The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2 (15 page)

With Yalenna’s haze protecting them once again, she and Rostigan arrived on the tomb plateau. It was higher than the surrounding land, though not by much, like a slightly taller wave in a choppy sea. Rostigan looked curiously at the columned entrance to the unspectacular building crumbling against a bump of mountainside. He had imagined something more austere, or formidable – though as his vision shifted to the tomb’s patterns, the interlocked threads that enclosed it made him uneasy, and he did not feel inclined to go anywhere near them.

Yalenna stared back the way they had come, and it wasn’t hard to guess what she looked at – from their vantage they could make out the distant Wound, though from their angle it was quite flat, like a coin on its side.

‘Is there no way you can think of …’ she said, then sighed and shook her head. Turning back to him, ‘The second nest was beyond this place?’

‘Yes. Eastwards.’

They moved around the plateau edge and, as they came to its eastern side, spotted another white web nestled in a ravine similar to the first. There was a path leading down to it between mounds of rock, quite straight and narrow for a hundred or so paces. Eager not to linger, they continued on. At the end of the path a square ledge protruded out over the ravine and, as they peered over, a newly birthed silkjaw swivelled its head upwards. From beneath the haze it could see them clearly, and clapped its jaws angrily.

‘I’ll
need a fresh torch,’ said Yalenna.

Rostigan fished about in his satchel and retrieved one, handing it to her.

‘I’ll probably lose control of the haze again,’ she said, glancing at the sky. Silkjaws were dotted about everywhere. ‘They’re riled up now. As soon as it goes they will come for us.’

Rostigan considered a nearby pile of loose rocks. A ready source of projectiles, but would it be enough?

‘Shall I try to command the fire instead this time?’ he offered.

‘Do you think you can?’

‘It will probably take me longer than you.’

‘Can you make us a haze then?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Really Rostigan, why did I even bring you?’

She tried to cover with a smirk, but he felt the truth of her exasperation.

‘Perhaps I have a less artful version,’ he said, and gestured at the rock pile. Rocks lifted up, and he guided them to construct something of a floating dome around Yalenna and himself – not a complete barrier, but it cast a shadow and obstructed them from view on the path side and above, and no silkjaw would approach from what was soon to be the fiery side. Some of the rocks spun slowly in the air, and he brought them closer together to still them, adding more to fill in the gaps.

‘Not too
bad,’ said Yalenna.

‘Not as subtle as yours.’

‘It’ll do.’

‘All right. Ready?’

She lit the torch. Once again she folded the flame over itself, building it to a white hot intensity. At the splaying of her fingers, streams burst forth – and the silkjaw clacking its jaws went up in a puff, its blackened bones falling away. Over the burgeoning roar and sizzle, Rostigan thought he heard an angry shout, and peered through the cracks in his floating rock shield. A lone figure made his way down the path, his tattered robe flying about his bare feet.

‘Mergan,’ Rostigan muttered. It was an unwelcome, unexpected sight – the man’s last meeting with Yalenna had been a troubled one, and who knew what his purpose was in being here? It seemed odd that he would tarry about the tomb where he had been imprisoned for three centuries, but what else could explain his presence? Hopefully he did not mean any harm, for ever since the change his threading ability had been beyond compare. Would he listen to reason? Would he give Rostigan a chance to explain that he had forsaken the sinful ways of Karrak?

A force
seized the floating shield and tore it apart, hurtling rocks in every direction. One cracked against Rostigan’s brow and he stumbled backwards into the furiously channelling Yalenna.

‘Watch out!’ she yelled, as she was knocked perilously close the edge.

‘Mergan!’ Rostigan warned dizzily.

She glanced around, saw Mergan raising his hands towards them.

‘What,’ bawled the old Warden, ‘are you doing to my nests?’

The torch ripped from Yalenna’s hand, fiery streams fizzling out as it went flying away to clatter onto the path.

‘
I
rule these mountains now!’ said Mergan. ‘
I
decide who comes and goes, and who sets fire to what and where!’

‘Mergan!’ cried Yalenna. ‘What are you speaking of? Don’t you remember that we are friends?’

‘Friends when you traffic with the likes of
him
?’ Mergan stabbed a finger at Rostigan, who flinched, but all the finger sent his way was accusation. ‘Have you gone mad, girl? That is Karrak, Lord of Crows! Lord of Lies!’

‘He does not go by those names anymore!’

Mergan laughed. ‘Oh really? And what else has changed in my absence? You two have gotten cosy over the years, have you?’

‘I have been
dead
– Mergan, you know this!’

‘A convenient excuse. Tell me this, then – if you and I are such good and glorious friends, why do I find you here destroying my silkjaws? Is that really your idea of reconciliation?’

‘What?’ Yalenna
was awash with confusion. ‘
Your
silkjaws? What are you talking about? Please, can you not remember who you –’

‘Enough!’ Mergan bellowed, and clapped his hands. A shockwave of air burst forth in rapidly expanding rippled lines. Rostigan reached out to try to stop them, knowing his efforts would prove woefully inadequate. Yalenna was more deft and inverted the blast before it reached them to send it back at Mergan. With a lazy gesture he batted the air, breaking the ripples apart.

Mergan strode forwards, hands working almost to a blur as he wove a tapestry of spells with daunting mastery. Wind assailed them, rocks whirled past, the ground shook, and bones jostled inside their bodies. It was all Rostigan could do to keep himself in shape as he pushed back against Mergan’s penetrating influence. Then a spinning rock cracked him square in the chest and he flew backwards off his feet, off the ledge and out over the nest. For a moment he gazed upwards, stunned, at a pleasant view of open sky framed by mountainsides … and then there came a whistling in his ears and he was falling.

The snapping surface of silk barely slowed his descent. His hand thwacked against something hard, and he twisted so that his legs began dragging behind him. As he continued to break through the weave, sticky silk plastered his body until he was next to smothered. He spread his limbs wide to catch as much of the stuff as possible, and slow himself as best he could. Eventually he came to a stop, suspended far down in the darkness of his white cocoon. He felt like a spider’s lunch.

He tore
silk away from his mouth and eyes, and strained his head back up the tunnel of waving strands he had carved out with his fall. Light flashed in the upper levels – somewhere above the fight still raged. Suddenly something blocked the tunnel, and for a terrible moment he thought Yalenna was plummeting directly after him … but then, as the bundle fell closer, he saw shining white jaws opening. The silkjaw-to-be was not yet more than a few bones bound together, but it landed upon him snapping frantically, without the wings or other joints to position itself properly. Rostigan grabbed it by the jaws, careful of the tiny silver fangs growing along them, and broke it apart.

Pushing the dead almost-’jaw away, he became aware of the nest vibrating around him. Other lumps were wobbling through the weave, bits of bone loosely strung together – it seemed the malicious natures of the creatures preceded their physical completion.

He pulled free his sword and began to swing away, yet every swipe he aimed at a gnashing bundle, every kick and struggle, sent him deeper into the nest.

Mergan watched Karrak fall with relish. If it had not been for him and other Wardens of his ilk, Mergan would never,
never
… but no, that wasn’t right … wasn’t it Regret to blame?

‘How did
he turn you against me, Yalenna?’ he asked with a glower. ‘Did he use his twisted words to corrupt your mind?’

‘You know he can’t do that,’ Yalenna spoke through gritted teeth as she fended him off.

‘Such a beautiful mind you had when I first met you. Do you remember? So young and empty, waiting to be filled – so eager to learn and do what was right!’

‘I still want to do what is right.’

‘I wish that were the case. Such a shame.’

‘Mergan …’

She went on to say various other things, to beg and plead with him, to argue and question, but he ceased to really pay attention. Perhaps she thought he was lowering his guard, slackening off his attack in an effort to commiserate with her. She was still a little naive, it seemed, even after all the lessons life had taught her.

He finished the subtle job he’d been doing, working through the ledge she stood on, snicking threads here and there, weakening the structure to a certain point – then gathered up a final bundle and wrenched. Yalenna’s eyes went wide as the ground dropped away under her, and both she and ledge fell from the mountain.

Mergan chuckled as he walked to the crumbling edge. He arrived in time to see Yalenna tumbling through the upper layers of the web, while several paces from her the large chunk of rock quickly opened up a tunnel all the way to the bottom – some hundred paces down, by the looks. A pity that he’d had to damage this remaining nest in disposing of his enemies but, well … hopefully it would grow back, or at least continue functioning in the manner Regret had designed it for.

He heard
a beating of wings, and glanced up in time to see a silkjaw diving at him, its silver fangs flashing in the sun. He hurled himself to the ground and felt a whoosh of air across his back as the creature passed over.

What?

He had been attacked! Or had he? Maybe the silkjaw was simply confused? There were a lot of people running around the mountains today, a lot of magic flying about, and smoke … but from the sky two more now broke towards him, wings pressed tightly to their bodies, claws outstretched, their target unmistakable.

Mergan rose, his hands uncurling, feeling the sadness of realisation.

Of course they did not recognise him.

Fool. You are not really Regret, and they know it.

He cast around and spotted Yalenna’s discarded torch on the path, still smouldering a little. Summoning it to his hand, he flared its dying embers to life and launched streams upwards at the oncoming ’jaws. As they caught fire and wheeled away, raining down bones as their fibres singed, he turned back to the crevasse.

If the Unwoven
learned that silkjaws did not accept him, they would know he was not really Regret, and that was something he could not allow.

Dejectedly he raised the torch.

At least what he had to do would ensure that Yalenna and Karrak were really dead.

Flame streamed again, down into the nest.

Rostigan heard a cry and looked upwards. Two new fissures were opening through the nest as objects fell. One was faster and larger, and passed him by to hit the ground below with a great thud. The other, from the sound of it, was Yalenna. She was breaking through the weave as he had, but was lighter and therefore slowed sooner, coming to a stop some paces above him.

‘Yalenna!’ he called.

She groaned.

‘There are silkjaw bits and pieces in here,’ he warned. ‘They’ll try to attack you!’

He hacked one aside as he spoke, and the movement made him slip further downwards. She didn’t respond, and he wondered if she was dazed. He worked his way over until he was right underneath her, though he couldn’t help simultaneously falling deeper.

‘Yalenna!’

Above her the view turned red, the mouths of all tunnels glowing with fire. Burning fibres wafted down, turning to smoke before getting far. Over the roar he heard Mergan cackling – the other Warden was burning the nest above them!

Why
was
a question which floated briefly through Rostigan’s head. Why was Mergan here? Why was he doing this? Why had he stopped them from burning the nest only to start the process again? To some extent the answer was simple – Mergan was mad, that was plain, no sense to be made of his actions.