The Lord of Lies: Strange Threads: Book 2 (42 page)

Alone in his tent, the goblin Turen pored over his maps, wondering where to strike next. As he stooped to place pins in likely targets, chill water from the ice lantern above dripped onto his neck. He straightened to rub it over his tar black skin, welcoming the cool sensation.

Around him were camped several hundred goblins and Arabodedas – the pale men of the south. This was one of six such encampments along the border, all of which had been making forays into Kainordas. Turen’s command had tallied the worst of the damage so far, and he meant to keep it that way.

A dry, deep voice spoke behind him. ‘Commander Turen.’ Fear flushed him with adrenaline, but he managed not to start. In the darkest corner of the tent rose a darker shadow, a man-shaped void with uncertain edges.

‘My great lord,’ said Turen, bowing. ‘You honour me with –’

‘Report,’ said Battu.

Turen swallowed, forcing himself
to raise his eyes and meet a stare he could not see. ‘I’ve placed scouts and archers along trade routes to Holdwith. We don’t venture within a league of the fortress, but instead harry their patrols and shipments. Six days back they sent forth a sizeable force to scour the countryside, but we retreated across the border and suffered few losses.’

‘New prospects?’

‘The outlying village of Lerinsk is heavily guarded, but I’m confident I can lead a sneak attack against it. I would aim to cull the guards without entering the village, but that would look like an aborted attempt to penetrate.’

‘Do it,’ said Battu. ‘The Throne’s gaze must be retained.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

Battu’s shadow wavered in some unseen wind. ‘I am combining your encampment with those of Golt and Salindy,’ he said. ‘You’ll be in charge.’

Satisfaction suffused Turen, but again he held his emotions tight. ‘As you wish, my lord. Thank you.’

‘I am not overly pleased with Salindy’s efforts thus far,’ said Battu. ‘And although I want no undue risks taken, in battle there will always be risk of some kind.’ His shadow grew larger, creeping up the walls of the tent. ‘Feel free to risk her.’

‘I understand, lord.’

‘Reinforcements will arrive shortly, and war engines from the ringlet. Marshal them as if we are planning for full-scale invasion. Continue to harass in the meantime.’

‘Yes, lord.’ Turen’s curiosity fought with
caution and he dared to venture a question. ‘My lord, may I ask … do we have the child?’

‘Soon,’ said Battu.

With that, the Shadowdreamer receded like smoke flowing backwards. The tent’s shadows returned to their normal selves. Turen stood a few moments longer just to make sure, then let out a long breath. He turned to his maps and stuck a pin into Lerinsk.

Elessa Lanclara broke free of an entangling vine and slid down an embankment. She was a slightly plump young mage with a fair complexion, blond hair and sapphire blue eyes. She wore a white dress of office that had seen better days. As she reached the slippery rock of the gully below, Dakur was waiting to steady her. He was a blade, assigned as her personal guard – a stocky fellow of medium height, with tanned skin, short, dark hair and a square jaw. He wore thick trousers and boots, and a leather vest that did little to keep the rain from his shoulders. At his side hung a long sword with a bronze hilt. The two of them were Varenkai, humans of Kainordas, land of the light.

Once Dakur was certain Elessa had her footing, he turned to frown at the stream that gushed through the gully. It flowed high and fast in the storm, but Elessa knew he worried about things more dangerous than currents. There were many reasons why Whisperwood was known not to be a welcoming place.

On either side of the gully towered the tall grey trees that populated the wood, their crisscrossing branches waving in the wind like
a spider’s web. On the gully floor, pale rocks shone where moonlight found them, and reflections of the running water danced across their faces. Elessa shivered, and not because of the rain. She wasn’t quite ready to believe the stories about this place, but nonetheless moved a step closer to Dakur. Maybe she just didn’t
want
to believe them.

‘I could float us across,’ she suggested.

Dakur scratched at the beginnings of stubble. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t know who else is running about in this accursed wood. You should save your power.’

‘My power won’t be worth much if I’m at the bottom of a stream being chewed to bits by a fisherman’s bane!’ Elessa snapped.

A half-smile flashed across Dakur’s face so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. ‘We’ll cross by foot,’ he said. ‘I’ll stand upstream. If anything happens, float yourself out of danger before you worry about me.’

‘Dakur –’

‘Banes prefer still waters anyway, I think. We should be safe.’

Locking hands around each other’s wrists, they stepped into the stream. Instantly they were up to their waists in rushing water, struggling against a forceful flow. Elessa scanned for movement upstream, but the water churned too violently to see anything beneath the surface. The undercurrent dragged at her dress and things unseen brushed her legs. She hoped they were leaves and twigs.

Moments later they emerged on the opposite bank, scrabbling across rocks until they stood beneath trees. Elessa realised she was still
holding Dakur’s wrist and sheepishly let go. She pulled up the soaked sleeves that clung to her arms and they slid right back down. Despite the determined expression she wore, she was scared. She glanced at Dakur – thank the light he was with her! If he hadn’t been, she didn’t know what she would have done. Found the courage to go on anyway, she suspected begrudgingly.
Damn it all!
she thought, suddenly angry. There should have been another mage here, and an experienced one at that, not a fledgling like herself! She squeezed water from her hair.

She’d been serving at Indereen, her first posting as an overseer. She’d barely knocked the dust from her bags when a dispute had erupted with the neighbouring town, Ridgeway. The people of Indereen had been clearing a group of crystal trees – so called because their leaves were transparent and brittle like delicate glass. During the clearing, many of the leaves had been shaken free, to drift spinning in the breeze, down the valley into Ridgeway. The leaves had razor-sharp edges, and the streets and surrounding fields of Ridgeway had been covered in dangerous shards. One small boy had lost an eye to a floating leaf. The dispute had been heated on both sides.

In the middle of Elessa’s mediation, a loudmouthed healer had arrived at the town inn. He’d boasted of how he’d travelled alone into Whisperwood – a foolishness compounded when he’d strayed from the path to scour for rare herbs. He’d happened upon a couple living in the wood, something which was strange enough in itself. Stranger still, the expecting mother’s hair had turned blue with her pregnancy. The healer speculated excitedly to anyone
who would listen that surely this meant the woman would give birth to a blue-haired child, the mark of the prophesied child of power.

The standing orders from the Open Halls were very clear when it came to the prophecy. The hundred years since its foretelling were almost up. Any hint, rumour or even lie regarding a child with blue hair was to be investigated immediately, and Elessa knew the Halls had chased many of late. Nothing she’d heard of sounded as plausible as the healer’s theory. She’d questioned him herself and it was
very
difficult to lie to an overseer. It had instantly become her bound duty to ascertain the truth of the claim. She had left Indereen immediately, sending out messages to other mages nearby. None had yet joined her.

If indeed she discovered a child with blue hair, she would take it as quickly as possible to the Halls – no matter what the parents wished. Despite the potential presence of the enemy, it was this thought that worried Elessa the most.
Surely
, she thought,
the parents will see that a child destined to break the balance between shadow and light will be hunted by the forces of evil
.
It
must
be protected from the Shadowdreamer.
She almost lost her footing as she clambered across sprawling roots.
And surely they must already love their child and not want anyone to take it away. As should be their right.

She silently prayed that the Shadowdreamer had no knowledge of this blue-haired woman. Reports said Battu had instigated a series of skirmishes along the border. Many conjectured they were the precursor to a full-scale invasion, stronger than when Battu had attacked the Shining Mines four years before.
Mages and soldiers had been sent to the border in droves, which had made it difficult for Elessa to find support along the way. She hoped Battu was distracted with his warmongering and his gaze was far away from this place.

She knew it was a foolish hope. Battu’s net reached far and wide.

She wondered whom he had sent.

Slashing through the undergrowth, Rhobi’s mood grew fouler as steadily as time passed. He was drenched, but it wasn’t that that angered him – in his homeland, the cold and damp were as common as air. No, it was his commander who made him grind his claws inside his fists, raking furrows into the skin of his black palms. Hiding his hatred had become almost impossible.

Tyrellan was his commander’s name, but if Rhobi had his way it would never be written on any gravestone. The thought made him grin in the dark, and rain pooled atop his black lips. Maybe he could control his hate after all; he just had to remember that Tyrellan was as good as dead.

The rain slated at all angles through the forest canopy. A few paces ahead Tyrellan pulled back a large fern, flinging droplets on himself but making little difference to his already wet stare. He remained silent as he stared off through the trees, his orb eyes as black and still as deep water.

Rhobi struggled to hold his tongue, but his patience evaporated faster than a teardrop on a fire. ‘Anything there?’ he asked, barely managing to keep terseness from his voice.

Tyrellan ignored
him completely. Rhobi scowled, his claws curling around the pommel of the sword at his side. He longed to unsheathe it, to ram it into Tyrellan’s back and deliver a blow that would leave him enough time to realise from whom it came. That was important – Rhobi didn’t want Tyrellan’s soul floating away before he had a chance to gloat.

Rhobi was from a noble family, one of the highest amongst the Black Goblins. Despite this, Tyrellan extended him a lack of regard he’d never experienced before.
You imagine yourself protected by a hierarchy of titles, Tyrellan
, he thought.
You underestimate the hierarchy of blood.

Still, Rhobi knew he had to pick his moment wisely. He’d wait until they got the child safely away from the wood and then, on the journey home, Tyrellan would die. All the glory for the mission’s success would go to Rhobi. Fazel wouldn’t care. Fazel didn’t care about anything and had no need for glory.

‘What do you see, Tyrellan?’ said Fazel now.

Rhobi glanced at the mage curiously. Only a few had ever seen Fazel’s face, and Rhobi knew that if they ran into opposition tonight, he would be one of them. Rain rolled over the brown cloak that enveloped the mage, his hooded gaze turned downwards, as ever.