Shattering the Ley (30 page)

The black-hooded Dog changed stance, adjusted his grip on the ax, and raised it high overhead, back arched. He held it a moment as the protests in the crowd suddenly surged higher, Kara shoved violently to one side. Her gut twisted and she swallowed back a sickening nausea, her entire body shivering in reaction to the black emotions that rose and fell around her in waves. Her mind was frozen. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered to herself. It was too barbaric, too bloody, too—

The executioner swung and before she could wrap her mind around it, the blade fell with a dreadful, wet thud, burying itself deep into the block of wood. Ibsen Senate’s head popped away from his neck and thunked onto the platform as blood fountained from the stump, splashing onto the stage and splattering those who were closest to the front. Shrieks rose from the crowd, mixed with bellows of rage. Someone close by retched, the stench of vomit slamming into Kara’s senses, mixed a moment later with the copper thickness of blood. She gagged in response, but kept her queasy stomach under control. The sea of raw emotions around her surged higher, the crowd pushing forward as the Dogs on the platform roared orders and bellowed for everyone to stay back. The tension was reaching a peak. She felt herself being pulled beneath the swell, her chest constricted. She was drowning, her own pulse rushing in her ears. She began to struggle, arms shoving in every direction, legs kicking—

And then a hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back, Marcus pulling her in tight to his chest, his musk surrounding her, overriding the vomit and blood and sweat of the crowd. She gasped in relief as he dragged her back through the press of people, Ischua and Cory falling in behind them both. Within moments, she gained her equilibrium, falling into step with Marcus. They were headed for the edge of the square, for one of the alleys, the glimpses she caught of the faces of those around them black with anger, distrust, and hate. She remembered seeing the disgust of those in the marketplace four years ago, when the Dogs had beaten and taken the Kormanley priest, but it was nothing compared to what she saw now.

Yet, when they reached the alley—Marcus stumbling around the stone corner and into the shadows, Cory and Ischua right behind them, all of them halting, panting with the effort—the people of the square had fallen silent. The shouts and grumblings that had nearly drowned Kara had died down, submerged into a wicked undercurrent. The plaza was eerily silent and still.

On the stage, Captain Daedallen had drawn his sword, pointed it now toward those assembled, his expression hard, like granite. Those Dogs holding the crowd back had drawn blades as well.

“Would you defy the Baron?” Daedallen asked, his voice a deep-seated rumble. “Would you risk his wrath?” He swung the point of his sword left and right, glaring.

No one responded.

Satisfied, he resheathed his blade and turned his back on the square, moving toward Prime Augustus.

The crowd hesitated, then began to disperse, everyone moving slowly, silently. Kara caught low muttering, a few dark conversations. Everyone’s expression was tense, fists clenched, shoulders tight.

Ischua herded them up the alley.

“What just happened?” Marcus asked.

“The Baron made his intentions clear,” Ischua answered harshly, “and the captain of the Dogs barely averted a riot. I knew the people of Eld were on edge after what the Dogs have done the past few days, but I didn’t realize they were this close to open revolt. I thought the Dogs would settle down after a day or so, that the resentment of the citizens would recede.” He shot a glance at Cory. “What is the feeling in Confluence? At the University?”

He shrugged. “More or less the same as here. The Masters at the University are up in arms about the Dogs’ incursion in the district, although they haven’t transgressed on University property yet. That agreement hasn’t been breached. Most of my fellow students are more riled up than the Masters, but no one’s done anything about it yet. We haven’t had a demonstration like this execution, though. I don’t know how many of us came up here to see it.”

Ischua grimaced. “I saw more than a few of them in the square. And I’d say that Eld and Confluence aren’t the only districts where the citizens are on edge. If Baron Arent isn’t careful. . . .” He shook his head, but didn’t finish.

“What should we do?” Kara asked.

Ischua caught her gaze, concern in his eyes. “Nothing,” he said adamantly. “You should do nothing. Keep to your patrols. Stay clear of the Dogs. Do whatever the Primes demand. It’s the only way for you to stay safe.” He caught Kara’s gaze, held it. “Tell me that you’ll do nothing to bring attention to yourself.”

Uncertainty flooded through Kara’s chest, but she nodded.

Behind Ischua, Marcus frowned and ducked his head.

“Good.” Ischua glanced around them. They’d moved far enough away from the square that the streets were less packed, most of the people here going about their daily lives, not having attended the execution. “You should return to the node,” the Tender said, catching Marcus’ attention, “both of you. And you should head back to the University, Cory. But remember what I said.”

Marcus tugged on Kara’s arm. “Come on.”

Cory squeezed her arm and broke away, heading to Confluence.

Kara resisted at first, concerned about Ischua, not certain why. She watched the Tender for a long moment as they drew away, until he smiled and waved, then let Marcus lead her back to the node.

“Clean up this mess,” Daedallen snapped to the executioner and the waiting Dogs. He still had his back to the square, even though his flesh crawled at the violence of the crowd he’d barely managed to contain. He didn’t dare turn to see what the people were doing. He couldn’t show them any sign of weakness or they’d break.

“They’re dispersing,” Augustus muttered. The Prime Wielder was shaken. Daedallen heard it in his voice, even though the Wielder’s expression was composed.

He met Daedallen’s gaze. “We saw similar reactions in Grass and Plinth, although not as intense as here. These executions may have been a mistake.”

The Captain grunted. “Tell that to Baron Arent. In the meantime, we still have six more to weather.”

Dierdre watched Marcus retreat with Kara, a silken shawl in one hand as she pretended to shop. The Tender Ischua watched them go, then headed back toward Halliel’s Park and his duties there, but not without first scanning the street, as if he feared he’d been followed. Dierdre’s eyebrows rose at that, but she wasn’t concerned with him, even though she knew he was Kormanley. Not part of Dalton’s splinter group, but Kormanley nonetheless.

No, she was concerned with Marcus. Dalton had told her to feel him out, to test his potential for introduction into their group. She’d had her doubts when she’d run into them in the crowd, but they’d been interrupted before she could draw any solid conclusions. However, during and after the execution she’d watched him closely. His reactions then, and to Ischua’s instructions to do nothing, to keep out of the Dogs’ way, were promising.

She’d have to approach him when he wasn’t with his partner, Kara. She wasn’t certain how she was going to manage that—the two always seemed to be together; it was nauseating—but she’d manage. Dalton was counting on her.

Allan cursed as the pullcart jounced over missing cobbles along the western road. Janis—sitting in the back of the cart with Morrell—cried out, but didn’t turn to berate him. She shifted her position, though, Allan compensating by adjusting his grip on the handles. His fingers already ached with tension, blisters forming on his palms and the bases of his thumbs. Both his upper and lower back muscles screamed with the unfamiliar strain. But he was determined to be outside of the city by nightfall.

He glanced up from the road, to where the sun was sinking fast into the horizon, and cursed again.

They’d picked up the pullcart in Field, exactly where Janis’ contact in Copper had said he’d leave it. He would have traveled all night if it weren’t for Morrell. Janis had insisted they stop for a few hours of sleep, blaming the necessity on the baby. But after finding a place to rest at a tavern—and spending errens he wasn’t certain he could afford to lose—he realized he was exhausted. The stress of the last two days had caught up with him the moment he lay back on the bed. But even with the break, they would have already passed beyond Erenthrall’s outermost district if there hadn’t been a riot in Calder.

“They were executing one of the Kormanley,” an elderly proprietor gasped as he cowered along with Allan, Janis, and Morrell behind the barred doors of his leather shop. He flinched as something crashed against the side of the building, the barked commands of the Dogs who’d invaded the street on the heels of the fleeing crowd cutting through the roars of outrage and screams of those they hounded. “Something must have gone wrong.”

Allan hadn’t responded, his arms trembling with the shock of seeing the Dogs this close, charging onto the street behind him. He’d thought they were after him, his heart seizing in his chest, then realized they were cutting down everyone in their path, their rage unfocused.

He’d dragged the cart—with Janis and Morrell in it—into the shop and slammed its door shut before anyone inside had realized what was happening.

They’d lost more than an hour before the streets had settled down and he’d risked venturing outside again.

Now, shirt soaked in sweat, body prickling with an unease he couldn’t explain, he dug his feet into the stone road and pulled the cart forward. They were two districts away from Erenthrall’s edge, and the last district—Brink—was narrow. The street was nearly empty, the bustle that Allan associated with the city left behind hours earlier. The buildings were mostly one level, with wide courtyards, gardens behind walls. Most were residences. Shops were small and sparse. Ahead, he could see where the road—what had once been a caravan route—dipped down through Brink and stretched out into the wide yellow rolling grasslands of the Baronies.

But when he passed over into Brink, the transition nothing more than a shift in the shape and style of the cobblestones, a figure stepped out of the lengthening shadows to his left, a mere twenty paces away.

He halted with a jolt, the front of the cart hitting him in the ass, something hot and hard lodging at the base of his throat. He swallowed painfully, drew in a deep breath, and set the cart down.

Behind, a rustle of cloth and then Janis asked, “Why are we stopping?”

Never taking his eyes off the figure, mouth dry, he croaked, “A Hound.”

“What?” He heard the cart creak as Janis slipped off its edge and came around to his side. She was patting Morrell’s back, holding her up over one shoulder. “I didn’t hear—”

Her voice choked off as she caught sight of the Hound. She stilled, then took one careful step closer to Allan.

“Is that a—?”

“It’s a Hound, yes.” At the sight of Morrell, his little poppet coughing once into Janis’ shoulder, face squinched up and wrinkled, one fisted hand waving before settling down again, his jaw clenched in determination. He stepped forward once, reached for his blade, drew it in one smooth motion as he said, “You need to run, Janis. Take Morrell and run to the Hollow.”