Shattering the Ley Read Online Free PDF Page B

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.”

Three
    T HE ROOM FULL OF DOGS, Wielders, and assorted servants and dignitaries stilled when the double doors that had been opened wide the night before to allow the