The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2 (27 page)

‘Skullrender.’

It was an officer.

‘Yes?’

‘The King is anxious to speak with you. Would you and your … friend … kindly attend him?’

‘This is Hanry,’ said Rostigan. ‘He’s a great threader, come to help our cause.’

The officer glanced at Forger nervously. ‘Of course. Now, if you will …’

A roar erupted,
and Rostigan saw Yalenna sprawling, apparently attacked in some way by Mergan. Jandryn broke from the front to point his sword across the field.

‘Treachery!’ he bellowed.

From the midst of his soldiers, the king’s voice rose. ‘My people, we fight for all Aorn!’

The army did not need much more encouragement. They howled and charged.

‘Well,’ said Forger, ‘this is all very exciting.’

‘Quite,’ said Rostigan.

‘There are a lot of them, though, aren’t there? The Unwoven, I mean. And they are very strong, from memory. Even at five to one against, I wonder at our chances.’

Rostigan listened, his feet itching to join the bodies surging past them.

‘Not shying away I hope, Hanry?’

‘Not at all. Just wondering if you might do something to even the odds?’

‘What?’

‘Make up a poem, maybe.’

‘I cannot remove Regret’s creations, I told you that already.’

‘But what of the very ground beneath their feet?’

Rostigan considered the stampeding Unwoven. They were clumped together, as they would remain for the brief moments before the two fronts clashed. It would not be long, for overly eager arrows were already beginning to precede the Althalans.

‘I do not like to,’ said Rostigan.

‘A little more damage in the
short term, will help set things right in the long term.’

‘Always an excuse,’ said Rostigan with a scowl, but he gave some thought to the words. If Tarzi were here, she would be able to come up with something. The thought distracted him, made him glance around – where was she anyway? Safe?

‘Time wastes, old friend.’

‘I need a rhyme.’

‘What fun,’ said Forger. ‘I’ve always wanted to try my hand at this. Hmmm. Okay, how about: Beneath trampling Unwoven feet, a bowl of earth lies there replete.’

Rostigan was surprised, to say the least.

With relief Jandryn saw Yalenna rise and move back to her horse.

‘Mind the Priestess!’ he shouted, turning his own mount sideways to shield her from the onrush, diverting it around them as she climbed back into the saddle. ‘Are you all right, my lady?’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said irritably. ‘It was not the worst he could have done.’

‘I certainly hope,’ he said, ‘it was worth it.’

He knew she had been trying to buy time for Rostigan to join them, but did not understand how one man, no matter how good a warrior he was, was worth risking herself over.

And then something
absolutely astounding happened.

The entire Unwoven army, in the middle of their fearsome advance, suddenly dropped wholly out of view, a thousand howls issuing up in their wake. Hard to make out over the sound, were ghostly words drifting through the air, speaking something about the earth.

‘Looks like it was,’ said Yalenna. ‘Quickly!’

She rode on and Jandryn followed.

What had happened? Had it been an earthquake? Another crack caused by the corruption? There had been reports of such happenings, but Jandryn could not quite believe their fortune was good enough that one would strike here, at this opportune time. He stood up in the stirrups to see further over soldiers’ heads. Ahead, a great section of earth had seemingly caved inwards, big enough to swallow the Unwoven, and the Althalan army now spilled out around its edge. A couple of hapless souls, pushed forwards from behind, lost their footing and tumbled downwards.

‘By the Spell,’ Jandryn whispered.

The going grew denser as jostling soldiers tried to see what went on. Leading the way, Yalenna did not baulk at sweeping them aside with her magic, and Jandryn hastened to stay on the path she created. They arrived at the edge of the pit to see, some thirty paces below, a chaotic mass of Unwoven trying to untangle themselves from each other. Any of their horses still alive were screaming, assuredly with broken bones. The first wave of individuals were clawing their way free of the rest, up the concave sides.

An Althalan who
had fallen was desperately trying to stay abreast of them, while behind him, another was having his head twisted around full circle.

‘Archers!’ shouted Jandryn, jumping off his horse. ‘Everyone else get back, make room for the archers!’

Other officers took up the call. Jandryn glanced about and saw an archer nearby staring fearfully at the edge without daring to move too close.

‘Give that here!’ he demanded, snatching the bow away, then roughly turning the man around to take arrows from his quiver.

‘But sir …’

‘Well, if you’re only going to stand there gawking …’

Jandryn returned to the edge, notched an arrow and loosed it downwards. It sunk into a climbing Unwoven’s shoulder, jolting it momentarily, but the creature sent a malevolent look upwards and kept coming.

‘Wind and storm, archers to the front!’ Jandryn bellowed. ‘Everyone else, back! Get back!’

At the continued calls, more and more archers appeared, and arrows began to pelt downwards. Jandryn himself sent shaft after shaft, but they did frustratingly little to hinder their tenacious grey targets. Once or twice he landed a shot through an eye, to make an Unwoven fall, but, for the most part, wounds inflicted were virtually ignored. Some, at least, hampered an enemy’s ability to climb – the right spot in an arm or a leg would cripple the bearer’s progress – and yet the majority of them stubbornly persisted. Those with multiple shafts
in them profusely dribbled their foul white blood, and although they did not feel the pain of their hurts, they were thankfully drained by them nonetheless. Those who actually died slid downwards, impeding but not stopping the living. By Jandryn’s side, Yalenna was in the saddle threading furiously. At her beckoning, jets of dirt exploded up beneath climbers, knocking them backwards to take others with them. Whirls of wind whooshed around the pit, blasting grit into faces, sheering the slope to make it steeper.

‘Threaders!’ she shouted. ‘Threaders to the edge!’

Silkjaws which had been circling above began to dive. One swooped along the rim to Jandryn’s left, knocking a whole row of archers downwards. They tumbled towards the enemy, to be eagerly seized and torn limb from limb.

‘Threaders, watch the skies!’ was Yalenna’s new order. ‘Light torches! Protect the archers!’

Streams of fire leapt upwards, and ’jaws began to blaze. Others continued to batter the bowl’s perimeter, and a couple crash-landed just behind it, displacing more soldiers over the edge. Meanwhile, the first Unwoven were making it to the top. Several archers were grabbed around the legs and yanked down into the murderous upsurge.

‘Swords to the front!’ Jandryn shouted, casting aside his bow and taking a step back. A horrible head, large and emaciated with bright green eyes, appeared before him. Arms with every vein bulging hauled the body upwards, and Jandryn aimed a great swing. The Unwoven flung up a hand to protect itself,
and the sword sunk halfway through its wrist, despite a force behind it that would have sheared the limb off a normal man. Dirt blasted the creature in the eyes and it fell away, almost taking his sword with it.

‘Jandryn!’ came Yalenna’s warning, and he glanced up in time to see bone claws outstretched. He flung himself down as wind washed over him, and the silkjaw slammed into Yalenna’s horse. The ’jaw rebounded and took off again clumsily, as the horse cantered sideways towards the edge.

‘No!’ Jandryn shouted, but the horse put its back foot over, and was suddenly falling. Yalenna struggled to be free, springing from the saddle at the last possible moment. As her horse fell from view with a terrified whinny, she slammed against the rim on her stomach, her lower half dangling over, her fingers digging into grass. Jandryn leapt, landing at full length to grab her by the wrists. Her eyes opened wide as a powerful force seized her from below.

‘It’s got my leg!’

He grunted, elbowing himself up to pull on her with all his might. Fear of losing her lent him strength, and she screamed as her arms lengthened with the strain. He ignored her pain – he had to, to save her – and bit by bit, hauled her over the side, until the grey hand wrapped around her ankle came into view, bone exposed where he had cut it previously. He could not hack at it again without letting go, and desperately cast about for the nearest soldier.

‘You! Quickly! Get this thing
off the Priestess!’

The soldier leapt to obey, and in two more slashes the hand was severed. Dragging Yalenna with him, Jandryn stumbled backwards and they landed together in a heap.

‘Thank you,’ she gasped against his chest.

‘On your feet, Yalenna!’ he said, pushing her off.

Everywhere Unwoven were clambering free of the pit, driving the fighting back from the edge.

The Althalan’s short advantage had ended.

Falling suddenly into a pile of Unwoven was not something Mergan had expected, but he held onto his jam jar for all he was worth. With a crunching impact he felt the legs of his horse give way beneath him, and he was flung to land upon hard, thrashing bodies. As they struggled he fell deeper into their midst, making his way towards the bottom, until the light above was only visible in flashing slits.

What on Aorn had his enemies done?

How
had they done it?

‘Get off the Lord Regret!’ sounded a voice. Holes appeared in the canopy of limbs as Unwoven were dragged away, and Scarbrow’s face appeared.

‘Are you hurt, lord?’

‘No. Just get me clear of this.’

Scarbrow and his warriors pulled other Unwoven off him, which was easy enough, for they wanted to get out of the pit themselves.

‘Stay with us, lord,’ said Scarbrow, as his
troop formed a protective circle.

The sound of wings beating above reminded Mergan of the silkjaw presence, and he realised the fall had shaken his concentration sufficiently that he had dropped the camouflaging shimmer over his head. Quickly he recreated it, annoyed that he had to disguise himself from ‘his’ own pets. All around, Unwoven were working up the slopes of the pit, in spite of the arrows flying against them. One of his guards took a shaft in the neck and gave a nasty wet choke – then ripped the arrow out and flung it away.

Mergan put the jam jar in his pocket.

‘Up and out!’ he ordered.

‘Stay behind us, lord,’ said Scarbrow.

Mergan’s group were among the last to begin climbing. The slope grew steeper the further they went, and eventually Mergan was on his hands and knees.

‘Climb onto my back, lord,’ said Scarbrow.

Mergan followed the suggestion, clasping his arms around Scarbrow’s neck. The Unwoven was so smooth and bony, it was quite painful to hang on. He scanned about, diddling his fingers at the arrows that came at them, breaking them apart in the air. He thought he heard Yalenna scream, but could not see her.

Was this her doing?

Finally Scarbrow made it to the top, climbing up behind a line of Unwoven who were forcing the enemy back.

‘I can protect you better if you get off now, lord.’

‘What? Oh, sorry.’

Around them cries of rage and pain
resounded – the Althalans and Plainsfolk fought bravely, despite their formidable opponents. Mergan retrieved the jam from his pocket and dipped his finger inside. Some grit had gotten in there, but he did not care. The taste of berries was still intensely pleasurable.

‘Kill them all!’ he bawled, his mouth and beard stickily red.

He set about following his own order, his vision sliding deeply into the realm of threads. Patterns pulsated everywhere, and he reached hither and thither to explode hearts, or rip out ribs, or stomachs, or eyes. After a while he found the approach too piecemeal, and raised his hands to gather up rays of sunlight, focusing them into a brighter beam that he then directed through lines of the enemy. Skin bubbled in its passage, and armour glowed hot as its occupants smoked and cooked. Scarbrow and his warriors slew any who came near, and the jam was very sweet indeed.