The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2

by Sam Bowring

  That’s right! What am I doing anyway, barking orders, counting rations?

  ‘By the breaking Spell,’ he exclaimed, ‘I do indeed feel like a hearty helping of rations!’

  He made his way down the slope towards a roaring bonfire, where greasy-jawed Unwoven waved meat at him in greeting. Even as he joined them to tuck in with gusto, he couldn’t help but think they really should stop eating horses. It wasn’t like they had many left.

  Ah, well – the Unwoven could run, and had the stamina to last. The question was, where should they go?

  From the reports of his scouts (another concept he’d introduced to his people), forces from Althala and the Plains Kingdom were converging upon them from the south and east. From what he could gather, they would arrive at roughly the same time. He could wait for them here, then be off to new lands after they were dealt with … maybe to Althala? Perhaps he and the Unwoven would even stay there a while, enjoying what the place had to offer? They didn’t have to take over the world in one big swoop. They could do it slowly – unconfined by mountains, his children could breed with abandon and spread naturally. And he, their immortal ruler, could watch them dominate in every direction.

  Don’t be stupid, he thought, and wondered what he meant. What had he been thinking about? Ah, yes – the two enemy armies. It would be unwise to wait here if they were going to arrive at the same time. Better to go to one of them while they were divided.

  ‘It’s time to leave,’ he told Scarbrow, picking sinew from his teeth.

  ‘My lord, do you wish dancers to watch us from on high, and send fliers to us when the time is right?’

  Mergan glanced at the Peaks uncomfortably – the truth was he would prefer no silkjaws, but he could not think of a reasonable excuse. Besides, they would add a valuable swell to his ranks.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  He finished the meat he’d been chewing and clambered back onto his horse. He would have to make sure that this horse, at least, did not get eaten.

  ‘Unwoven!’ he called. ‘It’s time for a really big raid. A raid on the world! How does that sound?’

  Widespread nodding and grunting was his answer.

  ‘First we head east, to attack the Plainsfolk! Follow me!’

  He gave a strange, undulating roar, kicked his horse, and off he rode.

  Are they coming?

  Thousands of voices issued up behind him, the ground shaking with their pounding feet. He glanced over his shoulder, saw that his people were leaving most of the supplies behind, and laughed.

  Ahead of the Althalan army, the land stretched coarse and yellow all the way to the mountains. Yalenna rode down the line from Loppolo, who she still avoided whenever possible. He was surrounded by officers and cohorts, and growing bolder every day, though she supposed it mattered little. As long as he was pointed in the right direction, doing what was needed, what did she care if he considered himself ruler in his head?

  She found her vision sliding to his pattern, to remind herself of the blessing she had given him.

  May you always have happy dreams.

  Somehow it did not seem right anymore – it had been given when she had been trying to comfort a king dethroned by her friend. Now that Loppolo was back in charge, it was too trivial – here was a man who spoke for many, which should keep him up at night. She waved her fingers at him surreptitiously, undoing the blessing, discarding its shreds to float away. In its place, she put something new.

  May you make good choices.

  There – more befitting, and not solely about him.

  Other blessings left her too, random bundles off to find homes in those around her. If she had tried, back in the castle, to keep herself segregated from the populace, certainly that time was over. At least the general mood was improved by various good things happening to the people around her. A happy moment here, a newly discovered talent there, an old hurt removed, a past sin forgiven – it all added up.

  To a cloud of corruption, she thought grimly.

  Jandryn rode up beside her, holding something in his hand.

  Things had been good between them since taking to the march. Perhaps it was because she had told him about his blessing, or because Rostigan wasn’t around to confuse things, or maybe just because they were finally aligned in a task. She did not question it too deeply, was simply glad that each night she had someone to lie next to. At first he had tried to keep his visits to her tent a secret. In a camp of thousands, however, even though they were careful to spend their time together quietly – sometimes more quietly than Yalenna cared for – it did not take long for rumours to circulate. Finally, she had been able to convince him that it did not matter. Why should he care if others knew about them? Because of some misguided notion of his about protecting her honour?

  Walk up to the tent door and enter, she had told him, without care for who is watching.

  He had come to see that, if anything, knowledge of his being the Priestess’s consort made other soldiers hold him in awe. Most of it was respectful, although there was some backslapping she did not care for in the peripheries, but she supposed she had to take the good with the bad.

  Jandryn cleared his throat and held out a small blue flower. ‘Not many of these about,’ he said. ‘But when I saw one that wasn’t yet tromped on …’

  She took it from him with a smile, while he scowled around at others nearby who were chuckling and nudging each other.

  It was the first time he had done something like that in public.

  You should be proud to be with me, she had told him.

  I am. Oh, I am, I promise you.

  It is permissible to show it.

  Was there a future for them? Yalenna wasn’t sure. She didn’t even know if they would live through the coming days. Or, if she did make it to the Spire roof to give away her gifts, would that change things? Would all her blessings fade away? To be lucky in love … would the departure of such words bring her out of some trance, in which she considered Jandryn worthy, when really he was not? She decided she did not believe that any blessing of her own held such sway as to rob her of her senses. There was no doubt that she grew increasingly fond of him, and his silly way of taking everything extremely seriously. As a result, she found herself ever more concerned about his safety once they clashed with the Unwoven. He was full of bravado, eager to prove himself, and she feared he would charge too brashly into the fray. She promised herself she would look over him, and maybe she needed a ruse to keep him nearby.

  ‘You will protect me, in the upcoming battle,’ she said, slipping the flower behind her ear, ‘by staying close at all times.’

  ‘Of course, my lady,’ he said, looking pleased.

  Something was happening over by the king. A threader – Kalia was her name, Yalenna remembered – was gesticulating excitedly.

  ‘Let’s go and see what the news is.’

  They arrived to find the king stroking his chin furiously, as if he might milk wisdom from it. Around him his officers wore bleak expressions.

  ‘What’s the message?’ Yalenna asked.

  ‘From a Plainsfolk threader,’ Kalia said, ‘to the east.’

  ‘Where their army marches,’ muttered Loppolo.

  ‘What did it say, girl?’

  ‘Attacked by Unwoven. Too many. Silkjaws also. Are you close? Please aid us.’

  Yalenna looked eastwards. Across the Ildiun she thought she could make out a blur that might be the distant battle. A few hours away at least, if they picked up the pace.

  ‘Tell them to retreat towards us if they can!’

  Kalia nodded and set to concentrating, while Yalenna rode her horse out before the army, turning about to face them.

  ‘The Plainsfolk desperately need our help!’ she called. ‘Shall we make haste?’

  An answering roar rose from the masses.

  ‘Make haste, then!’ she called. ‘Make haste!’

  Rostigan allowed impatience to deepen his glower. Forger had dith
ered for a good few days after they had taken the city, despite Rostigan’s urging for them to be on their way. The main problem seemed to be that, while some of the army had departed to supervise the new slaves hauling loot back to Tallahow, Forger was unsure what to do with the majority who remained.

  ‘Should I set them marching again?’ he asked, not for the first time. ‘Set them towards Galra? How long will we be gone, do you think? I don’t want them reaching a new place without me.’

  ‘You’ve heard my counsel,’ said Rostigan. ‘Leave them in Ander as we go about our errand. They can rebuild the city’s defences in case others try to retake it. Then, once we are victorious elsewhere, we will return and decide the next step.’

  Forger scratched his cheek thoughtfully. ‘Yes, yes. You are wise, Karrak.’

  ‘We have already decided this. You have chosen Balen as your proxy. Come, it is time to depart.’

  ‘Very well, very well. But how are we to journey to the Ilduin together and ensure we arrive at the same point? It’s all just one big yellow stain. What landmark do we both know? We can’t aim for the Pass, lest we appear in the thick of the Unwoven army. And the Plains Kingdom is too far away.’

  ‘Remember those three huge boulders where we camped on that first journey together? We stopped beside them the night before we entered the mountains.’

  Forger frowned. He always had trouble thinking about his life before the change.

  ‘When we were eight Wardens united,’ prompted Rostigan. ‘I spent the evening jousting with Yalenna, and you argued with Braston over how to stew rabbit.’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘All right then. That’s where.’

  ‘But what if they aren’t there anymore?’

  ‘They are. I saw them again a few years back. Are you ready?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Put on your clothes then.’

  Begrudgingly, Forger put a shirt on to hide his leather. Then he pulled trousers up over his loincloth.

  Alone in the throne room, they closed their eyes, and fell to concentrating.

  As soon as they came into being, the distant sounds of battle reached them.

  ‘Well, thank goodness,’ said Forger, gazing up at the looming boulders. ‘They are still here!’

  Rostigan ignored him, staring off across the Fields. Some way to the north, a great mass of figures clashed and clamoured, white puffs rising above them.

  ‘Looks like Plainsfolk and the Unwoven,’ said Forger.

  ‘Come on,’ said Rostigan, as his stomach began to settle.

  Forger kept up with him easily, matching his jog with long, loping strides.

  ‘Would you like to ride on my back, Karrak?’

  ‘This is not the time for idle humour.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to be humorous. Better to say to you, perhaps, that this isn’t the time to be prideful.’

  ‘Are you saying you want me to move faster?’

  Rostigan increased his pace, yellow grass crunching under his heavy heels. To the south he saw a second, larger mass, moving towards the first. ‘Look, there! That must be Althala on the way!’

  ‘Who do we aim for then?’

  ‘Althala.’

  It seemed the Plainsfolk had had much the same idea. They began to pull away from the Unwoven, retreating towards the oncoming Althalans. Left behind, the Unwoven milled about, apparently confused by the sudden absence of anyone to fight. A lone figure on horseback rode through them, shouting and rounding them up.

  Mergan.

  ‘Never would have seen myself doing this!’ chortled Forger.

  ‘Listen,’ puffed Rostigan, ‘there is something you should know. The Althalans do not know me as Karrak – it would have made it harder to earn their trust, you understand. Yalenna is the exception, of course, but to the rest I’m known as Rostigan, which allows me to move amongst them with impunity.’

  ‘Very nice for you,’ said Forger. ‘What shall I be known as?’

  ‘I shall try not to introduce you to many, if I can help it.’

  ‘I sort of stand out, you know.’

  ‘Aye, but you can pass for being simply a very big man, I hope. Although maybe knock a head or two off yourself, if you wouldn’t mind?’

  Forger narrowed his eyes as he concentrated, and began to shrink. It was a trick he had pulled before, and would be a little uncomfortable for him – as if he was a sock with a few too many rocks stuffed into it – but somehow that did not bother Rostigan. A few moments later Forger was on the verge of a height that could have been considered normal.

  ‘Hanry, am I?’ he said.

  ‘Hanry it is.’

  As they continued on, Rostigan began to fear something which he had hitherto failed to consider. What if Tarzi saw them approach? What if she ran to him, flung her arms around him, kissed him? Such warm reunion would seem very much out of character, and he had mentioned nothing about her to Forger.

  He swept his eyes over the Althalans, hoping she was towards the back, or somehow not with them at all.

  ‘Hold. Hold!’

  Loppolo was at the head of the charge, so it took some time for his shouted order to filter back. Yalenna could sense his burgeoning panic, as if he feared being driven on all the way to the Unwoven, to be deposited at their feet. It was laughable really – did he really think anyone expected him to lead the army into battle?

  ‘Hold!’

  She took up the call, riding crossways along the advancing line. The surviving Plainsfolk were beginning to arrive, buffeting the Althalans like waves breaking against a boat’s prow. Soon everyone was drawing to a halt, to collect up and reorganise themselves. Plainsfolk officers made their way towards the king, which was fine with Yalenna – let them talk while she worked out what really had to be done.

  Across the way, the Unwoven had run out of abandoned pockets of Plainsfolk to kill. She could see Mergan among them and it made her cold. For a moment she remembered his kindly face, smiling as he made oddments dance around his tabletop in the School of Threading. It remained hard to reconcile this image of her old teacher with the wild-haired, frenetically gesticulating figure in tattered robes.

  For a moment there was a lull as the two armies faced each other.

  Yalenna.

  She was surprised to receive the threaded message. She had not allowed herself to believe that Rostigan would arrive before the battle began – in fact had not thought to ever see him again, for his self-imposed mission had seemed so volatile. She craned her head, trying to pinpoint the message’s origin … and there, out on the plain, two solitary figures raced to join them.

  I have Hanry with me.

  Cautious words, chosen in case others picked up the sending.

  If she had not expected Rostigan, Forger’s presence was truly a wonder. She had hoped he would see reason, of course, or somehow fall for Rostigan’s story, but it had been a dim hope indeed, and she felt instantly dubious about his presence.

  Judging by their distance, they would not join the Althalans before the Unwoven mustered up, unless she could orchestrate some kind of delay. Maybe she would try reaching out to Mergan after all? If only to waste some time …

  She needed something to keep his flitting brain interested, and it came to her at once.

  ‘Where’s Tarzi?’ she asked Jandryn.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Find her for me, quickly.’

  It was only a guess, but maybe the girl had been entrusted with Rostigan’s curltooth.

  Holding a white flag high, Yalenna cantered towards the enemy. A wicker basket bumped against her leg, filled with the choicest morsels she had been able to collect. Would Mergan speak with her? She was not sure.

  Yowls went up from the Unwoven as she approached, but it was not them she cared about. She raised the flag higher, waved it about.

  Mergan appeared, parting his lines on a brown mare, matching her trajectory into the space between the armies. When she judged herself abo
ut halfway, she drew up and dismounted. She took down the basket, pulled out a blanket and spread it on the ground. She set about laying out food in a pleasing manner – meat and jam, bread and cheese, fruit and berries. It was not quite the feast she would have liked to present him with, but a small addition would lift it from the common to sublime.

  As he got closer, Mergan gave a laugh, meaner than any she had heard from him before. He leant forward in the saddle, lips pulled back in a sneer.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I wonder if you’re feeling hungry?’

  ‘Always,’ he said. ‘But if you think I don’t suspect some trick, I did not teach you very well.’

  ‘No trick,’ she said, sinking onto the blanket. ‘A proposal, no less. Come, will you join me?’

  Warily, Mergan slid off his horse and sidled over. From the greedy twinkle in his eye, clearly he would not mind devouring everything he saw.

  ‘No poison?’ he said, lowering himself onto crossed legs.

  ‘Point something out and I’ll eat at it first.’

  ‘Good enough.’ He picked up a stick of dried beef, sniffed it. ‘You still harbour the notion that I can be turned to your will, no doubt?’

  ‘Wait,’ she said.

  He eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘I am under no illusion,’ she said, ‘that you retain any love for me. Your actions have made that perfectly plain.’

  ‘My actions do not involve you, Yalenna. They were not made for or against you. You are arrogant to think otherwise.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I think that you have made poor choices.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You told me you wanted to live, to feast. Yet you ally yourself with rabble who don’t know a ham hock from a hen’s hoof. You can’t tell me you’ve been enjoying a fulsome life in the Dale, replete with rich repast?’

  ‘Can’t I? You don’t know what you speak of.’

  ‘Perhaps. But consider this – just as you don’t owe anyone anything, you owe the Unwoven nothing either. So why choose them? Fight with us instead. Make your choice not arbitrarily, but with your own future in mind. In Althala, you could eat fine foods every day. Better than dirt-encrusted carrots and horse meat, I can promise you.’