The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2

by Sam Bowring

  ‘Karrak!’ boomed Forger. He seized Rostigan by the shoulders and hoisted him up to his eye level. Rostigan sensed the power in that grip, wondered if there was any chance he could match it.

  ‘By the Spell,’ breathed Forger, ‘I recognise that glower anywhere. It is you!’ He looked like he didn’t know whether to hug Rostigan, or rip him apart.

  ‘Set me down.’

  Forger blinked. ‘Oh! Sorry. I’m just … I wasn’t expecting … goodness me!’

  Back on his feet, Rostigan strode past Forger towards the tree, and quickly Forger fell into step beside him. From the corner of his stony glare, Rostigan could see Forger staring at him in wonder, disbelieving that he was here.

  ‘What,’ said Rostigan, ‘have you been doing to my city, brother?’

  That broke the spell.

  ‘Your city?’ Forger chortled. ‘I’m afraid you haven’t done much to shore up that claim, my dear.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Who is this man?’

  They arrived before the tortured soldier, who was holding his head as far away from the crow as he could, while keeping his remaining eye firmly shut.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Forger. He pressed down on an arrow, then released it, setting it vibrating in the soldier’s flesh. ‘Just a fellow we caught. I thought he might know about a secret entrance into the castle. They have those sometimes.’

  ‘I’d know if they did. So would you.’

  ‘Maybe they put one in after our time? It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if there was one, I doubt a lowly soldier like this would know about it. I’m just having a little fun.’

  ‘Mmm. Do you want me to ask him anyway?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Rostigan threaded words into the man’s head.

  ‘Soldier, tell us – do you know of any way into the castle besides the main gate?’

  The man dared to squint his eye, and through flecked lips he spat his answer.

  ‘No, damn you!’

  Forger shrugged. ‘They fought us on the city walls,’ he said, waving to the north, ‘but I think they expected to hold us back longer. Once we breached, they retreated to the castle. That was always the king’s plan, I think – you remember what a stronghold that place is, and there’s a whole army’s worth of them in there now. Not to worry. Battering rams are being made and we’ll eventually pound our way through the castle gate. Not much to do but wait. Care for a shot?’

  He offered the bow.

  Rostigan curled his lip. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Try not to hit anything important and we can make him last for a few more.’

  They moved back from the soldier, who had heard every word of their exchange, and was beginning to blubber incomprehensively. Rostigan knew he would have to follow through with Forger’s suggestion in order to have any hope with him … unless …

  Dig deep, he told the crow.

  The crow stabbed into the soldier’s empty socket, all the way up to its neck, and skewered his brain. The man gave a shuddering, piercing cry, then mercifully fell limp.

  Begone.

  The crow cawed and flapped away.

  Rostigan scowled. ‘Worthless creatures.’

  ‘They obey you, but only a little, eh?’ Forger was regarding him suspiciously. ‘That’s what you always said.’

  He took the bow from Rostigan and flung it away.

  ‘Come. You and I have much to discuss.’

  They found a tavern, empty and with a ceiling high enough so that Forger did not have to stoop.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Forger said, gesturing at the stools on one side of the bar as he moved around the other. He turned to the barrels and drew them each an ale, pushing Rostigan’s across to him like some hulking parody of a barman. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I would toast to brothers reunited, if I thought I could trust you in the slightest.’

  ‘I’m aggrieved to hear you say that.’

  Forger shrugged. ‘Can you blame me? First you disappear without a trace, then word comes you’ve been helping Yalenna and Braston.’

  Rostigan sipped his ale. Here it was time for a tale concocted, and he worried greatly that it would not be believed. As Karrak, he had been adept at telling lies – how else had he convinced his brother to murder their father in order to make his own attack on Borry seem justified? But he had also been able to use his gifted tongue to reinforce untruth. Neither Forger, nor any Warden, would succumb to such surreptitious seduction.

  He told himself he did not need the aid of any threading. Had he not effectively lived a lie for many years? He had rid himself of the past, reinvented himself as the good warrior, even looked his own Tarzi in the eyes and made her believe he was a mortal man, without ever once stamping words into her mind. Maybe Tarzi could even help him here, with lessons in theatricality and staying in character.

  ‘Without a trace!’ he spat. ‘By the Spell, you have been a fool.’

  Forger looked abashed. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Do you remember the last night we drank together?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We were at the height of our powers, our empire far-reaching, our neighbours turned vassals to be squeezed as tight as we pleased. I had just enslaved half the Plains, by the Spell! Did you think I would willingly give that all up? When our dreams were coming to bear, and further rewards were within our grasp, the sweet beckoning of lands unviolated?’

  Forger frowned. ‘I did not. I suspected foul play, and thus I searched for you. But when even Salarkis could not locate you, I feared that you were dead.’

  Rostigan slowly shook his head. ‘I did not die.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘After we spoke, I fell to thinking. The corruption was growing worse, you remember, and I was drunk and dissatisfied, imprudent. So I went to the Spire.’

  ‘The Spire!’

  ‘Yes. I thought perhaps I could find a way to heal the Wound. What good in ruling the world, when it rots beneath our very feet?’

  As if on cue, there came a rumbling, and they waited tensely as the room shook. A painting fell from the wall and glasses clinked along shelves, but it passed without further disruption.

  ‘I wanted,’ continued Rostigan, ‘to save the world, brother … for us.’

  Forger shivered and drank deeply. ‘You should not have gone to that awful place.’

  Rostigan slammed down his mug. ‘Bah! This ale is thin as piss. Is there nothing back there with a little colour?’

  Forger fished about and drew a bottle from beneath the bar. He took a sniff, then poured thick amber liquid into both mugs. Rostigan was pleased – the drunker Forger got, the better. A slick of liquor down his throat might lubricate the swallowing of this wild story. Rostigan led by example, tipping back the mug as if he downed water, and wiped his lips with a grimace.

  ‘It is good, in the end, that I went to the Spire, though the cost was great indeed. I sat there for a long while, staring up at the Wound. Trying to work it out, you see … but perhaps I stared too deeply, too wantonly. I began to notice things about the patterns I beheld, behind the world’s veil. A remarkable thing, brother – I began to understand the Spell itself.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Regret did, and he was born from woman just like you and I. Why couldn’t I learn to affect the Spell as he did? Thus I sat until I perceived the ebb and flow of things, of time and space. I stared into greatness, lost in a vast expanse of patterns, awed and afraid, and eventually I grew to comprehend what had to be done! How to stitch the Wound, seal it up forever! Ah!’ He took a slug direct from the bottle, and pushed it over to the wide-eyed Forger.

  ‘Why didn’t you then?’

  ‘I tried. I tried, oh indeed! But I came to the conclusion I could not do it alone. The process is difficult to explain, something I think I must show rather than tell, but it equates to a kind of a balancing act. I needed others of equal power to myself, or greater. Wardens working together might achieve it.’

  ‘So w
hy did you not come to me?’

  ‘Because …’ Rostigan shook his head. ‘I had not realised … even now I am not quite sure where I lost it …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Time, brother. During all this process of discovery, unknown to me much time passed. I had, in a way, disappeared into the Spell, where even Salarkis could not find me. When I came back to myself, lying there on the Spire roof, it was years later than I expected.’

  Forger took a long draw on the bottle. ‘Horse shit,’ he growled. It was not so much a statement of disbelief, but rather anger that such a thing had happened. ‘I told you going there was a bad idea.’

  ‘I did not even guess right away, how long it had been,’ said Rostigan. ‘Excited by what I’d learned, I travelled to find you. Dead, I was told, imagine my dismay! All the Wardens dead. I was incensed, and for a while burned hot. I searched for anyone remaining, but each and every one of us … Even Braston and Yalenna, the good ones,’ he spat the word, ‘killed themselves, the idiots, thinking that would stop the corruption! Mergan was my only hope, but he was nowhere to be found. Dead too, I thought. Ah, and I howled, for you and my lost empire.’

  ‘You could have taken it back.’

  ‘Could I? When I had to start over, and knew the price of using our gifts better than ever? No. Instead I wandered, searching for threaders who might be able to help me, but none I found were powerful enough. WHAT CAN I DO?’ He rose from the bar, turned to kick a table over. ‘What can I do, I beseeched the Spell! Show me a way! Deliver me an ally! For years I have searched.’ He was tearing the place apart now, using his sword to smash chairs and slash paintings. ‘I shouted and called, but no answer came. After a time, I almost lost heart. I could neither use my gifts, nor heal the Wound by myself. And then, finally, after a long time waiting …’ He spun about, a cracked smile breaking ‘… the Spell shat you all back out.’

  ‘And still,’ said Forger, ‘you did not come to me?’

  Rostigan could see the liquor was having an effect, making Forger emotional.

  ‘You could have told me everything,’ said Forger, ‘yet you went to Braston. You killed Stealer!’

  ‘Don’t get ahead of me,’ snapped Rostigan. He sighed, and stabbed his sword down amidst the broken furniture. ‘I did not immediately realise the extent of the Warden’s return. By chance, when it happened, I was near Silverstone, just after it had fallen victim to Stealer. I discovered empty space where the city had stood, and spied her fleeing the scene. I gave chase, caught her up. I was glad to discover her, thought I could make her see that she had to help me. I suppose I had forgotten what she was like. She did not care, of course, and was not remotely interested in serving the greater good, even when it was in her own damn interests to do so. She would not promise to stop using her gift, despite being the worst of us at causing damage. To rip entire things out of existence … not just cities and forests, but even the very taste of apples. You remember her, don’t you?’

  ‘Selfish,’ agreed Forger. ‘Unfriendly. Lonesome.’

  ‘Yes. And knowing she would keep wreaking ruin for winsome purpose, my hand was forced, brother. I killed her because I had to – I did not know the act would garner me her power. At least now that I have it, I can disavow using it.

  ‘I began to hear rumours that other Wardens were reappearing in the very places they had died. I did not know where you had been struck down, though, nor exactly where poison had overcome Despirrow … nor had I ever visited Dapplewood, where Salarkis met his end. Thus I was left with Yalenna and Braston, the only ones whose lives had ended somewhere I could travel to. I felt that they, at least, would listen to what I had to say. It was difficult, for I knew it was them who had killed you … yet I convinced them that time had changed me and, if nothing else, we shared a common goal. I persuaded them to help me heal the Wound.’

  ‘And did they?’

  ‘We were going to try, but Braston was distracted by discovering Despirrow’s whereabouts – you know the magnitude of enmity between those two. If you are with us, Braston charged me, you will help us stop him. I told him Despirrow was too valuable, yet Braston could not be made to believe that he would ever aid us. In order to placate Braston, I had to pretend to hunt Despirrow. I had opportunity to kill him too … I gave a convincing show of trying to do so, when in fact it was I who allowed him to escape. A good compromise, I thought … until he fled to you, and you killed him instead.’

  ‘For the same reason you did Stealer. He used his gift without regard for the consequences.’

  ‘I understand. I do not begrudge your actions. Anyway, with so many of us dead, I knew my options were dwindling. Braston’s end was unfortunate – I never thought I would say such a thing – but at least, with him gone, I was finally able to sway Yalenna into letting me appeal to you. I have promised her that, after we heal the Wound, her and I will finish you for good.’

  ‘Really?’ Forger had a slight slur. ‘That’s nice to know.’

  ‘Whereas in actuality, once we have used her, we can get rid of her! But that,’ he gave a wave, ‘can wait. Mergan – have you heard? – has gone mad with his internment and leads the Unwoven. He has convinced them he is Lord Regret returned!’

  ‘Mergan?’ said Forger incredulously.

  ‘Aye! Far from being what he was, Mergan is well beyond listening to reason. So while Yalenna is on our side, we can – listen, this is masterful – combine forces with her and the Althalan troops at her command, to kill the Unwoven and Mergan both!’

  ‘Why should we bother with them? Why don’t we go to the Spire and heal the Wound directly?’

  ‘Where is your sense of fun, Forger? To set our enemies on each other, to weaken them in one fell swoop? There is opportunity here not to be missed. Besides,’ he added, ‘did you not always hate the Unwoven? We will have to deal with them sooner or later. Why not sooner, while we have Yalenna’s help? As for Mergan, he can be the most formidable of all of us – would you rather face him alone, or with help? On top of which, once we free the world of his corruption, and take his threads, it may be easier to heal the Wound.’

  ‘I admit,’ said Forger, ‘it does sound rather appealing. Wait on, though … what of Salarkis?’

  ‘Still alive, far as I know, but Mergan has him captured.’

  ‘Captured? The slipperiest of eels?’

  ‘Yes, although I don’t know how. He managed to send us a message from the Spire, to let us know some of what has happened. Since then we have not heard from him.’

  Forger drank again. ‘Nothing is ever simple.’

  ‘But it is! Come with me, join Yalenna and I in killing Mergan and his army! Be wise brother. Be wise, and then we can seal the Wound, and be rid of the others for good. We can be the last ones standing, possessing the strength of every Warden into the bargain.’

  He held out his hand.

  ‘So, will you help me, brother?’

  Forger stared at the offered hand, the warmth of liquor seeping through his brain. He was enough of a critical thinker to know he wasn’t much of one, and although he desperately wanted to believe Karrak, to simply accept all his claims and be done with it, it was all so very confusing. His friend seemed much like the man he remembered – all scowls and violence, his lank fringe falling across his glittering eyes, almost masking the furrows that crinkled his brow – but Forger had grown used to the idea that Karrak no longer loved him. Hadn’t he? Or had he been longing for a moment such as this, for Karrak to turn up and somehow explain away his previous actions? And, if that was the case, what bothered him now that his wish had been granted? He did accept that closing the Wound was an important undertaking in his own self interest, that the Unwoven were an imposing threat who needed dealing with, and that Mergan was a powerful enemy much better off dead, so did it matter what route he took to reach those ends?

  ‘Brother?’

  Karrak still waited.

  Well, thought Forger, there will be time to think it all thro
ugh. No matter the truth, it would be prudent to appear malleable. Then he could watch his old friend for a while, and even if the perplexing tale turned out to be an elaborate falsehood, he could make Karrak do a thing or two to prove his loyalty in the meantime.

  ‘Of course!’ He clasped Karrak’s hand, took another swig from the bottle, and passed it over. ‘To brothers reunited, after all!’

  ‘Ha! Good.’ Karrak drank and flung the bottle away. ‘Empty! Why are bottles always empty?’

  ‘Let’s find another.’

  As Forger rummaged under the bar, questions bubbled away in his head. He dare not ask too many – better to wait and watch, he thought – but maybe there was one or two.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘once we close the Wound, what of our gifts then? Can we continue to use them, or will they persist in degrading things?’

  Karrak was drunkenly trying to slide his sword back into place across his back.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘I have thought about that, a little. I believe, from what I have discovered, that once the Wound is closed, everything will be much better. Think of it this way – as a normal, human wound. Say you rip off someone’s finger.’

  ‘A bit basic for the likes of me, ho ho!’

  ‘Just say that you do. Or someone else did. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The point is, the bastard’s finger is off. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now, say you poke at the stump. You prod it, flick it, tap it with a spoon. Shove little twigs in there and twist them around. Various things like that.’

  ‘Sounds diverting.’

  ‘Aye, but don’t worry about that. Just think of the effect.’

  ‘Well … pain?’

  ‘But also blood. Pus. The wound would fester because you don’t let it alone. The more you prod it, the more filth leaks out. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, what if you did all those same things to an intact finger? Poke it, prod it, tap a spoon on it. Grind twigs and all that. What then?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s right, nothing.’