Two ley globes revealed the Wielder—Kara—seated at the edge of the central rectangular pit, her eyes bruised with exhaustion, her face haggard. Before her, the sands of the pit shifted, coursing back and forth, but she’d glanced up at his knock. A runt of a dog lay beside her, head lifted and ears cocked back as he sniffed the air. He began to growl until Kara’s hand stroked the top of his head. Then he settled, although his eyes stayed on Allan.
No one else was in the room.
They looked at each other in silence, until Allan said, “You should be sleeping.”
Anger creased her forehead. “I couldn’t. There’s too much activity, too much movement.”
“So you came here?”
She drew breath as if to snap an answer, but caught herself, her eyes narrowing.
Allan suddenly realized he’d begun interrogating her, as if he were a Dog and this was a room beneath the Amber Tower. He sighed and shook his head with a rueful smile. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”
She nodded. “How did you find me?”
“Cory. He said you’d asked him to set the map in motion and that he’d left you here. Then he told me how to find the room.”
Kara motioned toward the map with one hand. “I thought I could study the ley lines, prepare myself for tomorrow, but I can’t. The lines are shifting too dramatically and unpredictably. I don’t know what the Nexus will be like once I get there. I don’t know whether I’ll be able to halt the distortion. And I don’t know whether I’ll be able to repair it.” She raised a hand to rub at her eyes, blinking and scrubbing her face afterward as if she’d just woken up. Her gaze settled on him again. “Why did you want to find me anyway?”
Allan shifted in indecision. He could still change his mind. But looking into the Wielder’s eyes he realized he’d been right to come here, to seek her out.
“I came to tell you that I’ll be going with you.”
The Wielder stilled in confusion. “What about your daughter?”
Allan grimaced. “She’s twelve. She can take care of herself. And she’ll have the rest of the University mentors and students—Hernande and Cory—and the Dogs to protect her.”
He could tell by Kara’s frown that she suspected he wasn’t telling her everything. But she said nothing.
Allan drew in a breath. “I’ve managed to convince a few of the other men—not the Dogs, but some of the others—to come with me to protect you and the other Wielders. Most, like me, think that if you fail, we’re lost anyway. It isn’t much, but I’d rather leave the Dogs to protect the others when they run for it. Hagger won’t fall for it if he doesn’t see the Dogs.”
“How will the group find this Hollow if you’ve been killed?”
Allan’s lips thinned. “Morrell will be able to lead them there. I explained where she’d need to go once she was outside the city. Once she’s close enough to recognize some of the landmarks, she’ll be able to find the Hollow.”
But he didn’t expect it to come to that. He expected that the University group would make it out of the city; Hagger wouldn’t be fooled by the diversion for long, and once he knew there was another group, and that Allan was part of it. . . .
Allan was the true diversion. He just hoped that the University group distracted Hagger and his wolves long enough that Kara and the others could stop the distortion.
Kara was watching him. He wondered how much she read in his face and shifted uncomfortably.
“What time is it now?” she finally said, beginning to rise. The dog hopped up and looked up at her expectantly.
“Two hours before dawn. Hernande intends to start his diversion an hour after that.”
She nodded, made her way to the door, the dog trotting along behind her. When she brushed past him at the door, he asked, “Where are you going?”
She paused, looked him directly in the eye. He could see in her eyes, beneath the determination, that she didn’t expect to survive whatever happened tomorrow. “I’m going to spend these last few hours with Cory.”
Then she left.
Allan thought suddenly of Morrell.
He found her sleeping with a group of the others who’d fled to the University, right where he’d left her. She frowned and groaned as he settled into a seated position beside her, back against one wall, but when he began stroking her hair she curled in toward him, one arm reaching to clutch his legs. He smiled and tilted his head back against the stone.
He stayed with her until dawn.
Twenty-Eight
“AS SOON AS the beacon goes out, we run,” Allan said. “Don’t look back, don’t hesitate, just head straight for the entrance to that building, the one with the red shutters on the windows.”
“That’s a cloth shop,” one of the men Allan had convinced to come with them said. Allan thought his name was Keith. He held a short sword, his grip unprofessional, but competent. “My wife used to spend hours in there, searching through the bolts of fabric.”
Allan felt a twinge of worry—he didn’t need his guards falling apart on him—but the man, probably in his forties, caught his gaze and shook himself, giving Allan a grim, reassuring smile. “Even if we do stop the distortion, we won’t be returning to Erenthrall, will we?” he asked.
“Not Erenthrall as it was before, no.”
They stared out through the narrow slit of the window above one of the University’s secondary gates at the remains of the city beyond. It was eerily quiet, only the faint, persistent whine of the distortion itching at the back of Allan’s skull. He’d managed to shove it from his conscious mind since leaving the area around the tower, but suddenly he couldn’t drive it away.
He scanned the rest of the group: three other men besides Keith, one Keith’s age, the others late thirties, all clutching swords; Kara; and the other three Wielders. Not much of a guard, especially considering most were barely trained to hold their weapons, let alone use them.
Nathen cleared his throat. “What should we do if we get attacked? Us Wielders, I mean.”
Allan locked gazes with him. “Run. Head straight for the Nexus and don’t look back.”
Nathen swallowed, his eyes edging open a little wider. He glanced toward Dylan and Artras, but both of them merely nodded, faces hard.
At a window on the opposite end of the room, Kara suddenly stilled, then turned. “The beacon is out.”
“Then let’s move.” Tension stiffened Allan’s shoulders as he motioned three of the men out in front, the Wielders falling in behind them. Allan and Keith brought up the rear. Their boots were loud on the stairs as they descended to the gatehouse below. Allan had already spent the last few hours watching the streets for movement, but he snapped a warning to halt before the first guard could push the gate open. Shoving through to the front, he slid aside the small window at eye height and peered out onto a street filled with the slanted sunlight of sunrise. Nothing moved in the gaping windows or doors across the way, and nothing but dust and scattered debris shifted on the road.
Without a word, he stepped back and gestured to the door. Two of the men—a rugged blacksmith named Ryant and a lean but strong man named Trace—drew back the bolts and raised the heavy plank out of its braces. The latticed iron gate had been raised earlier, to keep the noise of their departure to a minimum. At Allan’s nod, Ryant pushed open the heavy, banded door and slid outside, the rest following as quickly as Allan could move them. He followed Keith, not bothering to pull the door closed behind them. No one remained in the University; all of them were with the wagons or here in Allan’s group.
He sprinted across the street, nearly treading on Keith’s heels, his gaze sweeping the road to either side. “Faster, damn it,” he hissed, and Keith put on a burst of speed. Ahead, Ryant and the other guards reached the red-shuttered building, framed its doorway as they ushered the Wielders inside, Kara last. Allan wondered if those at the wagons ha
d had the courage to face the wolves. He wondered if they’d opened their gates yet. He wondered if Sovaan would convince the ragged band of refugees to stay behind the University’s walls instead.
A moment later, he got his answer.
As he reached the door, the other guards ducking through the opening ahead of him, the howls of the wolves shattered the morning stillness. He thought of Morrell and prayed for her, for all of them.
He paused and listened, heart thundering in his chest, hand gripping the hilt of his sword so hard the knuckles were white.
None of the baying was close.
He met Kara’s eyes in the shadows of the interior room. “It’s working. Let’s move.”
As soon as the beacon went out, Hagger knew they were going to move. A growl of anticipation rumbled low in his throat and the ears of the two wolves nearest to him perked up. He unconsciously huffed out a command, the sound coming from the back of his throat. One of the wolves scrambled away, the action half fluid, half clumsy and awkward. Hagger reached up to stroke the fur that matted the side of his face, felt the elongation of his jaw. Not enough to be called a snout, but close. He grinned.
Toenails clicked on stone and his ear twitched. The wolves who had been lounging in the back rooms of the flat scattered, moving off down the street. They’d listened to the prey scrambling all night, knew from the shouts and the clattering that they were concentrating their effort on this gate. Hagger had watched figures ascend the wall and the towers inside, searching the city with telescopes and eyeing the streets. He’d kept his pack in the shadows as much as possible, ordering them to withdraw at least two blocks distant, but even he could smell the fear and anticipation on the air, growing by the hour. It wafted over the walls of the University and set Hagger salivating. He wiped at the drool and tried to control the curl of his lip without success.
His transformation had some drawbacks.
He snapped his fingers and the wolf at his heels jumped to its feet and growled. It turned and stared up at Hagger. He could see the humanity in its eyes, the intelligence there. The wolf had been one of Hagger’s own Dogs before they’d run into that strange sheet of coruscating light. His entire pack had been caught in it; he’d only been hit by its edge. Which was why he hadn’t been transformed completely, he assumed. After surviving the initial explosion and the destruction that followed, he thought his transformation—and that of his Dogs—only fitting. The entire city had changed after all.
A new city, a new order. He grinned.
“Wait until at least four wagons have made it through the doors,” Hagger said, his voice more rumble than words. “Then strike. Everyone, all at once.”
The wolf half nodded, half sneezed in acknowledgment, then loped off into the shadows.
Hagger turned back to the window, stepping forward but off to one side. His hand fell to his sword.
When the gates creaked open, Hagger’s lips peeled back from his teeth and his heart sped up. He felt the rush of adrenaline, his nostrils flaring. Scents sharpened, the air arid, filled with dust and the ashes of the dead city, the heavy musk of the other wolves, the silvery scent of water—
And the spice of human sweat filled with dread and anxiety and the delicious expectation of death.
His snarl twisted into a feral smile and the hair on his arms and back bristled. He flexed his left hand, the right gripping his sword. Muscles cracked and popped and he suppressed the urge to howl. His breath quickened as three Dogs and four other armed men spread out on the street, tense and wary, then motioned the first of the carts outside, drawn by two horses. Hagger had enough humanity left to wonder where they’d found horses, but then their scent hit his nostrils and he didn’t care. Yet enough of his mind remained that he found himself searching the faces of the men. He couldn’t remember exactly why, but he knew it was important. He didn’t find what he was looking for, though.
A moment later, not even that mattered. Five more wagons had emerged, all guarded by men and women brandishing makeshift weapons—knives, clubs, a few decent blades—all of them reeking of fear. A thickset man bellowed orders from the seat of the second wagon, exhorting everyone to pick up the pace. He stank more than the rest. Hagger’s hackles rose, but before he could react a howl ripped through the morning air.
It carried one single command: attack.
Hagger moved without thought. He drew his blade as he charged, snarled as he caught up with the wolves closing in on all sides, seized on the sharpest scent of fear as the men nearest cried out and the women screamed—
And then he swung, his chosen prey blocking, shunting the sword to one side, his other arm rising even as Hagger snapped forward with his jaws. His teeth sank into the man’s forearm and slick, metallic blood flooded his mouth as the man’s scream pierced his ears. Nostrils flared, he shook the man’s arm, teeth sinking in deeper as the man tried to jerk back. His terror was intoxicating, overwhelming Hagger’s senses, so intense he nearly forgot about the man’s sword.
He caught the blade in his peripheral vision, released his hold, and leaped backward. The tip bit into his side and he yelped and snarled, bringing his own blade back into play. On all sides, the wolves were ripping into the fleeing prey, but they weren’t retreating back to the gate. The lead cart careened wildly down the street, heading toward the river, to the southwestern bridge. The rest were scrambling after, wolves taking them down at random, but there were hundreds of them and not enough wolves to take them all. Hagger caught flickers of the action as he parried and thrust, the man he’d mauled stumbling after the carts, Hagger in pursuit. He suppressed the urge to toss the blade aside and drop to all fours, waited for the man to falter instead, to make a mistake—
But then another scent filtered through the sweat and tension and blood, snagging Hagger’s attention and sending a frisson of shock through his entire body. He pulled back, head raised as he drew in a deep breath. His prey tripped on the cobbles, scrambled upright, bloody arm cradled to his chest, then sprinted toward the fleeing carts.
Hagger ignored him. He knew that scent. It reminded him of . . .
Allan.
But not quite. It wasn’t right. It was his whelp, his daughter.
Allan wasn’t here. Which meant . . .
He stretched out his throat and howled, even as the wolf inside him retreated and the rage over Allan’s betrayal surged forward. On all sides, the wolves’ heads lifted, muzzles bloody. But they ignored their prey and bounded toward him as the call faded.
One of the wolves whined.
“Leave them,” Hagger growled. “Our real prey is escaping. Check the gates. Check them all. Someone left by another route. Find their scent!”
When the lead wolf glanced back toward the retreating wagons, the easy prey, a slew of bodies left behind, including two dead wolves, Hagger barked, “Now!”
The wolves flinched.
Then they bounded off around the walls of the University in search of the gates.
Kara gasped as the group raced through the empty streets of Green toward Grass. Air burned in her lungs, but she forced herself to keep moving. The desolate buildings on either side pressed down on her, the weight of their hollow interiors threatening to crush her. She fought back tears. Even though the sounds of the wolves had fallen behind, fading with distance, her imagination was too vivid. She wondered if Cory would survive, or Hernande, even the stupid little struggling dog she’d handed over to Cory at the last moment. The mutt had wanted to come with her.
She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and forced the burgeoning emotions down. She didn’t have time. None of them did.
And then the ground heaved beneath her and she cried out and stumbled, unable to catch herself. She hit the cobbles hard, stone jolting her bones, breath caught in her chest. She rolled back into a crouch, heard the others cursing and shouting as the earth continued to tremble. A block distant, a
four-story flat shuddered and then gave in, walls collapsing as dust billowed up into the late morning sky. To either side, the buildings swayed, the wall nearest cracking with a sharp retort. Allan grasped her arm and hauled her away, his grip so tight it cut off the circulation to her hand, but she didn’t protest as the wall smashed down into the street. The rest of the building remained intact, rooms exposed to the daylight.
As abruptly as it started, it stopped.
Kara coughed, the grit in the air settling. Allan released his hold on her arm, scanning the rest of the group. “Everyone all right?”
Before anyone could answer, Artras snapped, “Listen!”
Everyone fell silent. Wind whistled through hollow windows and doorways, the sound sending a shudder down Kara’s spine. Something rumbled in a distant part of the city—another building collapsing, perhaps. She thought she caught a faint shout, from their own group or other survivors—there had to be other survivors, even this close to the Nexus—but it faded. Kara strained to hear more, but the only other sound—
Was the distortion.
She spun toward Artras, then looked up toward the blazing white light, nearly overhead now.
“What is it?” Allan asked, voice sharp.
“The distortion,” Dylan answered. “Its tone has changed. It’s beginning to quicken. Can’t you hear it?”
Allan’s face stilled, then broke into a scowl. “Keep moving, then. Unless it’s already too late.”
In answer, Kara sucked in a breath and began to run. Not the ground-eating steady pace they’d been using since they’d left the gates of the University. A flat-out run.
A block farther on, two of the men who’d volunteered to guard them caught up with her, faces red, breath heaving. Kara backed off, but not much, the others clustering around her, the stockier guard trailing slightly behind. They passed the edge of Green and entered Grass, the buildings changing, the debris cluttering the roadway growing heavier as they neared the area where the main towers had been destroyed. Kara clambered over chunks of stone, vaulted from rock to rock, her muscles crying out in pain, but she didn’t slow. Overhead, the distortion pulsed, its piercing whine growing higher in pitch at a slow but steady rate. It dug into her ears, cut into her brain, but she clenched her teeth against it.
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