Allan faced forward, reins still held uselessly in one hand, then dropped them, turning to leap over the seat to help Glenn. But Artras had already crawled forward, over Cutter’s body. With Glenn struggling beneath the Wolf, she drew her dagger back and sank it into the beast’s shoulder—once, twice, then again, farther down its side, as it released Glenn and snapped at her. Glenn had managed to draw his own knife and stabbed the Wolf. It snarled and thrashed, blood pouring from the wounds, and collapsed to one side.
Glenn and Artras sank back, both breathing heavily, Glenn holding his arm close to his chest. Gaven and Cutter huddled against one corner of the wagon behind them. The Wolf lay stretched out on the other side, its odd-shaped limbs limp, blood matting its fur. Allan settled back into the wagon’s driver’s seat and noted that the horse had slowed, whether exhausted or simply calmed, he didn’t care.
Behind them, far down the street, they could see the white ley light glowing in the square, and beyond that, the multicolored shards of the distortion.
Kara’s knife sliced across Iscivius’ face, but the White Cloak snatched at her hand. Blood dripped down and pattered against her cheek as he slammed the fingers clutching the blade into the stone of the square. She gripped the hilt tighter, but on the fourth attempt pain tingled up her arm and her fingers went numb. The knife clattered to the ground.
Kara reached for the ley, but it was riled up all around her, the other four White Cloaks keeping it in turmoil. She felt their presences working the ley, calling it upward. They were trying to hit the Wolves, but it couldn’t be controlled that precisely, not with moving targets that were weaving in and out among their own men, and not without the aid of the mentors from the University.
Wielders were trained to smooth out disruptions in the ley, not cause them.
She reached for it nonetheless, intending to wield it against Iscivius and the other White Cloaks. But Iscivius slammed her wrist into the ground once more, the pain stabbing into her shoulder like a dagger. He had both her arms now, straddling her. His hood had been knocked askew and she could see a neatly trimmed beard, marred by the shallow cut she’d given him, and half-shadowed eyes.
“Stop it! Stop or the rest of your group will be burned from this earth!”
She fought a moment more, then relented. “Let us go. We only want to leave Erenthrall.”
“We can’t. We need you.”
“Iscivius!”
Kara recognized the White Cloak woman’s voice from before.
“I have her!” He glanced toward the remaining wagons. “And some of the others. At least four of them escaped. One of them was the suspected Wielder.”
The woman cursed. “We’re contained. Cason and her group have retreated into the node and sealed the doors.”
“What about the Wolves?”
“They’re trapped behind the ley for now. Our enforcers have pushed them back.”
Iscivius’ grip on her wrists had slackened, enough that Kara’s hand now tingled as the blood returned. It still throbbed from being struck into the stone.
Iscivius gazed down at her. “Are you going to cause any more trouble?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re truthful.”
He released her suddenly, rolling to one side. He picked up Kara’s knife before she had a chance to react. “Don’t try anything. You and those still here are surrounded by ley.”
Kara sat up, wiping at her sweaty face. Her fingers came away smeared with blood. Her wrist throbbed and multiple parts of her body felt bruised.
But Iscivius was right. She and those of her group still in the square were surrounded by a wall of ley boiling up from the flagstone. Adder, Aaron, and Dylan were still at the side of one of the wagons, twenty paces away. Tim and Carter were at the base of the stairs leading up to the node. The White Cloaks and their original escort of guards held the far corner of the square, but closer in, so that the ley shielded them. The only others within the wall were a group of twenty guards in the opposite corner, standing ready, facing the street beyond, where at least ten Wolves paced back and forth, snarling and snapping at the ley but keeping a respectful distance. Upright in the middle of them stood another man, although Kara realized he wasn’t completely human. He’d been transformed by the auroral lights, like Hagger after the Shattering—half wolf, half human. Unlike Hagger, his transformation appeared to be closer to human. He wore a tan jacket with gold buttons and black embroidery, like what a lord would wear.
As she watched, the pack’s leader snarled an order, literally, the command more growl than words. A few of the Wolves backed off immediately, only turning to lope off into the distortion-lit dusk when they were over twenty paces distant. More stayed behind, their growls increasing in intensity, the ruff on the back of their necks raised, lips drawn back from wicked teeth. The pack leader spoke again, his tone harsher, and they pulled back as well, but not without a bout of plaintive howls echoing up into the descending night.
The pack leader gazed at them all, eyes fixed on the White Cloaks in unabashed hatred before falling to meet Kara’s gaze. He held it a long moment, long enough that Kara felt oddly disconcerted, and then he turned and stalked off after his pack.
Kara exhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath. Her gaze strayed to the bodies that littered the square. Some of the Tunneler dead had been left behind on the steps of the node, two Wolves mixed in with them. More of the White Cloak guards lay scattered in the corner streets to Kara’s left. They’d taken the brunt of the attack. Kara counted at least twenty dead, and she knew some of the bodies must have been consumed by the ley. But they’d killed more of the Wolves—at least five. One of them was whimpering and struggling to rise, part of its leg and haunch burned away. The red-shirted guards that had kept watch while the Wolves were still present turned to rejoin the White Cloaks, two of them using their swords to kill the wounded Wolf on their way back.
Except they didn’t rejoin the White Cloaks. They surrounded Adder and the others at the wagon, a smaller group heading toward Tim and Carter.
Adder looked toward Kara, eyebrows raised, sword tipped slightly up in a ready position, but Kara shook her head. There was no reason to fight, not when they were hemmed in by the ley with no chance of escape.
Adder lowered his blade. The guards disarmed him. They searched the rest, taking away swords and knives and anything else that could be used as a weapon.
The other White Cloaks arrived.
“Why didn’t you use the ley to kill them all?” It took Kara a moment to realize Iscivius meant kill the Wolves, not those from the Hollow.
“We were barely controlling the ley as it was. If we’d tried to burn them all out once we had the square under control, we may have lost control completely and killed everyone. Father wouldn’t be happy with that now, would he?”
“No.” Iscivius had been staring at Kara, thoughtful, but now he turned toward the wagons. “Send out some guards to see if they can round up the missing horse. We aren’t leaving any of these supplies behind.”
“What about our deal with Cason?”
“They must have led the Wolves to us. I feel no urge to compensate them for that. Besides, they made off with at least one wagon, while half of this group they’d captured managed to escape. I consider that fair enough trade. We’ll take these three wagons back with us, if possible. Begin loading in the Wielder that’s wounded. Transfer supplies to another wagon if necessary.”
They scrambled, three small groups heading out into the southern streets once the other three White Cloaks killed the gouts of ley protecting them in that direction. The rest either watched to make certain the Hollowers didn’t escape or began to shift supplies around to make room for Dylan.
Kara watched silently, then climbed to her feet, brushing grit and dust from her hands. The blood on her skin had dried and now prickled unpleasantly, but
the tingling in her wrist had faded. Tim and Carter were herded toward her, followed by Adder and Aaron. Someone had retrieved Dylan’s litter where it had fallen and the guards hoisted him back onto it. The horse had obviously not run far, because the guards were already returning with it. The others had calmed and the guards were checking hitches, bridles, and traces.
As soon as the others joined her, Kara asked, “What are you going to do with us?”
Iscivius turned to face her again. “We’re going to take you all to the Needle.”
“What’s the Needle?”
“You’ll see.”
“Why are you taking us there?”
“Because Father needs you.”
“What for?”
“He’ll have to explain. It would be meaningless coming from me.”
Kara fisted her hands in frustration. “Who is this Father? Who are you?”
One hand rose to touch the symbol stitched in black on Iscivius’ chest—a single vertical line with a second lancing down at an angle to join the first. It was splattered with dried blood from where Kara had cut him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He hadn’t even tended to the wound; it had stopped bleeding on its own.
“We’re the Kormanley.”
PART II
The Needle
Fourteen
“DAMN, DAMN, DAMN,” Artras muttered, frantically ripping another band of cloth from the bottom of her shirt and wrapping it around Cutter’s upper arm. She’d already yanked the end of the arrow out, but the wound was deep and continued to bleed.
She wound the makeshift bandage tight, then tied it off as the wagon jounced over more debris. She knew Allan couldn’t slow, not until they were safely away from the White Cloaks and Wolves in the square, even with night falling. She didn’t think the Tunnelers were an issue any longer.
Something hard worked its way up from her chest into her throat and she paused to glance out the back of the wagon, down the street to where the distortion rose above the buildings, all of it receding. Glenn held on at the back of the wagon on the right, his mangled arm tucked close to his chest, Gaven beside him, allowing Artras and Cutter the more protected space at the front nearest Allan. The body of the Wolf still filled the left side. They hadn’t had a chance to dispose of it yet.
But her thoughts were of Kara and the others, caught by the White Cloaks. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she thought of Jack, his body left behind. She wondered if any of the others had been killed. Jack’s death had been merciless. She doubted the White Cloaks would treat the others any differently.
She shook herself and focused on Cutter, examining the bandage. Her shoulders relaxed when she realized it hadn’t been soaked through with blood yet.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s hard to tell. I haven’t had a chance to really look, but the bleeding appears to have slowed.”
Cutter had barely flinched when she’d jerked the arrow free, and had suffered stoically as she’d cinched the bandages as tight as possible. “It’s not good. I can feel it. I can barely move my arm. The muscle is damaged enough I don’t think I’ll be drawing a bow any time soon.”
Artras placed a hand on his shoulder, forced him to meet her eyes. “It’s too soon to tell.”
He held her gaze a long moment, lips pressed thin, but nodded.
“Is anyone following us?” Allan couldn’t even spare a glance over his shoulder. “I need to slow down. There’s too much stone and debris in the road.”
The wagon jolted again, throwing Artras back against the wagon’s side, then began to judder, as if it were rolling over a washboard. Gaven steadied her.
“I think we’re safe for now.”
A moment later, the breakneck pace of the wagon slowed, the clattering of the wheels eased. The ride was still rough, but manageable. Artras pulled herself upright and glanced around.
The style of the surrounding buildings had changed. This district had suffered worse than the Temerite-inspired one surrounding the square. Many of the larger buildings had collapsed inward on themselves and were now nothing more than heaps of rubble, glass, and wooden supports. The cobbles in the road had been shaken loose by the quakes. Sections of walls had fallen out into the street, partially blocking their path, but not all of the buildings had been destroyed. Every now and then one rose from the debris, sometimes with only a wall or small section fallen in, the interior rooms exposed, sometimes standing untouched and forlorn, with only broken windows or a few cracks in the facade. Most had been built with mudbrick, not forged by the Wielders and mentors of the University.
“Gaven, keep watch.” Glenn switched places with the Hollower, then worked his way up to the front of the wagon.
“Someone needs to see to your arm.” Artras pointed to where blood matted his forearm, the shirtsleeve shredded and stuck to the wound.
“Later. We don’t have time now.”
She’d known that’s what he’d say. Artras shifted out of his way, ending up next to the Wolf’s head. Its tongue lolled out of the muzzle, wet and glistening, and black blood matted its fur near the wounds in its shoulders and side. The wagon bed was stained with it, a stream running down its slope, dripping from the back.
Artras’ brows drew together in consternation. A moment later, she shifted forward and placed her hands on the Wolf’s side.
“We need to find a place to hide,” Glenn said to Allan. “We can’t outrun those White Cloaks or the Wolves if they decide to come after us.”
“We can’t hide from the Wolves at all. Not for long. They’ll find us because they’re hunters. They’ll sniff us out.”
“So we just keep running? Leave Kara and the others to the White Cloaks?”
“Of course not!”
“We have to stop,” Artras shouted over both of them.
They both turned toward her.
“Cutter’s wounded. We have to stop long enough for me to properly dress the wound or Cutter’s going to die. Not to mention Glenn’s arm. It needs to be seen to. I’ve noticed how you’re holding it.” Artras hesitated, then straightened. “And we have another problem. The Wolf isn’t dead.”
Both of them started, then shifted their attention to the Wolf. Artras’ hand was still resting on its chest, which rose and fell in long, labored breaths. The fur was warm beneath her touch.
Glenn pushed away from the headboard and reached into the side of his boot, pulling out a long knife. “That’s easy enough to fix.” He sank to his knees beside Artras, reaching for the Wolf’s throat, but Artras caught his forearm.
Glenn tensed. “Let go.”
“No. It’s one thing to kill them when they’re attacking, another when they’re unconscious and defenseless.”
“They’re animals. It would kill us in an instant if it woke up!”
“You forget. They weren’t always animals. It used to be human. Maybe it—maybe he still is, somewhere inside, beneath the pelt and teeth.”
Glenn hesitated, then hardened, twisting toward Allan.
The ex-Dog shrugged.
Glenn jerked out of Artras’ grip. “If it so much as twitches before we get a chance to tie it up, it’s dead.”
Artras’ eyes narrowed.
Allan slowed the wagon to a halt. “Glenn, Gaven, see if you can find a place for us to hole up.”
Both of them hopped out of the wagon and split, each heading to a different side of the street to search the buildings. Artras watched Glenn, concerned about his arm, but she didn’t see any other option. Cutter couldn’t help, not in his condition, and Artras knew nothing about scouting.
“How much time do you think we have?” She turned to frown down at the Wolf.
“The White Cloaks won’t wait long once they break away from the Wolves.”
“Maybe the Wolves will take them down.”
“
The White Cloaks were already regaining control when we careened out of there. The ley had the Wolves pinned down and their guards were rallying.”
Artras reached up and caught his arm in hope. “Then maybe Kara and the others are alive.”
Allan squeezed her hand in reassurance. “The last I saw of Kara, she was still fighting.”
“We need her, Allan. She’s the strongest among us Wielders. If we have any hope of repairing the damage that’s been done to Erenthrall, starting anew, she’s the one that will do it.”
“Then we’re in trouble.”
“Why? You just said the White Cloaks would survive the fight with the Wolves, and they’re the ones that have Kara.”
“Did you notice the symbol they had stitched onto their cloaks? The two black lines? I’ve seen it before. It stands for convergence, or a return to the natural order. It was used by the Kormanley before the Shattering.”
“The Kormanley? But how?”
Allan released her hand and climbed down from the seat into the back of the wagon. “We survived the Shattering, why not them?”
He moved to check on Cutter, inspecting the bandages on the tracker’s arm, then shifting his attention to the Wolf, wincing at the raw, open wounds and the trail of blood running down the back of the wagon. “Glenn’s right. We should kill it.”
“It’s still human. He’s still human. Look at their pack leader. The auroral lights changed them, but they still follow a mostly human alpha. And don’t forget Devitt, back in the Hollow. The lights caught and changed him, and he’s still human.”
“Devitt was barely touched by the aurora. And you shouldn’t forget Hagger. He was one of their pack leaders at one point.”
Threading the Needle Page 26