Shattering the Ley (25 page)

“That does not mean that Augustus’ claims are correct,” Calluin muttered.

Arent paused behind Baron Calluin’s seat, rested his hands on the back of the tall chair.

“Of course not. But what evidence do we have that his claims are false?”

“The distortions—”

“Have you witnessed one of them? Have any of you experienced one of these distortions in your own cities?” The Barons glanced at each other, Calluin’s certainty wavering. Leethe and Tavor glared. “I didn’t think so. However, I admit that there have been a few incidents here in Erenthrall.”

“Including one in which a citizen was injured,” Leethe interjected.

“Yes. A woman was unfortunately injured during one such occurrence. If you know of that,” Arent said, letting some of his irritation tinge his words, “then you also know that Wielders were there. These Wielders were attempting to repair the distortion and free the woman. It simply closed before they succeeded. In fact, we have Wielders on patrol in the city right now in case more of these distortions appear.”

“Why are they appearing in the first place? Can you guarantee that they won’t begin appearing in our own cities?”

Arent pushed away from Calluin’s seat and turned to face Tavor. “I can’t guarantee that, no. But even if they do, you have Wielders trained here in Erenthrall to handle the situation. These distortions are merely annoyances. Rather beautiful annoyances, actually. Like a sunburst of color appearing out of thin air, no larger than your fist. But again, the Wielders have them under control.

“As for the Kormanley, I am certain you have heard of our recent arrests. We have captured one of their leaders, and he has been most forthcoming. So forthcoming,” Arent said as he rounded the table and returned to his own seat, “that I have unleashed the Hounds.”

A few of the Barons sucked in a sharp breath. But no one moved. Arent sensed a new tension in the air, the threat of the Hounds hanging over all of them, the memory and fear of what they had done during the bloody battles fought by the Barons seventy years before tainting the air. Arent studied each of the Barons’ faces as he continued, paying particular attention to Leethe, whose eyes glinted with malice.

“I don’t believe the Kormanley will be a problem for long. Not with the Hounds roaming outside of Erenthrall’s limits. Were there any other concerns?”

The room was deathly still, until Baron Sillare dared to stir.

Arent turned hard eyes on him, his patience worn as thin as spider’s silk.

“Before I sign the agreement, I would like to broach the subject of building a Flyers’ Tower in Dunmara and the Reaches. Having the ability to soar over the rocky terrain of the mountains would be a distinct advantage for travel and trade.”

Arent hesitated, allowing himself to relax. “I’m certain we can come to some sort of agreement.”

He did not miss the fleeting look of disgust on Baron Leethe’s face.

Outside the Meeting Hall, Allan fidgeted in position near the closed doors. As soon as the Barons had retreated, the musicians had launched into a new piece, the dance resuming as the conversation in the hall swelled louder than it had been before. He eyed the lords and ladies, watched them drift from position to position, taking in who spoke to whom, and who stepped aside for a more in-depth conversation away from the main activity. But spirits were high, now that the aristocracy could relax, with the Barons they owed liege to otherwise occupied.

Yet a niggling tension still pricked the skin between his shoulders.

Hagger caught his attention with a discreet gesture and motioned him over. His face was pinched with worry.

“Have you noticed anything?” the elder Dog asked.

“No, but something’s not right.”

He nodded. “My hackles are up, too. And not because of the Barons’ disrespectful guardsmen.” He glared at the nearest, one of Baron Leethe’s men. “Let’s circle the room, see what we can sniff out.”

They broke away from the door, circling right, skirting the edge of the dancers, but had seen nothing out of the ordinary by the time they reached the far side of the hall near the platform where the Barons would dine. Beyond, servants were frantically setting up the last of the tables for the dinner. Allan shook his head at the number of plates, cups, saucers, spoons, knives, and forks. They ducked into the kitchens opposite the Meeting Hall, the room sheer chaos as servants and cooks dashed back and forth, bellowing orders, pots clanging, the air heavy with the scent of roasting fowl and clouded with steam. Carts were already covered with plate upon plate of the first course. Hagger nipped a small roll, still hot from the ovens and slick with melting butter, and then they returned to the outer room.

They circled the Great Hall three more times, the slanted sunlight slipping from midafternoon to evening, before the doors to the Meeting Hall finally opened. The Barons emerged, Arent last. He stepped to the front of the Barons, the lords and ladies of the Baronies shifting from the dance floor toward the entrance of the Meeting Hall.

He raised his head and waited, even though everyone had fallen silent, then announced, “We have an agreement.”

Cheers erupted from the gathered aristocracy, quickly turning to gasps as white light bathed the hall, coming from outside the massive windows overlooking the balcony. This was followed by awed delight as nearly everyone streamed toward the windows and the display of ley light that fountained beneath the tower below. The Barons moved with them, Allan and Hagger following behind. Below the Amber Tower, the crystal dome of the Nexus pulsed a pale blue-white, while all around it the gardens of Grass were illuminated with streams of ley. Men and women spilled out onto the balcony, some even ascending to the deck of the sky barge that still remained tethered there, seeking the best vantage point for viewing the land below.

While everyone was distracted, the servants trundled their carts into the dining hall and began laying out the first course. By the time the lords and ladies grew bored of the Wielders’ work, the servants were ready with wine, others removing the carts to prepare for the second course.

“The Barons are headed for their table,” Hagger said, tapping Allan’s shoulder to catch his attention. “We’d better follow. Daedallen wanted us close.”

Allan nodded. As they made their way to the platform, he searched for Moira among the frantic servants, the wine already being poured, the babble of conversation rising yet again as the musicians took up a lighter background strain. The conflagration of white light continued outside as the skies began to darken, the glow of the Flyers’ Tower and its beacon becoming more prominent.

From his position on the platform, the Barons to his left, kitchens to his right, Allan scanned the room with a frown, thinking about Lord Gatterly, about the detailed map they’d found in the room beneath his estate, the Amber Tower circled in red. He thought about Gatterly himself, unyielding no matter what Hagger did to him. He could still feel the lord’s blood on his hands, could see his mutilated face. During the entire interrogation, he’d insisted that the Kormanley had infiltrated the Dogs, that they’d already set up some kind of demonstration in the Tower on the day of the Baronial Meeting. But the Meeting was nearly over.

“Perhaps Gatterly was wrong,” Hagger said, as if following the same train of thought.

“He never broke. He never broke because he believed we couldn’t stop what would happen here. It was what kept him alive.”

“Then what’s supposed to happen? What have the Kormanley planned?”

Allan shook his head, thinking.

Then he caught sight of Moira.

“Wait here. I see Moira.”

Hagger scowled but said nothing as Allan darted down from the platform, catching Moira as she turned from one of the tables, plate in hand, the remains of a pheasant littering the surface. As soon as she faced away, the smile plastered to her face fell away, replaced by anger. She didn’t notice Allan until he snagged her arm.

“What do you want?” she spat, spinning on him. Her glare held until recognition flared and she gasped. “Allan! Shouldn’t you be watching over Baron Arent?”

“I am. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, these gods-cursed lords and their demands. Or rather, the ladies. They’re worse than the lords. This pheasant had too much fennel. But she ate nearly all of it before deciding to complain. Not to mention the servants who arrived this morning. They’re supposed to keep the carts close. Useless! All of them! And now where are they? Nowhere! Probably off somewhere watching the Wielders’ display.” She huffed and headed back toward the kitchens. “But I can’t talk right now. And you should be up on the platform with Hagger. You don’t want him getting angry at you again. Not over me.”

Allan followed her. “Wait. What new servants? I thought you’d been preparing for this for days.”

“We had. But someone suggested we use the carts to bring the food out, instead of doing it all by hand. The carts appeared this morning, the new servants not long after. But what good are the carts if they aren’t here to be used?”

They’d reached the doors to the kitchen, but Allan reached out to halt her, pulling her up short.

“What?” she asked, irritated.

“The carts,” he murmured, and his eyes darted around the room.

The carts had been scattered throughout the tables.

Including three directly beneath the Barons’ platform.

He spun on Moira. “Get out of here. Now.”

Then he turned and sprinted toward the platform. “Hagger! The carts! Like the wagons in the park. It’s the carts!”

Hagger frowned in confusion, head spinning toward the hall spread out before him—

And then realization dawned and he moved, barking, “Captain!”

On the platform, Baron Arent turned, a forkful of pheasant half raised to his mouth, Daedallen on his other side. The captain of the Dogs saw Hagger charging toward them and reached across Arent’s chest, hauling him back from the table, taking his chair with him. The captains of the other Barons were reacting as well, as looks of confusion began to spread throughout the room. Someone screamed, Baron Iradi bellowing in protest. Glass shattered as it struck the floor, followed by the sharp crack of a plate as it was swept from a table.

Only Allan saw Baron Leethe grimace with annoyance and motion toward the floor before rising and stepping back, his captain at his side.

At the signal, all of the carts exploded, those at the front first.

The air sucked inward, toward the carts, and then flung Allan back from the platform, his ears ringing, fire sheeting out in all directions as the carts, tables, and glassware from the dinner shredded, the bodies of the nearest lords and ladies and servants rising from the center of the explosion, silhouetted against the flames. Allan struck the hard amber floor of the hall, pain knifing down from his shoulder as it twisted awkwardly beneath him, and then debris began to rain down, striking the floor with dulled thuds. Plates and glasses splintered, sending up deadly shards. A mangled and bloody but elegant hand landed an arm’s length away, gold rings glinting with firelight. More of the carts exploded, the
crump
of each like softened cloth in his ears, felt more than heard as the floor shuddered. Black spots skated across his vision at each flash and he blinked fiercely, tears stinging his eyes. The black taint of smoke struck his senses; not the scent of burnt wood but something sharper, biting into his nostrils. He wrinkled up his nose in distaste.

Then, debris still clattering down around him, he thought,
Moira
.

He rolled, wincing, his arm tingling with the motion, and pushed himself into a crouch. Bodies lay strewn across the hall’s floor like dolls, lords and ladies screaming, the sounds still muted. A few staggered around in shock, blood staining their clothes. Fires blazed along the length of the tables, most tilted onto one side or flipped onto their tops, chairs and the remains of the carts scattered. Overhead, the ley globes, candles, and crystal chandelier swayed. The platform that had held the Barons was scorched and still burning. At least one Baron was dead—Ranit, he thought—along with a few of the Dogs and other guardsmen. Hagger’s body lay on the far side, Daedallen and Baron Arent beside him, but before Allan could react, he saw Hagger stir.

Beyond them, moving casually, Baron Leethe and his captain stepped through the doors to the main entrance to the hall, flanked by the rest of the Tumbor guardsmen.

Anger pulsed through him, but Allan turned his back to both Leethe and Arent and began searching for Moira. The sounds of the hall—the crackle of flame, the moans of the wounded, and the sobs of the shocked—became clearer, no longer muffled. He flung aside a chair, knelt over a crumpled form dressed in the servant amber, but the man was dead. Moving on, he rolled aside servants, focusing on those nearest to where he’d left Moira, but she wasn’t here.

He sat back on his haunches. He’d told her to run. His gaze flicked toward the main entrance, where Baron Leethe had vanished, then shook his head.

She was a servant. She would have headed for the servant stairs.

The kitchen.