Shattering the Ley (15 page)

And to do that he had to push the Kormanley harder, take greater risks. He needed to set his sights higher, as their Benefactor suggested.

Perhaps as high as the Baron himself.

Tyrus wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of one arm and scuttled down the tunnel in the ley station to the platform beneath, leaving the mezzanine behind. The space before the ley line that ran through the far side of the chamber was crowded, citizens milling about as one barge unloaded and another departed. A whistle pierced the air as he worked his way toward the edge of the platform, swiping at his face again. He shifted the strap of the rucksack slung across one shoulder. It was heavier than he’d expected.

The barge that had been unloading passengers when he arrived closed its doors and pulled out, the platform clearing slightly as people made their way up to the mezzanine above. Tyrus watched them, mumbling, “Yes, yes, keep moving, out to the streets, you’re safer there,” under his breath.

He started when another whistle blew and turned to find another barge sliding down the glowing white ley line. It emerged from the tunnel and pulled to a halt beside the platform, a gust of air at its passage cooling the sweat on Tyrus’ face. He swallowed, something hard in his throat clicking.

“This is it,” he muttered to himself. A woman next to him cast him an odd look. He grimaced and followed her onto the barge, moving toward the seats at the back. He sat down heavily, body shaking. He barely noticed when the barge began moving, heading toward the North Umber District. Acid rose up in the back of his throat and he leaned back and breathed in deeply. He kept his eyes focused on an empty spot. He didn’t want to see who else was on the barge, didn’t want to see their faces.

When they neared the next station, he reached down and pulled a leather strap that dangled outside the rucksack, felt something tear inside. Then he kicked the rucksack deeper under the seat and stood, glancing around once as the barge drew to a halt—

And stilled, horror seizing his muscles and locking his arms in place, his eyes going wide. A Dog waited impatiently at the door to the barge, one hand steadying himself, the other on the handle of the knife sheathed at his belt. He scanned those around him, all a discreet distance away and studiously avoiding his gaze. His eyes locked onto Tyrus and Tyrus nearly pissed his pants, but then the doors to the barge were opened by the stewards on the platform and the Dog stepped out.

Tyrus stood rooted to the spot, relief coursing through him, then cried out and leaped through the doors as the steward began to close them again. The barge pulled away. Knees weak, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the platform where he stood and let the sickening tremors that tingled in his arms and chest fade, but he knew he couldn’t stay. He needed to get out of the station, and as far away from North Umber as he could.

He’d reached the tunnel leading up to the mezzanine when the bomb exploded.

“T
HERE WAS ANOTHER
Kormanley attack last night, this time in the North Umber District,” Daedallen said.

From his balcony overlooking the center of Grass in the Amber Tower, Baron Arent Pallentor frowned at Daedallen’s report but he did not turn. Overhead, the beacon of the Flyers’ Tower pulsed with a brilliant white light, more visible at this height than from the ground. Numerous flyers drifted between the towers, two docking at balconies that jutted out into the open sky below him, while a third sailed past at nearly eye level.

“What did the Kormanley strike this time?” he asked, letting none of his annoyance leech into his voice.

“Another one of the barge stations. They placed an explosive device beneath one of the seats in a rucksack. Twenty people on the barge were injured, another dozen on the platform. Three passengers were killed outright. It is uncertain whether one of those killed was one of the Kormanley.”

Arent turned from the window and caught Daedallen’s eye. “None of them were Kormanley. They moved beyond immolation and suicides over four years ago.”

“One of them died in the Wintemeer attack,” Augustus said from his seat at the table, a glass of wine resting before him, untasted.

“But that was a mistake,” Daedallen responded immediately. “From what we’ve learned, the bomb exploded prematurely. It was intended for the Fairview Bridge, not the marketplace. The Kormanley priest was the only death, everyone else was merely injured. It would have been much worse if he’d made it to the bridge.”

Arent moved away from the light pouring through the balcony windows and into the main room. The captain of the Dogs glared at the Prime Wielder, face set in a sharp frown. He stood as far from the Wielder as he could without giving offense.

“How did he make it to the square in the first place?” Augustus asked, shifting in his seat to face the Dog. “Shouldn’t the Dogs have found him first? Shouldn’t the Dogs have discovered their plot and eliminated the threat before it hit the street? Isn’t that the Dogs’ job?”

Daedallen stiffened. “We’ve discussed this before. You know it’s not that simple.”

Augustus smiled thinly. “I expected the Dogs to be more effective, that’s all.”

“You sanctimonious bast—”

“That’s enough, Daedallen.” When Arent turned his attention from the bristling Dog, he caught Augustus’ smug expression. “You as well, Augustus. We both know the Dogs have done everything possible to contain and eliminate the Kormanley. The group is simply too organized, and too dedicated to their cause. But again, I wonder if it is more than that.”

Daedallen and Augustus halted their irritating posturing and focused on him with the statement, both wary.

“What are you saying?” Augustus asked.

Arent moved to the table, reaching for the flagon of wine and pouring himself a glass as he spoke. “As we’ve discussed before, perhaps the Kormanley are receiving some kind of outside help with regard to their efforts here in Erenthrall. Perhaps the reason we have not been able to locate their leader—if they have a leader—is because their leader does not reside here in the city.”

“That would explain why it has been so difficult to find them, yes,” the Wielder muttered grudgingly. “But we could never settle on a suspect before this. What has changed? Why rehash an old argument now?”

Daedallen stirred, as if he’d realized where Arent was headed. “We have begun getting reports of the Kormanley spreading to other Baronies. There have been two attacks so far in Farrade and one in Severen. Not on the same scale as here in Erenthrall, but nevertheless. . . .”

“The diplomats from Temerite, Gorrani, the Archipelago, and the Demesnes to the west have all expressed concern over the Kormanley,” Arent added. “They are afraid that because their main cities rely on the ley, that the priests will target them as well.”

“They will, eventually,” Daedallen said.

“I agree, although I have not said so to any of the diplomats. I’m hoping that we can destroy the Kormanley before that happens.”

The captain of the Dogs moved toward the table, his arguments with Augustus set aside. “Who do you think is supporting the Kormanley from outside the city, then? Now that they have spread their attacks outside Erenthrall.”

“Who do you believe it is?” Arent countered.

Daedallen didn’t react to the subtle admonishment that the Dogs—and Daedallen in particular—should already have their own suspicions. As soon as the attacks began in these other cities, Arent had narrowed his own down to a few likely candidates, one in particular, but he was curious to hear what the captain of the Dogs thought.

Daedallen paced to the tall windows of the balcony, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out into the sunlight. A shadow passed by as one of the flyers drifted around the Amber Tower. “Nothing has changed from our previous discussion; it would have to be someone of high rank, perhaps a lord, although I find that unlikely. The Kormanley have resources that would require more funds than the lords could pull together on short notice, let alone over the course of the last four years. Besides, the lords would have no interest in attacking other cities. Their interests lie solely within Erenthrall, with you, Baron. Without your support, they would be nothing.”

“Unless the attacks on Farrade and Severen are independent of the core group here in Erenthrall,” Augustus said.

Daedallen turned, his irritation at being interrupted clear, but he nodded in acknowledgment before continuing. “I still believe it unlikely that any of the lords or ladies are funding the group. It is too extensive, has been acting for far too long. Which leaves only the Barons.”

Arent had come to the same conclusion in their previous discussions, but he merely inclined his head and said, “Continue.”

Daedallen began pacing before the window, moving from one long stretch of deep blue velvet curtain on one side to the other. “Baron Calluin was distressed over the two attacks in his own city. I doubt he’d sanction attacks on his own Barony—he’s too protective and prideful of Farrade’s architecture. Baron Tavor might attack his own city to deflect attention away from himself, and with the resources of the Steppe behind him, would have the money to fund the group. But he has never shown any aggression toward Erenthrall, not since his city of Severen was joined to the ley system by the Wielders. That leaves four other Barons—Leethe of Tumbor, Sillare of Dunmara and the Reaches, Ranit of northeastern Jarada, and Iradi of Wayside.”

“Ranit is too weak. He does not have the resources of the other Barons, nor the backbone to carry out such devastating attacks.” Arent swirled the wine in his glass, brow creased in thought. “It must be Leethe, Sillare, or Iradi. Find out which one is behind the Kormanley before the Baronial Meeting at the end of summer.”

Daedallen’s eyes narrowed. “You believe it is Leethe.”

Arent’s hand tightened on his wineglass. “You know what it took to subdue the other Barons, what it took to subdue Tumbor in particular. A hundred years ago, the other Barons viewed Erenthrall as the weakest of the Baronies. And they were right. Erenthrall was nothing, a city lost in the middle of the plains, a trading post surviving at the meeting of the Tiana and Urate Rivers. It provided a convenient resting point for the shipments coming down the river from the northern mountains and the caravans crossing the grassland headed toward the Demesnes to the west. My
father
,” he could not suppress the sneer, “was content with letting Erenthrall remain nothing more than that—a stopover to greater places.

“When he died, I seized control of the Barony and allowed Augustus to begin building the Nexus. It took me years to train the Barony’s forces after that, even longer to use my new Dogs to bring the Barons to heel. The Baronies had always been unsettled, a place of treachery, assassination, and deceit, but during my rise, the plains were drenched in blood. I succeeded in eliminating the strongest of the Barons, letting weaker and younger sons take their places. I thought the Baronies were mine at that point. I meant to reshape the plains using the Barons’ dependence on the ley and their fear of my Dogs as the hammer and anvil.

“But I was wrong.”

Daedallen shifted where he stood. “Tumbor.”

With effort, Arent forced the hand gripping his wine to relax before the glass shattered. “Tumbor had always been my strongest rival, and it was Leethe’s father who revolted when the Barons signed the concordance ceding control of the ley to Erenthrall. He became a thorn, drawing blood at every opportunity. So I sent the Hounds after him. Leethe saw his father die at their hands. Even though he was only nine at the time, I do not think he has forgotten that moment.” Arent had not forgotten his own father’s bloody death, after all, even though it had been by his command and carried out by his personal guard.

The captain of the Dogs straightened and gave his Baron a formal bow. “May I release the Hounds now?”

Arent stilled.

After Leethe’s father’s death, the remaining Barons had refused to sign the concordance until Arent agreed to rein in the Hounds and his Dogs. Initially he’d resisted, but when he saw the beginnings of an alliance building against him—one that could be strong enough to defeat his Dogs—he’d relented. He could still train the Hounds, but he could only use them here, within Erenthrall. Sending them to seek out the Barons themselves, in their own lands, in secret. . . .

If the Hounds were discovered, it would be political suicide. The already tenuous hold he had on some of those Barons would shatter. The Barons would ally against him as they had threatened so many decades ago. The concordance—with himself, Erenthrall, and the ley at its center—would crumble. It would be war.

He did not have the resources or the manpower to fight such an alliance. Not now. He needed to keep the Barons on edge, tied and beholden to him—and only him—by the ley.

“No,” he said reluctantly. “The Hounds must remain leashed for now. Use the Dogs only.”

Arent caught the smirk on Prime Augustus’ face and felt anger spark in his chest. He had been ready to dismiss the two men to their respective tasks, but now he set his glass of wine aside. He could not have brought Erenthrall to its current height of power without Augustus, but he could not allow his control of the obsessive Wielder to slip.

“There is one other issue we must discuss,” he said.

The Wielder tensed as Arent’s attention fell on him. “My Baron,” he said.

“These . . . distortions.”

Augustus grimaced. “I have had the Wielders looking into them and as of yet we do not have an explanation as to what they are or why they are occurring.”

“That is not acceptable. I am receiving reports from all around the city. Since the sowing of the Flyers’ Tower and the activation of the subtowers there have been twenty-seven visible distortions in nineteen separate districts. The first was reported within a month, and ten have been reported within the last year. Initially you claimed that they were a result of the ley system acclimating to the activation of the tower, that they would dissipate over time. But I fail to see how that explanation still holds, since the occurrences appear to be escalating. Even the size of these distortions . . . these ‘blossoms of light’ as the commoners call them . . . has increased.” He leaned forward onto the table, both arms rigid. “You assured me, at the time you proposed the Flyers’ Tower, that the ley system would be able to handle it. Have you changed your opinion since? Or is there some other explanation for the distortions that now plague my city?”

Augustus’ back grew rigid and he shot a black glance toward Daedallen, as if somehow the captain of the Dogs had brought this upon him. But then he turned back to Arent. “So far, we are uncertain exactly what is causing the distortions. I am not convinced that it has anything to do with the Hub—I apologize, the Flyers’ Tower. I have descended into the pit of the Nexus myself, searched the coils of ley, and discovered no connection between the tower and the emergence of these lights.”

“Then what are they, if not effects of the Flyers’ Tower?”

Augustus spread his hands and shrugged. “I have no idea. I agree that they appear to be directly related to the ley, that somehow the interaction of the ley with the Tapestry is causing the Tapestry to tear in some way. But so far these tears have been minor. None of the distortions have been larger than a man’s fist. They open, hold for a moment, and then close. No significant damage has been done.”

Not mollified, Arent pushed back from the table. “And yet the distortion that appeared in Wit last month tore a chunk of stone from an interior chamber of the Temerite’s embassy when it closed, splintering the marble and scattering the shards across the embassy’s foyer.”

“Because the distortion coalesced inside the marble wall. None of the others have caused any damage.”

“Because we have been lucky! What if one of them appears inside one of your nodes? What if they appear here, in the Amber Tower? Or your Nexus? What if one manifests near a person? What kind of damage will it do then?”

The Prime Wielder’s mouth opened as if to answer, then shut, lips pressed thin in anger.

“I don’t think you understand the magnitude of my concern,” Arent said, “so let me make it clear. The flyers have become so prevalent in Erenthrall that they rival the barges of the ley lines in terms of public transportation. There are now stations at all twelve of the subtowers that support the system, even though the flyers cost dramatically more than the barges on the ground. The other Baronies are already scrambling to make offers to have the flyers established in their own cities. I expect them to demand towers of their own at the upcoming meeting. And even though I’ve made it clear that the flyers are only viable within a certain radius of the Flyers’ Tower, the lords and ladies of the surrounding lands are already complaining that they can’t have flyers on their own lands.”

He leaned toward Augustus, voice hardening. “If the flyers are creating the distortions, that flaw must be repaired. I need to provide the Barons—and the lords and ladies—what they want.”