Shattering the Ley E-Book

Joshua Palmatier

• Herausgeber: Zombies Need Brains, LLC
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Ley
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 903

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

ENTER A WORLD POWERED BY LEY LINES! Erenthrall—sprawling city of light and magic, whose streets are packed with traders from a dozen lands and whose buildings and towers are grown and shaped in the space of a day. At the heart of the city is the Nexus, the hub of the ley line system that powers Erenthrall and links the city and the Baronial plains to the rest of the world. The Prime Wielders control the Nexus with secrecy and lies, but it is the Baron who controls the Wielders and the rest of the Baronies through brutal intimidation enforced by his bloodthirsty Dogs and unnatural Hounds. When the rebel Kormanley seek to destroy the ley system, two people find themselves caught up in the ensuing chaos that threatens the fabric of reality itself: Kara Tremain, a young Wielder coming into her power, who discovers the forbidden truth behind the magic that powers the ley lines; and Allan Garrett, a recruit in the Baron's guard, who learns that the city holds more mysteries and more danger than he could possibly have imagined.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Title Page

Other Novels by Joshua Palmatier:

SHATTERING

Copyright © 2014 by Joshua Palmatier

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Part I

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Part II

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Part III

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Part IV

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Part V

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

The Epic Saga Continues

About the Author

SHATTERING

THE LEY

Other Novels by Joshua Palmatier:

The “Ley” Series:

Shattering the Ley

Threading the Needle

Reaping the Aurora

The “Well” Series:

Well of Sorrows

Leaves of Flame

Breath of Heaven

The “Throne of Amenkor” Series:

The Skewed Throne

The Cracked Throne

The Vacant Throne

The “Crystal Cities” Series:

Crystal Lattice (coming Summer 2024)

Crystal Rebel (coming Summer 2024)

Crystal War (coming Summer 2024)

SHATTERING

THE LEY

A Fantasy Novel by

Joshua Palmatier

Zombies Need Brains LLC

www.zombiesneedbrains.com

Copyright © 2014 by Joshua Palmatier

All Rights Reserved

Interior Design (ebook): ZNB Design

Interior Design (print): ZNB Design

Cover Design by ZNB Design

Cover Art “Shattering the Ley”

by Stephan Martinière

ZNB Book Collectors #31

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions of this book, and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

First Printing, DAW Books Edition, July 2014

First Printing, Zombies Need Brains Edition, January 2024

Print ISBN-13: 978-1940709604

Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1940709611

Printed in the U.S.A.

DEDICATION

The book is dedicated to my two brothers, Jason and Jacob, both SF&F enthusiasts, and both writers.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book would not have been possible without the dedication of DAW to its authors. In particular, I’d like to thank my editor, Sheila Gilbert, for continuing to believe in me and for pushing me to make my books the best they can be. This particular book went through the wringer with my local writing group, which has (unfortunately) since fallen apart as its members moved to various other locations. Thanks to Patricia Bray, Tes Hilaire, and April Steenburgh. I miss the wine, chocolate, and snark.

One beta reader in particular provided invaluable feedback throughout the production of the book and deserves a special mention. David J. Fortier, I couldn’t have done it without you and your vicious red pen.

Of course, none of this would be possible without the support of my readers. I hope this book lives up to your exceedingly high expectations. But I also hope it’s one wild, scary ride. *grin*

And lastly, thanks to my partner, George, for bearing with me during my crazy writer moments, meltdowns, and exuberant highs.

Part I

Chapter One

“I shouldn’t be here,” Kara Tremain murmured to herself, even as she turned the final street corner and came within sight of the stone walls of Halliel’s Park.

She halted and bit her lower lip, her body trembling with a strange mixture of apprehension and danger and excitement. The leather belt that held her schoolbooks hung heavy on her shoulder and she twisted the strap beneath her hand. She glanced up and down the street, catching glimpses of the park’s open gate through the throng of people and wagons that passed by as the city of Erenthrall bustled around her. One of the ley-powered floating carts skimmed by, Kara’s skin prickling with ley energy, and she frowned after it, distracted—the carts weren’t typically seen in the Eld District; no one here could afford them—but her attention didn’t waver for long. A flash of power from one of the lit globes above the park’s entrance drew her gaze back to the gates.

It was midafternoon. Her morning classes had ended nearly an hour before. Her father had wanted her to come directly home to help him with one of his projects. But the park…

The stone walls called to her with a low, persistent hum. They drew her, pulled at her, as if she were flotsam caught in the river’s currents. She didn’t understand what it was, but knew that it made her different—from her fellow classmates, from her friends, even Cory. She didn’t want to be different…but the hum thrilled her at the same time, made her catch her breath, made her feel alive.

With a huffing sigh she edged down the street until she was opposite the gates, then halted again. The globes above, hovering over the edges of the rough stone arch, brightened as she drew closer. The arch had been carved ages ago, when Erenthrall had been nothing more than a Baron’s keep at the confluence of the two rivers and a few scattered homes for the villagers, but Kara knew the area had been considered special long before that. Without asking so many questions that she’d draw attention to herself, she’d tried to find out as much as possible about the park from her instructors at school and her parents. As far as anyone she’d asked had known, the park had always been there, even before the Barons took control of the surrounding lands. It hadn’t always been walled in, hadn’t even really been a park, but it had been considered sacred.

Inside the heavy wrought-iron gates were the same paths and stone sculptures she’d seen the last hundred times she’d come to stand outside the entrance. One of the gardeners— a man with a short, trimmed, brown beard streaked with gray like his hair, wearing worn gray robes stained heavily with dirt—knelt in the earth, stones piled around him on all sides. Kara stepped back until she struck the stone of the building behind her, books gouging into her side, and watched as the man arrayed the stones before him, then straightened and stared at them with a frown before shaking his head and tearing them apart again, stacking them in a different pattern.

On his fourth try, as he turned and reached for a fist-sized stone behind him, he caught sight of Kara.

She froze, her heart thudding—once—hard in her chest as the man’s eyes caught hers. Creases appeared in his forehead as he leaned back, stone in hand, and considered her. His lips pressed together tightly. He began to raise one hand, but a shudder of apprehension ran down through Kara and she lurched to one side, back scraping against the granite of the building as she pushed away and joined those walking along the street. She didn’t know what he’d intended to do, but she knew she should be getting home, that her father would be surprised she was so late, perhaps even angry. She hurried down to the far corner, the pull of the park lessening with each step, but before she turned she glanced back, expecting to see the gardener coming after her, or at least watching her from the gate.

He wasn’t. He stood at the entrance of the gate, but his gaze was locked on the white ley globes floating up above.

They’d dimmed again.

Before he could turn and catch her watching, Kara slid around the corner and headed toward the marketplace. People jostled her from all sides, the streets of Eld District narrower than nearly all of the rest of Erenthrall except for East Forks, Tallow, West Forks across the rivers, and Confluence where the two rivers met. Kara brushed up against one of the brown-skinned women from the Demesnes to the west, the tassels of her finely embroidered shawl catching in Kara’s hair as she passed. The woman glared, tugging her shawl back into place, but her expression softened as she realized Kara wasn’t a thief. Then she was lost to the crowd as Kara skirted a group of black-clothed Temerite men. The scent of their cologne hit her like a brick and Kara dodged farther away, nose wrinkled.

Then she reached the market.

Hawkers shouted into the afternoon sunlight, holding up beaded necklaces, swaths of cloth, or skewers of meat as the buildings fell away into an open square. Patrons—mostly people from Erenthrall and the Baronies, but also from the western Demesnes, the mustachioed Gorrani men from the south, and more of the eastern Temerites—touched the wares with doubtful grimaces, questioning the quality of the cloth or the origins of the pottery before beginning to haggle. The peddlers had tents or carts and were generally respectable, so only a few of the Dogs—the Baron’s guardsmen—patrolled the square. Near its center, a lone man in the white robes of a follower of the Kormanley railed against the Baron’s continued desecration of the ley, begun over fifty years ago with the creation of the Nexus. Everyone cut a wide path around him, leaving him isolated near the remains of the old stone fountain. Even as Kara passed, ignoring his tirade, she caught sight of three Dogs converging on the man, their dark brown-and-black uniforms standing out in the crowd. She ducked her head as one of them brushed past her, scarred face set in a scowl. She didn’t look back as the Kormanley priest’s shouts escalated and were cut off. Everyone around her averted their eyes as the sounds of the Dogs beating him filled the plaza.

An old woman, mouth pressed into a thin line of distaste, murmured bitterly under her breath, “The priests know the Dogs will find them. Why do they continue to defy the Baron?” She shook her head and made a clicking noise with her tongue, but kept her back turned from where the Dogs had pulled the priest to his feet and were hauling him off.

“It’s the sowing of the new tower tonight,” the produce monger before her said gruffly. “That’s what’s brought them out. They’ve been riled up for weeks now.”

“The Baron won’t stand for it,” the old woman said. “He’d kill them all if he could find them.”

Kara paused, the muttered words sinking into her gut with a cold shiver of uneasiness. She glanced back toward the man in white, hanging slackly between the arms of the two guards as they dragged his limp body through the throng. His black hair obscured his face, but she could see a string of drool and blood hanging down from his mouth. Blood stained his white robe in strange splatters, bright in the sunlight. The Dogs hauled the priest into a side street and they vanished.

Everyone on the square went back to haggling, errens and wares exchanging hands.

Kara turned to find the old woman watching her through squinted eyes. “Oh, don’t let it worry you, poppet. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

But Kara could hear the lie in her voice. When she reached out as if to stroke Kara’s hair, Kara ducked and pushed past a Gorrani, the hilt of his ceremonial sword gouging into her side. He shouted at her in his own guttural language, angry and harsh, Kara catching only a few words, but she didn’t stop. Her chest ached and she didn’t know why. She’d never thought much about where the Dogs took those that they grabbed. Her father had told her they were taken to the Amber Tower, to the Baron’s court where they were judged and held accountable for their crimes. But that wasn’t what Kara had heard in the old woman’s voice. She’d spoken as if the priest were already dead.

Kara fled the square, slowing only when the raucous noise of bartering faded and she found herself on the streets near her home. The crowd thinned as the storefronts of the market area succumbed to residential buildings, the granite facades of the shops becoming the smaller brick houses of the laborers and servants that dwelled in Eld. Kara turned the corner and headed down her own street. She could see the myriad buildings of the University from here, surrounded by high stone walls, nestled on the top of the hill in Confluence. The slate expanse of the Tiana and Urate Rivers cut toward it from the northwest and northeast. Beyond, East Forks and Tallow were a dark cluster of docks and cramped buildings covered over with a fine gray haze, the Butcher’s Block filled with smoke farther south. West Forks and Tannery Row hung with a similar haze, all of the districts beyond hidden from sight by the smoke and the rises in the land. Only a few steeples and the ley towers that marked the nodes of the ley network broke through the layers.

She hesitated on the steps of her apartment building, gazing out over the lower end of Erenthrall. She knew her father was waiting for her, but even now, the park pulled at her, faintly. A mere whisper. And there was the disturbing image of the priest, blood trailing from his mouth, the words of the old woman.…

What did happen to the priests after the Dogs captured them?

Sighing, she pulled her schoolbooks off her shoulder and stepped up to the door of the building, shoved it open, and trudged up the stairs beyond the small foyer inside to the third floor, pausing only momentarily on the second floor where Cory lived. The door to her own flat was open and she could hear her father humming to himself as he worked. He sat at his desk, two small ley globes—all they could afford—hovering over him. One of them flickered fitfully, but he didn’t seem to notice, his attention caught by the gutted clock, its gears and intricate metal workings spread out on the black cloth that covered his workspace. The main housing of the clock—a darkly-stained cherry piece that gleamed beneath the lights, its face white, surrounded by a band of gold—sat to one side. Its hands had been removed and its face looked barren, even though it was decorated with silver clouds.

Tables and chairs filled in the rest of the main room of the flat, with an open arch leading to the kitchen area and another door to one side where Kara and her parents slept. A few battered and misused clocks stood on the tables or were mounted on the wall, although nothing like the quality of the one her father was currently working on. Kara listened a moment, but the rest of the flat was silent; her mother hadn’t returned yet from her position as a servant at the Baron’s personal estate in Grass. Her father must have started cooking already, for the heady scent of roasting meat drifted out from the kitchen.

Kara tossed her books on the table inside the door, removed her shoes, and turned to find her father watching her, his face stern. The humming had stopped.

“I thought I told you to come home immediately after classes today. Your friend Cory’s been home for almost an hour already.”

Kara shuffled in place. “I came home through the marketplace.”

Her father frowned, creases appearing in his forehead beneath the patch of gray hair that had cropped up over the last few years. His hazel eyes caught her own, held them for a long moment, searching, and then he grunted.

Kara heaved a mental sigh of relief. He wasn’t truly angry.

“So,” he said, half turning back to his table. “I’d wanted you to help me with this clock. Some of the pieces are so small I thought your nimble fingers would be helpful, and then I thought you and I could take a special trip, but now…”

Kara took an involuntary step toward her father, then caught herself. “Where?” she asked, trying to sound casual, even though she could feel her blood pulsing in her arms, tingling in her fingers. She almost asked if he would take her to Halliel’s Park. She knew people could visit, that’s why the gates had been open, but she’d never dared to enter on her own, not with the gardeners constantly watching. If her father went with her, maybe she could see what was inside that pulled at her.

But her father shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll have time now. I need to get this clock finished.” He turned back toward her, put on his narrow working glasses, and looked at her over their thin metal rims.

“I’ll help,” Kara said, and grabbed one of the chairs from the table in the kitchen. Her father made room for her at his side, muttering, “Careful!” as she bumped the table. Then she leaned forward and stared down at what seemed like hundreds of pieces, most gleaming in the ley light. They’d been arranged in a clear pattern and had already been polished, gears and arms of all sizes and shapes. In the center sat the metal case that would slide into the back of the wooden house. Numerous gears had already been set in the case, which rested on its face, and after a quick glance at what remained, Kara could see what needed to be done next. This one was fairly basic, completely mechanical, without relying on any use of the ley at all.

Reaching out, she said, “This one goes in next.”

It hadn’t been a question, but her father nodded. “If you can get the next few gears and the arm into the casing, I’ll screw it into place.”

Kara reached out and picked up one of the many-sized tweezers lying off to one side, then carefully plucked the gear from the smooth black silk and slid it into the casing. Her hands shook slightly, but when she let go with the tweezers, the gear slipped into place on the small metal post. She had to nudge it to get the teeth to mesh correctly before it dropped down. Her breath fogged the bright metal of the already assembled clock as she reached for the next gear and she realized she’d been holding it unconsciously. Behind, her father grunted once in approval, then moved into the kitchen. She heard pots clattering, the scent of cooked meat and vegetables growing strong enough to make her stomach growl, and then she became absorbed in the inner workings of the clock. Her father came by once in a while to check on her, but she barely noticed.

She was vaguely aware of her mother returning, standing over her as she worked. Then her mother kissed her on the side of the head and joined her father in the kitchen. Kara listened to the soft background murmur of their conversation without really listening. The ley globe above her flickered again and, frowning in irritation, she reached out and touched it, the pale light steadying and strengthening. Leaning over the casing again, she began twisting a screw into place but realized that her parents had fallen abruptly silent. She glanced up to find them standing in the door to the kitchen, watching her intently. Her mother’s mouth hung slightly open, eyes widened, but it was her father’s troubled frown that sent a sliver of fear into her gut. “What did I do wrong?” She glanced down at the gears of the nearly finished clock, then back at her parents. If she’d ruined the clock, the patron who’d hired her father to fix it would makehim pay for it and they couldn’t afford that.

Her father grabbed her mother’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly before smiling and stepping forward. “Nothing, Kara, nothing. Everything’s fine. Are you almost finished?” Kara glanced back at her mother—mouth now closed, but worry lines still surrounding her pale gray eyes—and then her father put his hand on the top of her head anddrew her attention back to the clock.

“Ah, only a few more pieces left to go,” he said. “It looks like we’ll be able to go on that little trip after all. Let’s get this finished up, and then we can all have some dinner.”

At the thought of the mysterious excursion, Kara dismissed her mother’s concern—she was always exhausted after returning from work—and with her father’s help, placed the last of the inner workings of the clock inside the casing. They slid the casing into the wooden housing, attached the hands and spun them to the appropriate positions, then set the clock in motion before screwing the flat metal plate into place on back. Her father mussed her hair, then retreated to the kitchen with her mother and a final, “We can’t leave until your homework is done.”

Kara rolled her eyes, sat for a long moment listening to the clock’s motion, imagining the hidden gears inside ticking in precise, rhythmic steps. But finally she sighed, slid off her chair, and grabbed her books.

She had most of her work done—all except the rote mathematics—when her mother called her in for dinner. Her parents chatted as she wolfed it down, barely tasting it, watching the tension ease from her mother’s shoulders, until at one point her father said something stupid about the Baron’s court, his arms thrown wide as he flourished a mock bow while still sitting at the table, and she burst out in laughter, shaking her head. Her father caught her eye and she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek before rising and setting her plate and utensils in a bucket, to be washed at the public fountain.

“Will you be coming with us?” her father asked.

Her mother considered for a moment, turning to catch Kara’s eye, then smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m too tired. The Baron’s steward had us working like dogs today to get ready for the ball tonight. Most of the outlying lords are attending, as well as a few other Barons, which meant we had to get the tower and the surrounding grounds into tip-top shape.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t need you for the events tonight.”

“Ha! I’m glad I pulled the short stick on that one. I get to prepare for it, sleep during the celebration, and then clean up afterward.” She made a face and sighed dramatically. “No, you two go and Kara can tell me all about it afterward.”

“All right, then,” her father said, glancing toward Kara with raised eyebrows and a stern expression. “Homework all done?”

Kara hesitated, but knew she could handle the mathematics easily tomorrow if she got called to recite answers, so she grinned in excitement. “All done.”

“Then let’s go.”

Kara jumped off her chair and skipped toward the door, her father following more sedately behind her.

“Take a jacket!” her mother called from the kitchen. “It’ll get cold up there tonight!”

“You heard your mother,” her father said gruffly, then shooed her into the bedroom.

She flung back the lid of the trunk containing her clothes and rummaged through the layers, pulling her gray jacket free and slipping into it as she half ran back to the open door. Her father ushered her out, then down to the street, heading uphill, away from the University and Confluence and northward toward the new heart of Erenthrall and the Stone District. Away from Halliel’s Park. Kara hid her disappointment, frowning as she tried to figure out where they were going. Others were on the street, headed in the same general direction—parents with their children who were screaming and chasing each other through the streets. Her father nodded to a few of the other adults, chatting quietly. The Baron’s Dogs stood at every corner, eyeing the growing crowds, but generally hanging back. Kara thought of the priest in the market square that afternoon and shivered, pulling her long jacket tight against herself, but she didn’t see any of the white robes of the Kormanley anywhere.

A moment later, she caught sight of Cory’s dirty-blond hair and small form next to his own father ahead of them. She shouted, “Cory!” and caught up with him as he turned.

The look of confusion on his face broke with a smile as he saw her and, as their fathers shook hands, he urgently whispered, “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“No idea. But it must be outside since my mother demanded I wear a jacket.”

Cory snorted and tugged at his own short coat. “I think it has something to do with the sowing of the tower. My parents have been talking about it for days. They haven’t sown a new tower in twenty years.”

Kara smacked her forehead, even though her parents hadn’t mentioned the tower much. “I should have thought of that! My mother’s been working her fingers to the bone at the Amber Tower. If it is the tower, then that explains why we’re heading toward Stone. We wouldn’t be able to see into Grass from Green or Leeds.” And of course they wouldn’t be able to get into Grass and see it close up, not with the lords and ladies from across the plains coming to the city to witness the event. Kara felt her excitement escalating, heightened by Cory’s and the general feel of the crowd around them, like the energy in the air before a storm. She practically bounced on her toes.

Everyone was converging on Minstrel’s Park, situated at the top of the highest hill in Eld, at the border of the Stone District. Her father wormed his way through the crowd, trying to reach the highest point possible, although it was already packed with people, blankets thrown out on the ground, some with picnic baskets and wooden folding chairs or stools. The park was riddled with trees and a few of the kids Cory’s age had shimmied up the branches and were perched with legs hanging down from above. Low stone walls divided the park into sections, with obelisks at various points reaching to the darkening sky. It was nearing sunset, clouds skidding toward the east now tinged a burnished yellow.

Her father halted near one of the obelisks and Kara and Cory climbed up onto the wall so they could see above everyone else. The excitement built as the sun sank into the horizon and night settled, broken by the ley lines scattered throughout the city. From atop the wall, Kara could see the white bands of light forking in all directions, like a spiderweb, its center in Grass beneath the heights of the Amber Tower and the myriad other towers that had been sown around it since it was first raised. They couldn’t see the Nexus, but they could see the reflected white light from the towers. Even from this distance, it hurt to look directly toward the source, the light too intense. That light radiated outward, from ley tower to ley tower throughout the city and beyond, to Tumbor and Farrade and all of the other cities across the continent.

As the sun burned itself out in the west, the light from the ley lines intensified, flaring once before settling back to normal. Kara followed the rivers of light with her eyes for a moment, then turned her attention back to the still visible towers in Grass. “Where do you think the new tower will be sown?”

“I don’t know.” Cory craned his neck, eyes darting back and forth across the distance, face anxious. He was at least half a foot shorter than Kara, and at ten, a few years younger. “Do you see anything yet? Have they started?”

“Calm down, Cory,” his father growled. “You’ll know when it starts, trust me.”

And then, abruptly, the light of the Nexus intensified even more, forcing Kara to shield her eyes with one hand. A collective gasp went up from the crowd when the ley lines throughout the city’s districts fluctuated and dimmed, as if the Nexus were drawing energy toward it. Cory reached out and grabbed her upper arm and squeezed, but her own adrenaline dulled the pain. Her heart throbbed in her throat, in her arms, and her skin prickled, all of the little hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. A tingling sensation washed through her from head to toe, as if energy were passing through her and being sucked into the ground. She shuddered, drew in a sharp breath, tasted something on the air, thick and metallic, coating her tongue like molasses or blood. She fought the urge to spit it out, even as the energy spiked, feeding down and down into the earth—

Far out in Grass, the light of the Nexus flared, a fountain of white light spewing skyward, cascading back down, throwing all of the myriad towers in all shapes and sizes into stark relief, windows and balconies and terraces like black orifices in their sleek, multicolored sides. Kara saw people—lords and ladies and the upper echelons of Erenthrall—on some of the balconies, tiny figures ducking back and away from the sheaths of light seething upward like a geyser.

Then Cory shouted, “Look!” He jerked forward, dragging Kara with him, his fingers digging in even deeper on her arm. Everyone around them stilled, drew in a collective breath, and held it.

From the depths of the ley light, a thousand tendrils spiraled upward, writhing like vines stretching toward the darkness of night. As they rose, they wove together, the base growing more and more solid. Leaves sprouted from the vines, growing thick and large, and as the furious speed of the growth began to abate, the leaves began folding inward and flattening themselves against the outside of the forming tower like a skin. It rose, higher than most of the towers around it, but not as high as the Baron’s Amber Tower, the top bulging out as the tendrils wove together, forming what looked like a giant seed pod with holes pierced through its center. Leaves began encasing the seed pod, leaving the holes empty. As the growth halted, the top of the tower solidifying into a thin spire, Kara thought she saw a bluish glow emanating from the holes, pulsing like the coals of a banked fire.

And then the gouts of white fire surrounding the towers of Grass began to abate, sinking back down into the depths of the inner city, the network of ley lines throughout the districts increasing in intensity as it did, until everything had returned to its regular glow.

The crowd in Minstrel’s Park remained silent for a long moment, the newly sown tower shimmering a light forest green, appearing smooth from this distance, but threaded with veins, like those of a leaf held up to sunlight. Then, as if at some unspoken signal, people began to clap, men slapping each other on the back, conversations breaking out everywhere, punctuated by laughter.

Kara’s father turned to her, smiling widely, then said in a muffled voice, as if he were speaking through layers upon layers of cloth, “What did you think? That’s not something we’re likely to see again in my lifetime.”

Kara opened her mouth to tell him she could barely hear him, but a sudden wave of weakness passed through her. The tingling sensation against her skin had halted, but she felt drained, as if the stone and earth beneath her feet had sucked the life out of her. She felt her knees buckle, heard her father gasp in horror, heard Cory cry out, her arm wrenching as his hand was pulled away.

Her vision began to darken into a narrow tunnel of pulsing, jagged, yellow light, and the world receded. But before she could collapse, her father’s hands caught her and drew her to his chest.

Chapter Two

Allan Garrett glared down from the balcony in the Amber Tower, the sounds of the Baron’s Ball spilling out from behind him, light glowing in theintricate detailing of the solid amber railing he leaned over. Far below, the main gates of the Baron’s estate had been flung wide open and the ley carriages of the rich glided into the immense inner courtyard and gardens. They circled the stone fountain spewing jets of water skyward, jostling for position at the base of the wide steps radiating outward from the tower’s base like ripples in a pool of stone. From this height, nearly halfway up the Amber Tower, Allan couldn’t see individual crests on the carriages, but he could see the other Dogs lined up near the gates and outside on the streets and the wide square. They were inspecting the carriages as they approached, keeping the crowds of people in the square in check. Everyone in the city wanted to be near the Nexus during the sowing of the new tower, and everyone with an ounce of influence felt they deserved to be here in the Amber Tower, whether they’d been invited by Baron Arent Pallentor or not.

Forcefully, Allan shoved himself back from the railing. He deserved to be down there, containing the crowd, dealing with the rioters and protestors like the Kormanley, not trapped up here babysitting the rich and affluent as a useless honor guard. This wasn’t even the main party, where the Baron presided over his most influential guests. He was a Dog, damn it, not the gods-cursed city watch!

“There you are, Pup,” a voice growled.

Allan spun and glowered at his newest alpha’s scarred face. He’d only been assigned to Hagger’s pack that afternoon. “I’m not a pup,” he snarled.

Hagger’s eyebrows shot upward. “Oh, really? You’re all of what, seventeen?”

Allan narrowed his eyes. “Sixteen.”

“And you’ve been a Dog since…?”

“Spring.”

“And I can tell by your accent that you’re from outside the city. A little bit of a slur on your S’s. That would be one of the western towns. Bandoley?”

Allan shifted awkwardly. “Canter.”

Hagger whistled. “That far west? Let me guess, you placed in the annual bout in swordsmanship and thought you were good enough to come to the city and become a Dog.”

Allan bristled. “What of it?”

Hagger snorted, straightened where he stood in the glass doorway of the balcony, and crossed his arms over his chest. His face was shadowed—backlit by the thousands of ley globes that lit the open hall behind him, the Baron’s lesser guests milling about—but Allan could still see the crisscross pattern of scars over his cheeks and neck. Not all of them were from blades; some had come from beatings, others from the practice pit, still others from skirmishes between the Barons’ armies on the battlefield. The scars contrasted oddly with the formal black, red, and brown of the Dogs’ dress uniform.

“Listen,” he spat. “I’ve served more than sixteen years as a Dog. More than twenty. More than you’re likely to survive. To me, you will always be a pup, Pup. Now straighten your uniform and get in here. The lords and ladies need supervision. The sowing is about to start.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can feel it. Now move!”

Allan didn’t feel anything, but tugged on the collar of his uniform and followed Hagger into the main hall.

It burned with white light, ley globes of every shape and size floating near the ceiling. The semitranslucent amber walls and floor reflected the light harshly as the guests flowed from one end of the rounded Great Hall to the other. Dressed in every style of clothing imaginable, they jostled and danced and mingled, the rumble of their conversations throbbing on the hot air, drowning out most of the music provided by the string quartet in the center of the room. As he entered, those guests nearest the balcony turned, caught sight of his uniform, and quickly turned away. But not before Allan saw their smiles falter, the shine in their eyes dim. Most tried to hide the reaction by sipping at their wine or with a forced laugh. Only one man, an older gentleman— back stiff, black vest and pants contrasting harshly with a pale blue shirt and vibrant yellow handkerchief tucked into one pocket—dared to look Allan in the eye. He nodded solemnly, glass raised as if in a toast.

Disconcerted by the direct look, Allan pulled the formal vest of his own uniform down to smooth the creases, then caught a hand motion from Hagger commanding him to move left and edge toward the black glass of the windows on the far side of the tower. Allan began circling the room, sticking close to the wall, where tall plants in urns and a few assorted chairs set up beneath huge tapestries interrupted the flow of the crowd. Nearly everyone shifted out of his way as he approached, the motions subtle. He wasn’t certain what Hagger wanted him to do except circulate. The Dogs were there in case the guests got rowdy, and to keep them from wandering outside onto the balcony overlooking the Nexus when the sowing started. But it was only a formality; no one wanted to draw that kind of attention to themselves, especially not the Baron’s. Allan scanned the guests as he moved, noting numerous minor lords from every part of the lower plains, as well as a few from the high Steppe, judging by the cut of their clothes. A boisterous laugh jerked his attention toward Baron Leethe, from Tumbor, Erenthrall’s closest rival. With a frown, Allan watched the Baron for a long moment—this party was for the lesser dignitaries, Leethe should have been at the main function with Arent and the other Barons—but then he caught sight of the dark skin, thick mustache, and trimmed beard of a Gorrani. A quick glance toward the man’s sheath found the usual blade absent. He sighed, then silently berated himself; the Dogs at the gates would never have allowed the Gorrani into the Tower with his saber.

He continued toward the windows. Another round of servants wove among the guests, trays of drinks and cut sandwiches held out before them, the excitement in the room escalating steadily as more of the influential members of Erenthrall arrived. The heat generated by so many bodies packed so close together caused sweat to run down Allan’s back. He wiped at his face, then turned—

And collided with a servant carrying a large wooden crate.

The crate fell, jostled from her grip, the woman biting back a curse as she tried to catch it. It hit the amber floor with a loud crack and splinter of wood, one side splitting and spilling a few long, white, tapered candles across the floor beneath the guests’ feet.

“Clumsy oaf!” a lord said as a candle rolled to a stop by his foot. “The Baron should dismiss you immediately for that!”

“I apologize,” the woman said, ducking her head before kneeling and scrambling to pick up the loose candles.

The lord snorted, then caught Allan’s dark frown. A look of horror crossed his face and he slid away without glancing back, lost in a heartbeat.

Allan knelt down, grabbed one of the escaped candles, and handed it over to the servant. She’d already gathered up the rest, stuffing them back into the box. “I didn’t see you,” he said as she took it. “I hope that lord didn’t upset you.”

“Oh, certainly not,” she scoffed, waving her hand. “I deal with that every day.” But Allan noted she was trembling as she stood, crate balanced in her arms so that none of the candles would fall out. He stood as well.

With a careful look, she said, “You’re new to the Dogs, aren’t you?”

Allan stiffened. “Since the spring.”

She smiled at him, one hand brushing her black hair back from where it had fallen forward over her face. “I thought so. You wouldn’t have stopped to help if you weren’t. Or been concerned if I’d been upset.” Her pale skin shone in the amber light, a small scar near the corner of one eye. A single gold hoop earring dangled from her ear. Her servant’s dress was amber, like all of the rest, simple but elegant, designed to blend into the background of the tower itself. But Allan couldn’t take his eyes off of the fine lines of her face.

When the moment stretched too long and her brow wrinkled in slight confusion, he glanced down toward the crate, frowning at the contents. “Why are you carrying around candles?”

She laughed, the creases in her brow vanishing. “They’re for the guests. I need to hand them out before the sowing begins.” She motioned toward the rest of the room and Allan saw other servants dispersing through the crowd. Nearly everyone accepted them with a small giggle or gasp. “How quaint!” a woman nearby exclaimed. “The Baronmust have something special planned.”

The man beside her snorted and took his taper reluctantly, holding it as if it were a particularly virulent snake. “I hope he doesn’t expect us to actually use them. I haven’t held a candle since I was a child.”

Allan turned back to ask the black-haired servant what the candles were for—Hagger’s short briefing hadn’t mentioned them—but all he caught was a flash of her hair as she vanished into the growing crowd. He swore under his breath, pushed forward after her, but she was gone.

Before Allan could begin a more serious search, a respectful hush fell over the room, the music cutting off sharply. He spun toward the darkness of the windows, expecting to see the first part of the sowing, his heart quickening in his chest—he’d wanted to be at the edge, where he would have the best view—but the windows were still dark. Nothing appeared to be happening outside at all.

Then he noticed that everyone’s attention was focused inward, toward the center of the room.

He shifted forward through the still crowd, until he saw where the guests were parting to allow three Prime Wielders to pass through. The men strode forward with purpose, ignoring everyone—lord, lady, and servant alike—intent on the closed doors opposite the entrance that led to the restricted higher levels of the tower. Their black robes swished about their feet, their hands hidden in the folds of the robes in front of them. They ranged in age, although the youngest couldn’t be less than forty, his hair streaked with gray.

They passed through the room without a word, only the youngest glancing to one side, catching Allan’s gaze, his mouth pressed tight, face lined with intense concentration. As they reached the far doors, opening them and slipping through, one of the guests stepped forward as if to follow them, eyes filled with hatred, then halted abruptly as if catching himself. The man—dressed in a loose green shirt with white ruffles near the neck and sleeve—darted a glance to either side to see if anyone had noticed. The silence broke, the quartet launching into a new aria, conversations resuming with a low murmur that steadily rose back to the same level as before, nearly everyone eyeing the doors where the Primes had gone. The man in the green ruffled shirt cast one last look around, then smiled and began speaking to a woman in a white gown who was holding a bamboo fan.

Allan’s hand slipped toward his sword hilt before he remembered he was wearing the ceremonial uniform and didn’t have a sword, only a knife. He settled back, shifting as the guests drifted around him, keeping the man in the green shirt in sight while he listened in on conversations. But the man appeared to be just another guest, talking to numerous courtiers, flirting with the women, joking with the men. Yet Allan couldn’t help feeling that he was moving with purpose, that he was maneuvering himself into position for something.

The man had stationed himself near the center of the wide bay of windows, Allan a discreet distance to the left, when a woman beside Allan gasped and held out her left arm. “Look! It’s starting! The Wielders have started the sowing!”

Allan frowned down at the woman’s arm, where gooseflesh had broken out, the fine hairs standing on end. The woman next to her shuddered.

“I feel it, too!”

“I only feel a prickling at the base of my neck,” a man said with a disturbed frown.

The first woman smiled and said, smugly, “Some of us are more sensitive to the ley than others.”

Gasps and small shrieks echoed throughout the room as the guests quieted, most edging toward Allan’s position. Allan snorted in derision and glanced down at his own arms surreptitiously. He hadn’t felt anything, but he couldn’t explain the gooseflesh on the woman’s arm or the reaction of the other guests either.

And then it didn’t matter, because the white ley globes hovering above suddenly dimmed. Men cursed, glancing up, and someone cried out, voice strained with fear.

“What’s happening?” someone asked.

A man standing to Allan’s right answered, voice calm, as the ley globes flickered again. “The Primes. They’re using the energy of the Nexus to sow the tower. It’s interrupting the general flow for the network that feeds the city.” He held up his candle. “That must be why they handed out these.”

As he spoke the last word, the ley globes died completely, the entire room plunging into darkness. More than a few of the gathered gentry shouted in consternation, cursing or muttering under their breath. But even as Allan’s eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, he caught the flicker of flames spreading throughout the room. Servants appeared with lit tapers held protectively behind cupped hands, extending them to those who had taken candles. The tension brought on by panic subsided, women chuckling shakily as they used their own candles to light others, a few of the men looking sheepish as the flickering orange light—so different from the steady white of the ley globes—began to fill the room. The flame made the amber of the walls and ceiling glow as if lit from within, pulsing like a heartbeat. Lords and ladies marveled at the transformation in the room, voices hushed as they held their candles aloft, faces suffused with childlike wonder.

Outside, in the darkness beneath the tower, the first glow of ley light pulsed upward. Another gasp spread through the room, this one solemn, and everyone, including Allan, shifted toward the glass windows. Below, the ground between the myriad towers that made up the Grass District glowed with ethereal ley light, concentrated beneath the faceted glass structure that was the Nexus. Except the light of the ley was too fierce, too intense, obscuring the Nexus itself, as if somehow the light had broken free and spilled out into the surrounding land. The Dogs had cleared the paths and roadways below earlier in the day, setting up a restricted zone around the Nexus. Allan checked to make certain the doors leading out to the balcony were closed and locked. As he pressed closer to the glass, he noticed other people outside on the balconies of the towers across from the Nexus and shook his head. Idiots. Hadn’t they been warned? They were too close to the ley!

Then, a gout of light shot upward from the Nexus, like spume against a cliff, or the jets of water in the fountain at the base of the tower. It was followed by more, each higher than the last, until they rose higher than the windows of the Great Hall. Across the way, the figures on the balcony outside panicked, most fleeing inside their tower, but not before one of the spumes cascaded down over the ledge, catching two people in its light. It poured down from the balcony like water, leaving two bodies crumpled behind it. The activity of the light shifted, the focus of the energy concentrating toward a section of Grass that had beencleared and prepared for the new tower.

When the first thick tendrils shot forth from the ground, those pressed closest to the windows jerked backward, stumbling into the people behind them. The vines grew unnaturally fast, stretching into the sky, twining around each other as they rose. Leaves burst from nodules, unfurling in the space of a heartbeat; leaves so large they’d engulf the entire room of lords and ladies whole. The foliage began enclosing the tower, forming its walls, the head rising into the night sky like a bud on a flower. Allan watched in awe, struck dumb by the sheer immensity of it, the raw power he could see but couldn’t feel. Nothing like this had ever occurred in Canter; nothing like this ever would. This was why he’d left, why he’d journeyed to the city, the hope of joining the Dogs burning inside him. In Canter, the most he could hope for was life as a guard for a local merchant. In Erenthrall.…

In Erenthrall, he could be anything he wanted. “Sacrilege!”

Allan turned as the shout broke through the awe that held the group at the windows. He glared around at the surrounding people, most still transfixed by the sowing of the tower, their faces awash in the white light from the Nexus below. But near the center of the windows, people were stepping back, eyes wide in shock.

“It’s a desecration!” a man’s voice bellowed, roaring out above those gathered. “It’s blasphemy! We are cavorting with a power that we cannot control and it is not natural!” Allan shoved forward through the press of guests, thrusting lords and ladies alike aside as a sickening sense of foreboding drove daggers into his gut. Men cursed and stumbled out of his path, wax splattering from their candles, and women shot him black looks. But he focused on the window, where the crush of people had opened up into an empty circle. He couldn’t see the man, but he could hear him as the tirade continued and he knew who it was, knewit even before he caught sight of his green shirt.

“The ley was not meant to be harnessed,” the man cried, his voice rising. “It was not meant to be leashed. We are subverting a natural power, one tied to the earth. Even our ancestors knew this! We can see it in the stones, in the sacred grounds that our ancestors worshipped! They revered this power, gave it the respect it deserves! We abuse it!”

Allan reached the edge of the circle where the press of bodies became too great for him to charge through. He barked, “Dog! Out of my way!” and tried to press forward, but the lords and ladies didn’t move. He could see the green-shirted man now, could see him as the deranged man paced back and forth before the window, the white blaze of the ley behind him as it fountained higher, the writhing vines of the tower struggling upward. He flung his arms wide, and as he did, Allan caught sight of something odd beneath his loose shirt. But the dagger the man suddenly produced distracted him, filling him with a sense of dread. He didn’t have time to wonder how he’d managed to get the blade past the guards, didn’t have time to react at all. The man’s face was strained with righteous anger, eyes blazing with rage as he gestured toward the sowing with the blade in his hand.

“This is the latest desecration, the latest folly of our Baron! The Wielders pervert nature to our needs, twist the ley to their own purposes, suppress the land and its natural laws to build this city, to give us comfort, to provide for us, and it is time to stop! It is time to halt the sacrilege! It is time to return the ley to its proper course!”

Allan heard someone shout his name over the man’s fervor and caught sight of Hagger and two other Dogs on the far side of the room, farther away than Allan and trapped by the crush of bodies. Hagger’s face was livid with pure rage. The Dog snapped his hands in a short, final gesture whose message was clear: “Stop it! End it now!”

Allan spun back to the green-shirted man in time to see him slash down across his own chest with the dagger.

Women screamed, two fainting, and men cried out as liquid spilled outward, splattering the floor, drenching the front of the man’s body. The crowd surged backward and away, the space between the man and the lords suddenly widening. Allan was thrust back, someone’s elbow catching him hard in the side, but with a deep, low growl, he roared again, “Out of my way, damn it!” and grabbed the man before him by the shoulders, hauling him back and to the side. The man fell with a harsh, panicked cry, taking two more guests with him, but opening up a space into the circle. Allan leaped over the fallen lord, even as the green-shirted man lifted his head and arms skyward, even as the sharp scent of oil slammed into Allan’s nostrils with gagging force and he realized that the liquid coating the man’s front wasn’t blood.

“For the ley! For the Kormanley!”

Allan surged across the small space between the lords and ladies and the green-shirted priest of the Kormanley. But the priest ignored him, caught up in the rapture of the moment. He fell to his knees, reached down with his free hand, grabbed one of the white tapered candles that the servants had handed out earlier, and brought the dancing flame to his chest.

Allan heard the whoosh of the fire as it caught in the oil, felt the heat of the flames burn his face as the man was engulfed in the space of a breath. The man screamed, the orange-red fire of the oil in sharp contrast to the still seething white fire of the ley outside the tower windows. Allan counted one heartbeat, two, felt the air sucked from his lungs by the conflagration, noted that the newly sown tower had almost neared completion outside, its bulbous top slowing in its ascent, the leaves folding gently to the tower’s sides—

And then he tackled the pillar of flame the priest had become.

Fire seared his face and hands as they crashed to the amber floor and rolled. He tasted smoke and ash, felt heat through the layers of his uniform, smelled burned flesh and grunted at the beginnings of pain, and then he stopped trying to breathe, held everything tight—his eyes, his chest, the body of the priest—as he rolled back and forth on the floor trying to smother the fire. Screams and shouts filtered through the sizzle and snap of flame. The buttons of his uniform heated up and burned into his skin. His lungs began to ache for air and he caught himself trying to whimper as tears squeezed from his eyes.

And then someone was beating at him with a heavy cloth. He heard Hagger bellow, “Let go! He’s almost out!” and he broke free of the priest and rolled away with a gasp, inhaling harshly. The air reeked of char and oil, but he didn’t care. Hagger smothered him in a heavy tapestry—one of those from the walls—but turned toward the priest, leaving Allan to put himself out. He’d barely moved when the servant from earlier knelt at his side, grabbing the tapestry with two hands and beating it against him where his clothes still smoldered.

“Stop,” Allan murmured. When she continued, her motions frantic, her eyes too wide, he grabbed one of her flailing arms and said, louder, “Stop!”

She tried to pull out of his grasp, then caught herself, some of the panic draining from her gaze.

“I think I’m out,” he said. He tried to smile, but winced and groaned instead. His skin felt waxy and hot in patches, and his entire body throbbed.

The servant snorted, then dropped the tapestry. “He’s out, too,” Hagger said. “Permanently.”

He stood over the priest’s body, glaring down at the man’s shirt in disgust. Kneeling, he pulled back the charred remains of the clothing, some of the skin peeling back with it. He grimaced.

“He had skins tied around his chest,” he said, lifting one of them so that Allan could see, “filled with oil. He intended to kill himself.” He glanced around at the guests, all staying a good ten paces back, some of the women sobbing into their companions’ shoulders, others tending to those who’d fainted. All of their faces were grim or troubled. In a voice pitched so low only Allan and the servant could hear, he said, “And perhaps kill some of the others as well.”

Then he stood, moved to stare down at Allan. He considered him for a long moment, his face unreadable, then nudged Allan’s still smoking arm with one foot.

“Perhaps you’ll make a Dog after all, Pup.”

Chapter Three

The room full of dogs, Wielders, and assorted servants and dignitaries stilled when the double doors that had been opened wide the night before toallow the guests into the hall were flung back by Baron Arent Pallentor. He paused in the entrance, accompanied by Daedallen, captain of the Dogs, and Prime Wielder Augustus. The Baron’s eyes swept the room once, passing over Allan without hesitation, settling on one of the numerous higher-ranking Dogs in the center of the windows where the charred remains of the Kormanley priest still lay. As the Baron strode forward, flanked by Daedallen and Augustus, Allan shifted forward, but Hagger’s hand closed tight on his wrist. Allan winced. His skin was raw from the burns he’d received trying to subdue the priest. His uniform had protected most of his body from serious damage, but his face and hands had been exposed. As he grimaced, he could feel the tightness of the skin beneath his jaw and across his left cheek. The healer that had been called had rubbed in some type of unguent that would help, but he’d said there would be scarring. Allan’s hands had fared slightly better.

Sympathy flashed across Hagger’s face as he caught Allan’s reaction, but he didn’t let go of Allan’s arm. In a voice that would not carry beyond the corner where they stood, he said, “You don’t approach the Baron unless he asks you to, Pup.”

Allan settled back against the wall and Hagger released his grip.

Trying to ignore the cool yet spicy scent of the unguent, Allan focused on the activity near the blackened body. This was as close as he’d ever been to the Baron, the Lord of Grass himself, and he was not what Allan had expected. A few inches shorter than Allan, he was thinner and lankier, his clothes cut to emphasize the angularity of his body. The shirt was a subtle dark blue, stitched with gold thread, his breeches a sleek black, much simpler in style and form than anything the minor lords and ladies had worn the night before. The only ostentatious part of his attire was the gold belt and scabbard, with the rather plain hilt of a short sword visible in the sheath. Allan watched as the Baron moved, fluid and precise, and realized the sword wasn’t an affectation; the Baron knew how to use it. And even though he’d ruled Erenthrall for over sixty years, he appeared to be no more than fifty.