The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2

by Sam Bowring

  The guards saluted and headed off. Jandryn watched them go, then turned back to Tarzi with an appraising expression.

  ‘You seem like you are having a thought, Captain.’

  ‘I wonder if you would accompany us?’

  Tarzi was so used to being ruled out of things that she took a moment to hear his words.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘The cavern is part of a network, so potentially we could poke around for hours without discovering anything. However, as you have said, worms are attracted to happiness – so I wonder if a jolly song would lure one from hiding? Or, indeed, protect morale, if it was being threatened?’

  A mix of emotions ran through Tarzi, not the least of which was surprise. Always she hoped to witness great deeds, but she was frightened by the idea of entering a dark cave crawling with evil creatures. Here was a chance, however, to actually do something, and had she not been lamenting a lack of such purpose just that very morning?

  Besides, Rostigan would no doubt strongly disapprove.

  Noting her hesitation, Jandryn spoke up. ‘Perhaps my suggestion is unwise,’ he said. ‘I should not like explaining to Skullrender that I lost his lady down Althala’s drains.’

  The threat of having the choice withdrawn spurred her to decision. ‘No, I shall come. Fifty of your finest, you said?’

  ‘Aye, and threaders as well.’

  Tarzi nodded. ‘I will come.’

  As they made their way along the southern road out of the city, Tarzi could not quite believe what she was doing. Being surrounded by guards was something of a comfort at least, and there were three threaders with them as well. They seemed more outwardly nervous than anyone else, and conversed amongst themselves in low voices.

  The road led down a hill and, at the bottom, they left it to enter a thick wood. From there they looped back towards Althala, the walls of which could be seen looming above the canopy, atop a cliff on the southern side. Soon she heard a river bubbling, and there, between the trees, ran the Glymph. It was not a wide river, but busy, with curls of mucky froth flowing along the surface. They followed it upstream along a rocky shore, against which skerricks of Althala’s waste collected or caught in reeds. All too soon, they came to a mossy cave at the base of the cliff from which the river emerged. Roots hung over the entrance, and there were ledges of slick rock on either side. The darkness beyond was every bit as forbidding as Tarzi had expected, and the smell was not especially pleasant either.

  As the guards formed up to wait for orders, Jandryn conversed with a small man, one of the castle architects. He gestured into the cave at the right-hand ledge.

  Tarzi swallowed, clutching her lute tightly. She wished that Rostigan were here. Then he would either send her home, or she would feel safer under his watchful gaze.

  ‘All right everyone,’ announced Jandryn, making her jump. Would the worms hear him? But then, she thought, that was what they wanted – for the worms to come to them. That was, in fact, the whole point of her presence.

  ‘We’re heading in. We make for the main cavern, which will take some time to reach. Threaders, light our way – one of you with me at the front, one in the middle, one at the back. We don’t know how many worms to expect, but I reckon we’ll be a match for them.’ He put a hand on his sword. ‘Won’t we?’

  The soldiers muttered affirmatives, nodding to each other. Well, they were brave, Tarzi gave them that.

  ‘When we find the bastards,’ said Jandryn, ‘we want to kill them quickly, before their magic can infect us. So weapons out at all times, whatever you favour.’

  Soldiers drew swords or notched arrows in bows.

  ‘If we see nothing before reaching the cavern, we may have to trick the beasts from hiding. Luckily we have a fine minstrel with us.’ Jandryn shot Tarzi a fierce grin, which she returned meekly. ‘Some of you may even have heard her sing already.’

  There were a few friendly nods and a woman next to Tarzi slapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘Is everyone ready?’ said Jandryn. ‘Are there any questions? Very well! Keep your wits about you, stay together, and everyone head up the right-hand side. Threaders!’

  The threaders set about sparking their torches to life with flints and daggers. As they flared, they waggled their fingers over the flames, growing them taller and tighter like amorphous fiery staffs. After a brief argument amongst their number, one of them came forward to stand with Jandryn. Together they led the way into the cave, the soldiers following closely. When it was Tarzi’s turn to clamber up the wet incline under the roots, she was relieved by how bright the light made things inside. An orange glow bounced off the water and chased reflections around the tunnel, which widened ahead of them. She trod carefully, for the ledge was slippery with moisture and moss, and there were loose rocks underfoot. She had always been nimble, however, and uneven ground did not worry her as long as she could see it. Water churning against the ledge sent a cold spray against her legs, and she wished she had known the day would bring her to such a place as this, for she would have chosen trousers over a skirt. What frightened her most were the dark holes and passages that appeared in the walls they passed, like so many open mouths which the torchlight did not penetrate. It would not matter how many guards stood around her if a worm chose the moment of her passing to snap out of the darkness.

  As they continued on the air grew danker. Frequently she caught a whiff of human stench, or something like old vegetables rotting. Cave skitterers – how she hated them – dodged the light, retreating into their cracks and crevices. It would be easy, she reflected, to lose oneself to despair in a place like this, with or without any Worms of Regret. She tried to imagine happier places, lazy days lying in bed with Rostigan.

  They passed a steel drain poking out of the roof, a sign that they were now moving beneath the city. It was positioned above the river, and from it dripped a steady trail of brown liquid, making Tarzi wrinkle her nose. As she watched it hit the river, she thought for a moment that she saw something moving under the surface. She gasped and grabbed the arm of the closest soldier, pointing. He sprang to the water’s edge, bow trained into the river, and others quickly did the same … but it was hard to see anything beneath the frothy swell, especially with three giant torches casting light from different angles.

  ‘False alarm, I think,’ said the soldier and, after peering for a few moments more, the others agreed and moved on.

  Tarzi followed uneasily. Maybe she had seen something, maybe she hadn’t – glistening black skin, just for a moment?

  The sides of the tunnel fell away into blackness as they entered a large cavern, where the torches less easily found the edges of their surrounds. Drains glinted everywhere, haphazardly purging their contents at different rates, some trickling, others dry, others sloppily flowing. Some stuck out of the roof directly above the river, while others were in walls near ground level, their contents leaking across the path in runs to the water. Some of the filth was piled up, clogging that which followed.

  ‘Clean-up crew hasn’t been through for a while,’ Tarzi heard the architect mutter.

  The stench was bad, but it wasn’t solely caused by Althala’s waste. Up ahead, on either side of the river, she recognised what she knew to be worm mounds. Sheets of hardened brown slime peppered with salvaged objects sloughed against walls, like fetid collapsed tents. Some of the objects, she saw, were grimily shining bones. How many beggars and vagrants had been dragged down here unnoticed? From where she stood, looking over the heads of soldiers, she could make out at least three mounds – did that mean three worms, or one worm with three beds?

  Jandryn was still leading them on and had apparently not realised what the mounds actually were. Quickly she pushed through the crowd to catch him up.

  ‘Captain!’

  ‘Yes, Tarzi?’

  ‘We should stop.’

  ‘Yes, the architect says this is the main cavern – it will be easier to fight here than along confined ledges.’


  ‘But do you see that?’

  She pointed at the nearest mound, some twenty paces away. He squinted at it, and she saw him register the bones.

  ‘And there, and there?’ She pointed out the others.

  ‘Halt!’ called Jandryn. ‘Cluster up, backs to each other!’

  As the soldiers hastened to obey, a low gurgle came from somewhere over the water.

  ‘Light!’ said Jandryn. A threader bent her torch in the direction of the sound … and lit up an empty drain, dripping with slime.

  ‘They know we’re here, I think,’ said Jandryn. ‘Tarzi, get into the centre of us all.’

  As she squeezed past shadowy faces, she saw that some wore strange, empty expressions – mouths muttering soundlessly, glassy eyes wandering.

  ‘This is ill-considered,’ someone muttered. ‘We should not have come here.’

  A few heads nodded and, in that moment, Tarzi felt inclined to agree. They had no idea how many of the monsters were here, or from which direction they would come. Stupid that she had allowed Jandryn to bring her to this foul place, all because of his misplaced sense of pride and valour. She was far too easily led.

  She was weak.

  Rostigan would be disappointed in her, and rightly so. She had placed herself in danger for no good reason – how did he manage to put up with her at all, when she was so witless? She should have waited for him to return, to tell her what to do. Making up her own mind was always a mistake. No wonder she sometimes felt as though he did not really love her. Why should he?

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. Greyness was encroaching, almost tangible in the way that it smothered any happy thought before it could be had.

  Fight it, she told herself.

  ‘Fight it!’ she growled at those around her.

  A nearby wall rumbled as something large moved through hidden tubes … there was a splash in the river, too big for any simple slap of water on rock …

  She glanced at Jandryn, who was staring off at nothing, his sword slowly lowering to his side. Pushing back towards him, she grabbed him firmly by the arm.

  ‘Jandryn – they are circling us. Do not give in to sadness!’

  He blinked at her forlornly. ‘She’s only toying with me. Having her fun. I am nothing more to her than idle amusement.’

  ‘Jandryn!’

  She shook him, jostling focus into his eyes. For a moment, she thought he had it.

  ‘Ready, people!’ he said. ‘Swords at the ready! Bows …’

  His gusto petered out and confusion crinkled his brow, as if he had lost track of his thoughts.

  If she could not keep him cognisant of the situation, they were doomed. They would die here. She would die here.

  She held fast to her lute, as if it were her anchor to reality. The instrument defined her, reminded her of who she was, her purpose here. She would not let them use it against her, like they had that morning.

  She started to play. At first the notes seemed muted by the running water, evaporating away into the high space. Steeling herself, she played harder, faster – a happy tune completely incongruous to the muck of their surrounds. And then, not sure if she was trying to raise the mood, or goad the creatures that wound closer in the dark before those who would slay them lost all hope, she launched into song.

  I need no roses, said the girl,

  No jewels and no crown.

  Golden coins are not for me,

  Nor silken evening gown.

  Then how to win your heart, said he,

  What can I do to show

  How achingly I love you?

  And win you as my beau?

  Take me for a walk, said she,

  Down to the willow trees.

  Take your hand in my hand

  And whisper sweet whimsies.

  Tell me lies about the birds,

  Fibs about the fish.

  Twine the reeds about my wrist

  Then snap and make a wish.

  The tune was an old favourite, sung in taverns across Aorn. She thought familiarity might help, and gladly noticed that some of the others were beginning to mouth the words.

  ‘Join in if you like!’ she called.

  How will I win your heart, said he,

  What can I do to show

  How high that I esteem you?

  And win you as my beau?

  Steal bread from the kitchens,

  Flee the angry cooks,

  Hide inside the library in

  A castle made from books.

  A soft scrape sounded in a drain nearby. Something bulged at the opening, its constricted bulk expanding as it left its confines to spill to the floor. A nightmarish head reared up, and what Tarzi had heard of worms did nothing to stop cold fear shooting through her at the sight of it. The creature’s oval face, carved from the same black flesh as the rest of it, was disturbingly human in shape. A wide nose hung above long thick lips, in which – not in the gums, but embedded in the lips – were rows of inwards-curling hook-like fangs. Against the sides of its bald, smooth head, large ears were flattened, now slowly peeling free in the open air. The eyes were the least human aspect – a smattering of tiny silver dots across the brow.

  Beholding the worm filled Tarzi with dread, and made her swallow her song for a moment. How could such aberration come to be? Regret had made these creatures and, looking upon this one now, she wondered if he had used people somehow in their creation, a sickening thought.

  The worm’s tail flopped free with a slurp, its head rising higher.

  ‘Stand ready everyone,’ Jandryn said. ‘Bows, ready?’

  It was not the confident command of a captain, more the plaintive question of a child.

  Sing, Tarzi, she told herself. Bring them back.

  She gave a lurching, resounding strum.

  But what of wealth, said the prince,

  I offer you so much,

  Lands as far as you can see,

  Courtiers and such!

  A second foul head rose from the river, water streaming over its glittering brow, dripping off the trails of mucus dangling from its mouth.

  I’ll shower you with riches,

  Cast petals at your feet,

  Stage bouts for your amusement

  ’Twixt champions elite.

  The soldiers stood watching the worms dumbly, their weapons unraised. Tarzi began to panic – if they didn’t act soon they would lose themselves forever. She edged closer to Jandryn and directed a firm kick to his shin. He gave a little cry and shot her a distressed look.

  ‘Attack,’ she prompted. ‘For Althala!’

  He frowned at her – then, thankfully, gave a nod.

  ‘Attack,’ she said again. ‘Say the word!’

  ‘Attack!’ he shouted suddenly, making soldiers – and himself – start. His eyes kindled like a spark from fading ashes, and he turned about to slap a man across the face. ‘Come on, you fools! Don’t stand there with arrows pointed at your toes!’

  The first worm gave a long, rasping sigh, and grinned horribly.

  ‘Rouse yourselves! This scum has been eating our people! Make them sorry!’

  Soldiers shook themselves and arrows finally left bows to fly across the cavern at First-worm. Some bounced from its hide, opening up jets of white blood. Others held, though failed to sink in far – and, with a shake, First-worm dislodged them. More jets hissed from its shallow wounds, misting the air around it. All the while Tarzi strummed desperately, as if the happiness of her tune was the only thing that shielded them.

  No thank you sir, said she,

  Those things don’t interest me.

  But please princess, he begged,

  How will I win the heart of thee?

  An arrow shot into First-worm’s open mouth, and it wobbled backwards with a wet wheeze. Tarzi was glad to see the mocking grin knocked from its lips, but the feeling was short-lived, for the creature snaked forward with silver eyes gleaming. At the same time, River-worm lunged towards the shore, opening i
ts mouth wider than it should have been able to clamp down over a guard’s head gouging mouth-hooks into his neck. Even as he was being swallowed the guard stabbed desperately, and managed a true blow that slid into a join between River-worm’s segments. It released him to coil backwards, and he gasped, his head and shoulders coated with filth and blood. From his expression, he was clearly amazed to be alive.

  First-worm coiled up and snapped at the front row of soldiers, whose swords competed to fend it off. Blows nicked it, yet it kept on, its tail thrashing across the floor to knock soldiers from their feet. It darted in and pulled back holding a struggling man, flinging him hard against the wall.

  Despite its wound, River-worm twisted about and surged again at the shore. It ignored the soldiers at the edge, rising high above their heads while rippling its bulk out of the way of their swords, taking their arrows without apparent care, and swaying its head back and forth. It seemed to be looking right at Tarzi, as if it was trying to find a clear path to strike at her.

  It’s the song, she thought. It’s driving them mad!

  Remind me of a boy, she said,

  Who I used to know.

  ’Ere we were lords and ladies,

  Not so long ago.

  Slime splattered her strumming fingers, making the strings slippery. Slowly she turned her eyes upwards. Silently sliding from a drain in the roof, a third worm dangled downwards. It yawned widely, raining more slime upon her.

  It would be so much easier, she thought, just to give in. Moments and all would be done with, the struggle of life ended, along with all its ugliness.

  The worm dropped a few more handspans towards her, and somehow the dark of its maw seemed inviting.

  Someone lifted and carried her, pushing her to the ground and falling on top as Third-worm crashed down where she had been standing. It uncoiled in the soldiers’ midst, knocking them outwards, several into the river, as River-worm dove from view.