Shattering the Ley by Joshua Palmatier

away from the corner and back toward their homes.

    Allan watched as the team of Dogs charged the front door, bursting through into the interior with a splintering of wood and harsh roars as the lead, Range, ordered the others to fan out. More crashes followed, glass breaking, shifting from the front rooms into the back and up to the second story. Allan followed the movements of the men with his eyes, even though he couldn’t see anything. He could picture it in his mind, though. He’d led three such raids over the past week, the Dogs stepping up their hunt for the Kormanley priests and their followers as the Wielders—in particular Prime Wielder Augustus—prepared for the upcoming unveiling. The sowing of the tower had only been the first step, according to the Wielders. The real event wouldn’t happen for another two weeks.
    And Baron Arent wanted nothing to go wrong. The attack and self-immolation in the tower during the sowing had sent ripples through the aristocracy and the Baron had taken his rage out on the Dogs.
    Hagger nudged his arm. “Three kids just bolted toward a side street. Should I send men after them?”
    Allan turned, caught sight of the three as two of them made the corner. The third, a young girl with light brown hair and a narrow face, spun back to watch, her eyes terrified. He held her gaze, then turned back to the house. He knew the question was a test. Hagger was the leader of this squad; the decision would be his, not Allan’s. But he answered. “No. They’re not worth the effort.”
    Inside, something large and solid crashed to a floor, followed by a woman’s vitriolic cursing and a man’s animalistic roar of rage.
    “That’s our cue,” Hagger said, and began trotting toward the building, hand falling to the sword strapped to his side. Allan followed a few short paces behind.
    They passed through the outer door and into a room whose furniture had been trashed, chairs and tables tossed to the floor, strewn with the broken glass and pottery of lanterns, plates, and what appeared to be urns. The sharp scent of pickling brine permeated the space, vinegar burning Allan’s eyes. The shouts of the other Dogs were everywhere, the eight men calling out to each other as Hagger barreled through the rooms, all in as much disarray as the first. One of the men shouted, “Downstairs, downstairs!” and suddenly Hagger and Allan were pounding down a flight of steep steps into a torch-lit basement lined with crumbling mudbrick and makeshift shelves filled with sealed pots. One wall had been cleared, the shards of clay and the watery contents strewn across the floor—Allan couldn’t tell what had been pickled—but the stench was horrendous in the confined space. He tried to take shallow breaths, blinked away the tears, and caught sight of the far wall.
    The shelves had been torn away and were now a splintered wreck on the basement floor, exposing a narrow doorway leading into the basement of the house next door. Lantern light shone through, blocked as Hagger passed the Dog guarding the door and ducked down to enter. Allan followed.
    As he straightened on the other side, Hagger stepping out of his way, he found a woman and man trussed up in the center of the room, kneeling on a stretch of carpet. The man’s nose had been broken and blood covered his upper lip and dripped from his chin. A bruise had begun to form on the woman’s face. As Hagger entered, she spit at his feet. The elder Dog merely chuckled and scanned the room.
    Lanterns hung from the ceiling, illuminating a wall of texts, scattered tables and chairs, and a banner bearing a vertical squiggly line with a straight line branching off from it. One table held a few waterskins and a stack of parchment.
    Hagger’s attention returned to the two captives. Allan moved toward the table bearing the waterskins. The strange banner hung above it. One of the Dogs shifted out of his way as he approached.
    “Are you Kormanley?” Hagger asked. When