The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2 (26 page)

‘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 about 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.’

Mergan frowned at her. He seemed to actually be considering it.

‘All you have to do,’ she pressed, ‘is walk away from those muddy brutes.’

He didn’t like that.

‘Those muddy brutes,’ he said, ‘have shown me more honesty and loyalty than anyone I have known.’

‘And how have you reciprocated? By lying to them about who you are.’

‘It is my right! Regret took everything from me, so why shouldn’t I have all that was his? And let me tell you something else – Althala is not yours to offer up. You see, I
do
intend to have run of the place, and not because it was given me by some slip of a girl as a retirement gift!’

‘Don’t lose your temper. You have not heard me out. There are other factors which may sweeten the bargain.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘I could bless you.’

He scoffed. ‘You cannot bless Wardens.’

‘I can, if they open themselves to it. Imagine, Mergan, what it would be like if I granted you peace.’

His eyes crinkled. ‘Do not use that word on me.’

‘But it could be yours.’

‘Only if, as you say, I "open myself up”. You really think I trust you enough to offer you unfettered access to my pattern? If this is your attempt
at sweetening, I find it bitter indeed.’

‘There is this, also.’

She produced a vial from her pocket, at the bottom of which lay a few dried crumbs. Mergan watched intently as she opened it and very carefully sprinkled the contents into a jam jar. She mixed them in with a knife, then spread a generous amount of jam on a slice of bread.

‘Curltooth,’ he whispered.

‘That’s right.’

She handed him the slice, and set about making one for herself. He eyed his closely, took a bite, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

‘I had forgotten,’ he said, before losing himself to ferocious chewing.

She took a bite too – why not? – and the jam on her tongue was like a thousand tiny exploding berries. Strange, that she could find a moment of blissful transportation in such a harrowing situation. Still, she maintained enough presence of mind that when Mergan finished and reached for the jam jar, she was ready to slide it from his reach.

‘One taste,’ she said, ‘yet there is more I could give you, much more. Imagine yourself sitting in front of a fire, eating curltooth-spiced stew, and mulled wine, and whatever else your heart desires. Cake! Tea!’

Mergan smiled
agreeably. ‘It is a nice thought.’

The ground trembled and Yalenna almost dropped the jar. Behind her, the Althalans actually clattered as their armour shook upon them. Yalenna glanced around with trepidation.

‘The world is not well,’ she said, above the rumbling and the rattle. ‘The Unwoven do not belong, you know that.’

‘The Unwoven do not spread corruption,’ said Mergan. ‘They are a symptom, not the cause. It is the Wound which must be closed.’

He got a funny look then, as if he didn’t understand what he had just said.

‘Yes,’ urged Yalenna, ‘so help me close it!’

The trembling eased, died away.

‘Will you not help me, Mergan?’ she tried again, a plaintive note creeping into her voice. Had she reached him? Finally?

He was looking past her, and reluctantly she turned to follow his gaze.

Rostigan and Forger had reached the Althalan troops.

She braced herself for some violent reaction, yet Mergan merely looked quizzical.

‘Karrak
and
Forger?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘They fight with you?’

‘For the moment. They understand Aorn is in peril. If it crumbles, we all lose.’

Mergan
shrugged. ‘Lucky for me, then, that all I want is the rest of the jam!’

The jar flew from her hand at the same time as air slapped her hard across the face. Dazedly she looked up to see Mergan on his feet, clambering back onto his horse, while an outcry sounded from the Althalans.

‘I am not above a fair fight, Yalenna!’ Mergan called. ‘Find me in the battle, if you wish, though it’s always a sad thing to outlive a student.’

He stuck his hand into the jar as he kicked his horse, and was almost flung off as it jolted into a gallop. Clinging on with his legs as he bounced about, he licked his fingers joyously.

The ground trembled again, though this time for a different reason. With their Priestess attacked, the Althalans were charging, Jandryn heading them up wearing a mask of rage. From the other direction, the Unwoven started beating their chests and shaking their fists.

‘Get them, my children,’ Mergan shouted as he rode away. ‘Spread my touch throughout the world!’

As expected, Rostigan
and Forger attracted quite a few stares as they arrived on the outskirts of the army. Perhaps Rostigan was known to these people, esteemed even, but who was this towering man he brought with him?

‘What is she doing?’ said Forger, looking out at Yalenna and Mergan having their picnic.

‘Something she shouldn’t bother with,’ muttered Rostigan.