Read Online The Legacy of Lord Regret: Strange Threads: Book 1 by Sam Bowring - Free Book Online

from the north?’ asked a younger man. ‘I was in Yar today, and there’s talk going about that Braston
     rules again in Althala!’
    ‘Aye,’ said Borry. ‘I heard that, Klion.’
    ‘Indeed,’ said Tanis, thumbing towards Klion. ‘You heard it from
him
.’
    ‘And Yalenna, too – they say she came back to life in the Temple of Storms!’
    Rostigan, regrettably, did not think the rumours were false. He knew for certain that one Warden had returned from death –
     and if she had, why not others?
    Borry, it seemed, echoed his sentiment. ‘Wardens,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘The Spell’s upped and brought ’em back,
     that’s what I reckon. And if it’s done Braston and Yalenna, well, why not also … but, ah, I don’t want to say.’
    ‘We all know who liked to leave words hanging about in the air,’ said the woman.
    ‘I don’t believe this,’ muttered Tanis. ‘You’re talking about children’s stories!’
    ‘Horse shit,’ said Borry. ‘Spell’s done it before. What about feverblossom? It disappeared for a hundred years, and now it’s
     everywhere in the west, thicker on the ground than grass.’
    ‘And wildercats,’ added the woman. ‘And harp flies.’
    Tarzi returned to the table with two mugs of ale and sat down despondently. ‘Innkeeper doesn’t think it’s a night for minstrels,’
     she said. ‘People are too worked up.’
    Rostigan puffed on his pipe.
    ‘You’re all idiots,’ Tanis declared as he rose, sounding more afraid than convinced. ‘Why go putting such ideas in people’s
     heads? Eh? To what purpose?’ He stalked away toward the door.
    Tarzi lowered her voice. ‘We should tell them she’s dead. It would put their minds at rest.’
    ‘No,’ said Rostigan, ‘it wouldn’t.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘They won’t believe it. If she’s dead, why hasn’t Silverstone come back?’
    Tarzi frowned. ‘How should I know?’
    I could tell you
, he thought.
Her corrupted threads live on in me
. But how could he make her understand, without telling her everything? Even then, he was not sure himself why he’d inherited
     Stealer’s power. All he knew was that Silverstone was hidden away somewhere inside him, along with everything else Stealer
     had written of during her short return. If he died, would all be restored? Or would the threads move on again, into a new
     host?
    Tarzi made up her mind. ‘The important thing,’ she said, ‘is that she won’t be bothering anyone anymore. And while you may
     be content to sit there and stare into your ale, I for one will not stand by and listen to these folk needlessly scare themselves
     silly.’
    She twisted off her seat to plant her buttocks on the tabletop, facing away from him, towards the farmer Borry and his friends.
     In a loud clear voice, ‘It was Stealer who took Silverstone,’ she announced.
    The entire tavern fell to a hush. Rostigan felt anger pulse, that she would go against him like this … but then again, he
     never had ruled her, and so he did not stir. It was too late anyhow.
    ‘What makes you say that, miss?’ said Borry. ‘You heard the words?’
    ‘I did,’ said Tarzi. ‘I was there myself, two days ago. My companion and I found the city gone, and in its place was Stealer’s
     voice, hanging in the air.’
    Over behind the counter, the innkeeper – a fat man wearing a sweaty apron – put down a mug heavily. ‘I told you,’ he said,
     wiping his hands as he moved around the counter, ‘this is not a night for minstrel’s tales!’
    ‘This is no wild legend or bawdy song,’ Tarzi replied calmly. ‘This is present truth.’
    ‘Let her speak!’ someone called, and other voices rose to agree.
    Begrudgingly, the innkeeper receded.
    Tarzi slid off the table and moved before the fireplace. ‘Not only that,’ she continued, as all eyes followed her, ‘but we
     saw the culprit herself, fleeing into the trees!’
    There were surprised murmurs.
    ‘What did she look like?’
    ‘How did you