The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2 (38 page)

He wept and wept, and it seemed to Yalenna that he would indeed need time. She hoped
there would be enough in his mortal life.

‘Where’s Jandryn?’ she asked suddenly.

‘He wanted to come to you in the Spire,’ said Rostigan. ‘I bid him not to. As it turns out, while he was waiting for you, he discovered something.’ He pointed off past the Spire. ‘A cave, where the worms spawn. He is there now, organising their destruction.’

Yalenna felt her happiness momentarily threatened, that there was still such work needing to be done.

‘The Wound is not yet fully healed,’ muttered Mergan, staring at the sky. ‘Almost, very close, but …’

‘Maybe with the end of the worms, it will be,’ said Rostigan. ‘And after the last of the Unwoven die in their rocky graves, and the last silkjaws are hunted down, or fall apart.’

‘Maybe,’ said Mergan. ‘At least nothing will crumble now, I feel sure. No leaves spinning forever, no babes born with tentacles for limbs.’

Babes born
, Yalenna thought. No Warden had ever had a child, but now, well, maybe she could?

‘I’m going to find Jandryn,’ she said.

At the base of a mountain, only just visible above piled debris, was the mouth of a cave. Jandryn stood on its cusp, gesturing and calling
orders, as soldiers tramped inside. Yalenna was relieved not to have to enter the cave herself to find him. When he noticed her, he immediately seemed extremely bewildered.

‘Priestess!’ he said, rubbing his brow. ‘I left you? I’m not sure why – I wasn’t aware I had, until just now!’

She laughed. ‘It’s not your fault, Jandryn.’

She had no patience for any more talking, and kissed him there more deeply than she ever had in public before. A few soldiers paused at the cave’s entrance to whistle and catcall. As she came up for air, he scowled at them, but she could tell he didn’t really mean it.

‘Jandryn,’ she said, turning his face back to her, ‘do you know?’

‘Know what, my lady?’

‘I’ve given back my threads. I’m just a woman now.’

He looked pleasantly surprised, yet raised an eyebrow. ‘
Just
a woman? I don’t think I’d choose those words, exactly. But …’ He began to mull over some of the implications. ‘You are … I mean … you will age?’

‘I will.’

‘Not that I minded the idea of a wife who stayed young forever,’ he added. ‘But I did wonder what might happen when I grow old and bent, and you …’

He caught himself, and looked sheepish.

‘Wife?’ she said, taking her turn to raise an eyebrow.

‘Well, I … it was just a passing fancy … I did not mean to be presumptuous …’

She quickly
shut him up.

After a time, she remembered where they were, and glanced at the cave.

‘What’s going on in there?’

‘Oh, you know, just another day in the Althalan guard – there’s a magical swamp hole from which the worms seem to emerge. We’re filling it up with rocks.’

‘But what about the soldiers, aren’t they in danger?’

‘Well,’ said Jandryn, ‘of course, but the worms are most deadly when folk get caught in their spell.’

‘Yes? So that is worrying, is it not?’

He laughed. ‘Priestess,’ he said, ‘no one is in danger of a dour mood today.’

Tarzi paced back and forth, idly plucking her lute without really producing any sound. She had seen, as had everyone, rocks fall from the upper levels of the Spire as if some explosion had occurred, followed by the arrival of a great cloud of crows, circling and cawing like mad things. She had seen the Wound flash a number of times, and after each instance it contracted, until finally it drew in its cracks like the tendrils of some retreating sea creature. Whatever had gone on up there, it seemed that Yalenna had succeeded – but where did that leave Rostigan?

She decided she could not wait anymore, she simply could not bear it. Without escort she broke suddenly from the camp, heading out into the Dale.

‘Tarzi!’ came a call behind her. ‘You should not go alone, it isn’t safe!’

She sped up, ignoring whoever it
was. She would not sit and wait, she had waited long enough! She started to run, uncaring of the heads that turned to watch her. She must have looked somewhat comical, dashing along with her lute in hand, yet no one laughed.

Someone was trailing her – the soldier who had yelled after her, probably. From the sound of his footsteps he was catching up, as she began to run out of breath.

‘Tarzi,’ he said, moving alongside her. ‘It’s all right! I don’t want to stop you. I just want to make sure you travel safely.’

She had winded herself, she realised – how long had it been since that had happened? – and slowed down to a stop. As she bent over trying to catch her breath, a hand touched her shoulder. She glanced up at the man, and he smiled back with friendly eyes. He had grown a little, it seemed to her, since she had last seen him – maybe not outwardly, but somehow within.

‘Cedris?’ she said.

‘Yes.’

She found herself inexplicably happy to see him.

‘Where are you rushing off to anyway?’ he asked.

Salt stung her eyes.

‘Rostigan,’ she said. ‘I don’t know … I don’t where he is!’

Cedris rubbed her back. ‘Not to worry, Tarzi … look, he’s there.’

She tried to see where he pointed, but her vision was streaming and she could not make Rostigan out amongst the blurry figures approaching through the ruins. She wiped at her eyes desperately.

‘Where, where?’

‘There, Tarzi. He’s right there. See?’

And there he was, trudging along with
a few others, a twinkle in his eyes as he sent her half a smile. She did not even register who else was in the group as she rushed to him.

‘Songbird,’ he managed to say, before she next to smothered him.

‘Are you well?’ she asked, squeezing as hard as she could.

‘Yes … my goodness, girl … it’s all right. Everything went according to plan.’

‘And did you … are you …’

‘There, there,’ he said, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. ‘I’m the same old Rostigan you’ve always known.’

Hand in hand, Yalenna and Jandryn returned to the Pass, watched with interest by Loppolo, who waited with his officers.

‘Priestess!’ he called.

‘Give me a moment with him,’ she muttered to Jandryn, as she disengaged. ‘A word, my king?’

‘The Wound is sealed?’ he asked eagerly. ‘The threat is past?’

‘Yes, Loppolo.’

She folded her arms, wondering
if the time would ever come to forgive this man. Then again, perhaps forgiveness wasn’t necessary. Did either of them really need it? Perhaps she would simply try not to think about him very much from now on.

‘You should know,’ she went on, ‘that I am no longer a Warden. At least, not in the sense that you understand. There are, in fact, no Wardens left.’

‘But what of Forger? Is he not in Ander? Must we not go and defeat him?’

‘Forger’s magic is undone. He will trouble the world no more.’

‘And Karrak? Were those his crows? We still have not …’

‘That is all I have to say about that, oh king. You need not do anything but believe it.’

Loppolo stroked his chin, but the idea seemed to appeal to him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that is excellent news. And so, er, you… you are no longer …’

‘I am no longer a threat to your rule,’ she finished. ‘If that is what you’re getting at.’

He frowned at that – not quite the display of jubilance she had expected.

‘But … well …’ He shot her a funny look. ‘You are still a powerful threader though?’

‘I am.’

‘So,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I had better remain a good king, even without anyone pulling my strings, as it were.’

Maybe he did want forgiveness, after all.

‘I hope so, indeed,’ she said. ‘Chances are that I’ll be in Althala for a time.’ She nodded towards Jandryn and the king understood. ‘So, I will be watching.’

Loppolo drew himself up straight. ‘You won’t have to. Which is not to say you aren’t welcome to. But I will try not to give you any further cause to … intervene.’

She gave him a tight little smile. ‘Good.’

‘And maybe,’ he said, ‘you will finally allow me
to throw a celebratory feast?’

The keen look in his eyes softened her just a little.

Why not?

‘I look forward to it,’ she said.

A couple of
days later, a small band left behind the yellow grasses of the Field to move into greener land. They travelled among others, for plenty who had harkened to Braston’s call from further afield had decided it was time to return to their homes. Only the original Althalan forces stayed on in the Dale, to ensure that Regret’s creations were truly finished – and with special instruction that any Unwoven able to be captured instead of killed, were to be taken up the Spire. So far, however, none had been found.

Jandryn remained with his guards, but Yalenna was confident she would see him again soon. In the meantime, it seemed right for the Wardens to take this final short journey together, after all they had been through.

The first town they came to was a bright little place, full of happiness and rejoicing. Somehow they managed to find a tavern with enough space for them all and, after dumping their packs in their rooms, secured themselves a table in
the corner of the bar. Drinks flowed and food piled up, and Yalenna experienced a lightness of heart that seemed entirely foreign, and yet, so welcome.

Sitting beside her, Mergan upended the last dregs of his mug and set it heavily on the table. Opposite, Rostigan gave him an exaggeratedly rueful look, and pushed over a newly brimming jug.

‘Still got your appetite, I see,’ said Yalenna, nudging her old teacher.

He looked a little troubled by that, and ceased reaching for the jug. ‘It seems a bottomless pit,’ he said. ‘Be assured I will not let it run away with me again. Although … if you
did
happen to have any more of that curltooth …’

‘I got it from Tarzi,’ Yalenna said, nodding at the minstrel who was charging around between tables playing her lute as hard as she could while others egged her on. ‘You’ll have to ask her.’

‘Ah. Well, maybe I shall. She might be kind to an old man, eh? I don’t want much, just a pinch – enough to stir into a jar of jam.’

He gave an uncertain chuckle, and she patted his hand. ‘It’s all right to enjoy yourself.’

Mergan smiled sadly. ‘Perhaps.’

A thought struck her, though she did not like it. ‘You aren’t … that is to say, did you ever have your
moment
? Maybe it even affects you now?’

‘Nay, my dear, I do not think so.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t need some odious deliverance from beyond the grave to look
back upon the sweep of things gone wrong and judge myself deficient. The fact is, I may already have had my moment a hundred times over in the tomb, but how would I differentiate it from what I really felt, or feel now? For so long I have dreamed of how things might have been … such a curse would lack distinction to make it recognisable.’

Strangely, Yalenna found herself vaguely annoyed. ‘Here,’ she said, filling up his mug. ‘You’re too old to mope about it for the rest of your life.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. But give me another day or two, at least.’