longer will he need our services?” Dalton asked.
The messenger halted, half turned back. “I do not know his wishes. I am simply a courier.” But there was a hint of warning in the man’s voice, that perhaps Dalton had overstepped his bounds. It said that the Baron’s wishes were his own and none of Dalton’s concern.
But Dalton thought the Baron was nearly finished with them. The courier had been too abrupt. And then there was the tension and his dreams.
He realized the courier was waiting for a response. “Tell the Benefactor I await his next message.”
The messenger nodded and ducked out through the door into the hallway beyond. He had been escorted to the room by Dierdre, the woman closing the door behind him without entering herself. But Dalton knew that Dierdre would have wound her way through the building’s halls to listen at the door behind him. When he heard it creak open, he was not startled.
“What does the Benefactor want?” Dierdre asked as soon as they heard the outer door close behind the courier.
“What he always wants,” Dalton answered, handing the sheet of paper to Dierdre. “Tell Marcus to implement these changes in the ley as soon as possible.”
Shattering the Ley Page 45