The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2 (23 page)

‘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 through
. 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.’

‘Well, maybe some itching from the twigs.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Or annoyance that you keep coming at me with a spoon.’

‘Forger, pay attention.’

‘I am. I’m just not sure I understand.’

‘The point is, when a wound is healed, or rather, when it
doesn’t exist
, things that would otherwise make it worse, no longer have any effect.’

‘Are you saying …’ Forger rubbed his forehead. ‘Are you saying using our gifts is like spoons tapping on the world’s hurts?’

Karrak gave a wonky smile. ‘Something like that.’

‘And the corruption is like the pus, the tainted blood coming out?’

‘Yes.’

Forger was thankful to finally find another bottle. He smashed the neck off and poured freely down his throat.

‘So,’ he said, ‘if we seal the Wound,
we can still use our gifts?’

‘They won’t bother the Spell when it no longer bleeds.’

‘And you learnt this because you spent so long staring at it – you have come to understand well how it works?’

Karrak stared at him hard and nodded. ‘Indeed.’

Something was wrong. These explanations did not quite ring true … drunk as Forger was, suspicion did not fade away as he had hoped. Little contradictions and unanswered questions darted around his sluggish brain, just beyond reach of comprehension. Finally, he managed to grasp hold of one.

We absorb each other’s gifts now
, he thought
, when we kill each other. Why? Why would the Spell do that – why would it have made that change to the way things work – unless it wants its threads carried? And if it wants them carried, there must be some plan for them beyond letting us use them to tap like spoons against healed-up hurts.

With sadness, Forger realised he did not trust Karrak at all.

‘Not too hasty,’ he muttered.
Not too hasty
to believe anything yet, one way or the other. There had always been much he did not comprehend, and perhaps the definitive answers would come in the days ahead. Who knew why the Spell did what it did? He would not give his faith blindly, but would offer Karrak a chance to earn it. And even if he didn’t, well, it might be fun anyway – to kill Mergan and the Unwoven, and see what happened next.

‘What did you say?’ asked Karrak.

‘Nothing.’ Forger stood,
swaying a little. ‘Now, come – if you really do have Stealer’s power, you can help me here in Ander. After that, I’ll accompany you.’

‘As you wish.’

‘Good. Then there’s a certain castle gate I want you to make a poem about.’

He clapped an arm around Karrak’s shoulder and, together, they lurched from the tavern.

The dining hall of
Ander Castle was a cavernous space, lined with recesses housing all manner of ferns and small trees in colourful pots. Despite the rampant looting going on elsewhere, finery still remained here – a golden edge around the tabletop had not yet been prised up, and jewelled lamps still hung from the roof on silver chains. Perhaps it was Forger’s presence, along with Karrak and the former king of Ander, that ensured no soldiers dared to ransack.

‘I hope everyone is hungry,’ said Forger. ‘I have spared the kitchen staff, your majesty, on the condition that they do an excellent job preparing our meal.’