Read Online The Legacy of Lord Regret: Strange Threads: Book 1 by Sam Bowring - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sam Bowring
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hand.’
He let this sink in. ‘Yet you are right to be troubled, for she was only one of eight. If others have returned as well, we
may all face great peril.’
‘Are you travelling to answer King Braston’s call?’ came a voice from the other side of the room.
Rostigan was caught off guard. The speaker – a threader, he realised, with some trepidation – stood by the door, having only
recently arrived by the look of his damp hair, for the night outside was speckling rain. With relief Rostigan noted a badge
on the man’s breast shaped like a scroll. It was the traditional mark of a messenger, andthreaders who specialised in the mundane function of sending and receiving airborne words were not usually potent in many
other ways.
‘That’s him, from Yar,’ the young man called Klion whispered. ‘He’s the one who’s been telling people about Braston.’
‘What call?’ said Rostigan.
The threader arched an eyebrow. ‘Has the message not arrived here?’ His gaze settled on Klion. ‘You – I told you to bring
word to your mayor.’
Klion gulped. ‘I … er …’
‘Don’t mind him, sir,’ said Borry. ‘He’s a little slow.’
‘Would that I had realised. Ah well, I suppose I was right to come here myself.’ The threader cleared his throat. ‘Word has
gone out that any able and willing are welcome to swell Althala’s ranks. Braston warns that other Wardens could be at large,
and we may even see a return to the bad old days of war with Karrak and his cronies.’
There were fearful mutterings at that.
‘Also,’ said the threader, ‘Braston means to do away with the Unwoven once and for all.’
The mutterings grew. This far south, people had probably never seen an Unwoven, which did nothing to soften their reputation.
‘Why seek them out?’ said an old man. ‘Let them alone, I say – what does it matter to the rest of us if they keep to themselves
in the Dale?’
‘Keep to themselves?’ said the threader. ‘Tell that to the Plainsfolk, who suffer increasing numbers of Unwoven raids. They
steal the bodies of the slain, then take them back into the Dale for some fell purpose. Have you heard nothing of this?’
‘The Plainsfolk choose to live where they do,’ said the old man. ‘It’s not our fault what happens to them.’
‘The Plainsfolk,’ said the threader, ‘stop the Unwoven spilling forth to harry us all. You should show some respect for those
who buy your safety with their lives. The threat is real, and must be dealt with, but the Plainsfolk cannot storm the Pass
alone.’ He looked to Rostigan. ‘You fought the Unwoven once before, Skullrender?’
Rostigan nodded.
‘So,’ said the threader, ‘will you answer the call again?’
Rostigan opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Oh, he did not want this, yet he felt it happening nonetheless. He wished
that he was back in the wilderness, turning over rocks in search of purple moss.
‘Of course Rostigan will go to Althala,’ announced Tarzi, her eyes shining in the firelight. ‘And,’ she swept the room with
her gaze, ‘if there are others among you who would not see ruin visit Aorn, I urge you to join us. We will be leaving at daybreak
on the north road.’
There sounded a few affirmative answers, but Rostigan knew that a new day and sore heads would make liars of most of them.
Still, he was surprised by Tarzi. This conscientious side of her he had seen only once or twicebefore. Perhaps he viewed her too unkindly – just because she liked attention and making gold, did not mean she was a selfish
creature.
‘If the Wardens really have returned,’ she continued, ‘then danger threatens us all. You know the tales of what damage they
did as they fought each other. Even now, Karrak may be somewhere raising an army of his own. Unless we wish to become fodder
for his crows, we may have to fight.’
Rostigan, again, was surprised. He had not thought Tarzi appreciated all the
He let this sink in. ‘Yet you are right to be troubled, for she was only one of eight. If others have returned as well, we
may all face great peril.’
‘Are you travelling to answer King Braston’s call?’ came a voice from the other side of the room.
Rostigan was caught off guard. The speaker – a threader, he realised, with some trepidation – stood by the door, having only
recently arrived by the look of his damp hair, for the night outside was speckling rain. With relief Rostigan noted a badge
on the man’s breast shaped like a scroll. It was the traditional mark of a messenger, andthreaders who specialised in the mundane function of sending and receiving airborne words were not usually potent in many
other ways.
‘That’s him, from Yar,’ the young man called Klion whispered. ‘He’s the one who’s been telling people about Braston.’
‘What call?’ said Rostigan.
The threader arched an eyebrow. ‘Has the message not arrived here?’ His gaze settled on Klion. ‘You – I told you to bring
word to your mayor.’
Klion gulped. ‘I … er …’
‘Don’t mind him, sir,’ said Borry. ‘He’s a little slow.’
‘Would that I had realised. Ah well, I suppose I was right to come here myself.’ The threader cleared his throat. ‘Word has
gone out that any able and willing are welcome to swell Althala’s ranks. Braston warns that other Wardens could be at large,
and we may even see a return to the bad old days of war with Karrak and his cronies.’
There were fearful mutterings at that.
‘Also,’ said the threader, ‘Braston means to do away with the Unwoven once and for all.’
The mutterings grew. This far south, people had probably never seen an Unwoven, which did nothing to soften their reputation.
‘Why seek them out?’ said an old man. ‘Let them alone, I say – what does it matter to the rest of us if they keep to themselves
in the Dale?’
‘Keep to themselves?’ said the threader. ‘Tell that to the Plainsfolk, who suffer increasing numbers of Unwoven raids. They
steal the bodies of the slain, then take them back into the Dale for some fell purpose. Have you heard nothing of this?’
‘The Plainsfolk choose to live where they do,’ said the old man. ‘It’s not our fault what happens to them.’
‘The Plainsfolk,’ said the threader, ‘stop the Unwoven spilling forth to harry us all. You should show some respect for those
who buy your safety with their lives. The threat is real, and must be dealt with, but the Plainsfolk cannot storm the Pass
alone.’ He looked to Rostigan. ‘You fought the Unwoven once before, Skullrender?’
Rostigan nodded.
‘So,’ said the threader, ‘will you answer the call again?’
Rostigan opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Oh, he did not want this, yet he felt it happening nonetheless. He wished
that he was back in the wilderness, turning over rocks in search of purple moss.
‘Of course Rostigan will go to Althala,’ announced Tarzi, her eyes shining in the firelight. ‘And,’ she swept the room with
her gaze, ‘if there are others among you who would not see ruin visit Aorn, I urge you to join us. We will be leaving at daybreak
on the north road.’
There sounded a few affirmative answers, but Rostigan knew that a new day and sore heads would make liars of most of them.
Still, he was surprised by Tarzi. This conscientious side of her he had seen only once or twicebefore. Perhaps he viewed her too unkindly – just because she liked attention and making gold, did not mean she was a selfish
creature.
‘If the Wardens really have returned,’ she continued, ‘then danger threatens us all. You know the tales of what damage they
did as they fought each other. Even now, Karrak may be somewhere raising an army of his own. Unless we wish to become fodder
for his crows, we may have to fight.’
Rostigan, again, was surprised. He had not thought Tarzi appreciated all the
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