The Legacy of Lord Regret: Strange Threads: Book 1 (15 page)

What if he deigned to become something like who he should have been? Surely that man was still somewhere inside, hidden amongst
the anomalous threads that altered his pattern. Yet, even if he could discover him and bring him to the surface, it did not
matter.

She would not love him, ever.

I should kill her. I am the Lord of Crows, not to be brought down by a lowly slave
.

He rose, but the action was without conviction. He knew he could not destroy her. Even if he killed her body, her memory would
live on forever.

He slumped back into his seat.

Was it the work of Regret? Some curse upon him, a leftover of the battle on the Spire? Something that had
waited for the perfect moment to maliciously show him the path untaken? It certainly was in keeping with Regret’s style, and
Karrak did not think it unlikely, though such conjecture did little to reduce the impact of the result. Maybe it was even
a sending from the Great Spell itself, as if it sensed the right of things across a great crevasse, as threads that should
have found each other flapped loosely and untied.

Had she been
meant
for him?

He stood again and began pacing to ward off panic. If they had been meant for each other, had he no chance to ever rediscover
that feeling? Now that he knew what he was missing, he could eat curltooth stew for the rest of time and it would never come
close to satisfying him. Would the Spell ever deliver him another of her quality, or was he entirely removed from its tapestry
– an aberration, a glitch, a wine stain in the corner? What if his true self was long dead, and he was nothing more than a
distorted shadow? It had never crossed his mind before that
nobody
could love someone like him.

‘Everything is not preordained,’ he said, trying to believe it.

If he tried to
become
like the man he should have been, would he be rewarded? What if he reinvented himself, gave up this empty illusion of control
in the hope that, one day, he might find her again?

He had the rest of time to try it.

A good man
, he thought. He knew what such a thing looked like – he had put the mask on himself when it had suited his purposes. Could
he put it on long enough to make the world believe that he was good?

Not from this starting point. He needed to begin anew. And he would lose her in the process, but it was the only way to find
her again.

‘What are you moping about, brother?’

Karrak spun about, for he hadn’t heard anyone enter. There stood Forger, a full head and shoulders taller than he, dressed
in his patchwork ensemble of leather. Looking at him now, he seemed both familiar and unfamiliar. Forger was his cohort, his
confidant, a companion ruler in neighbouring Tallahow. They called each other brother – but now Karrak thought of his real
murdered brother, and wondered who this strange creature was. Someone as twisted and broken as he?

Forger held out a bottle. ‘I thought you’d want to toast your success!’

Karrak wished he had not come this night, yet he could not tell him to go away. Especially, he could not say what was on his
mind. It would be seen as frailty, and rightly so.

‘Of course.’ Karrak waved at Forger’s armchair, next to his own. It was larger than most, having been made specifically by
the castle’s master craftsman.

Forger sank into it, took a big swig of the bottle and handed it over. ‘A clever piece of work,’ he said, ‘turning Alcrane
and Cordahl against each other.’

‘Yes,’ said Karrak. ‘Weak-willed mortals that they were.’

Forger chuckled. ‘You’re so morose. Looked like you were pacing a trench in the floor when I came in. You must learn to savour
these accomplishments.’

‘Indeed,’ said Karrak, and took another swig.

‘Look at me, for example,’ said Forger. ‘I’m blistering with power, and could have more, yet I’ve grown this big, and maybe
it’s enough. Any more and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the world, for I could no longer fit through its doors, let alone into
its women! So instead I inflict a level of pain upon my people calculated to maintain my strength, and do not seek for more
or less.’

‘What are you saying?’ said Karrak incredulously. ‘You are content?’

‘Perhaps. What more could a man want? Wine, maidens, a choice of castles, a chorus of suffering in his name … oh, I know,
they
are out there, working to take it all away. So mean, they are! Yet that’s part of it too – without a little struggle a man
would grow bored, don’t you think?’

‘You wish for conflict?’ said Karrak, drinking more wine.

‘Not really. But you do.’

‘What?’

‘Well, look at you. Since the moon was last full, you have conquered two kingdoms. Walls that stood for centuries have been
ground to dust, yet I find you listless. For you, it is not enough to have
conquered
. You need to be conquer
ing
. You’re like a hunter after the fox – the thrill is in the chase, but in the end what do you have?’

Karrak smacked his lips. ‘What do I have, Forger?’

‘A dead fox. The thing that made it enticing to you – its speed, its cunning, the challenge it represented, is gone. That
said, I suppose there are ways to keep yourself entertained in the meantime. Punishing slaves, keeping the army focused. Killing
your men today.’

Karrak scowled. ‘You heard about that?’

‘I’m not being critical, brother. I’ve been known to do some harm myself. Just strikes me as odd, when I know how hard you’ve
worked to hone your captains’ loyalty, to then punish them for no good reason. The mood amongst your closest will be confused,
whence previously they felt exempt from your temper.’

‘I do not care a jot how they
feel
.’

It was true. He did not care what anyone felt, not even Forger. No one except himself, and now her. But caring about her was
almost the same as caring about himself, because she was something that he wanted. It still came down to his own selfish core.

With that realisation came decision. If all his trappings and influence and power, did nothing to satisfy him anymore, they
were just a waste of time. Having earned them for himself, it was his right to leave them behind.

‘You have been hanging onto that bottle for a while,’ observed Forger.

Karrak took another swig and passed it over.

Forger raised it to the fire. ‘To our continued success!’

‘I thought you claimed to be content,’ said Karrak, moving to a cabinet where more bottles waited.

‘That is not to say I don’t enjoy a good fox hunt! We just need to find a new fox. Like, oh, I don’t know … the west?’

Karrak considered Forger, languishing there, jolly and tipsy and too big for his skin. He did not want to fight the man, as
he would surely have to if he tried to release his slaves and give everyone their kingdoms back. Forger would see such acts
as betrayal, and then Karrak would not be free.

The ground began to shake, glasses in the cabinet vibrating. Karrak reached to steady a bottle, waiting for the rumbling to
pass. After a few moments, it did.

‘Because of us, Yalenna claims,’ said Forger. ‘That’s why they want us dead.’

‘It’s one of the reasons.’

‘Do you believe it, Karrak? The streaks we now see around sunset, the quaking ground, the melted trees, the leaves that spin
and never stop, never touch the ground … It’s not our fault, is it?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Aftershocks of Regret, that’s all.’

‘But we took the threads, my friend. From the Great Spell.’

‘Yes! And look how great we have become!’

‘Indeed,’ said Karrak, unstoppering another bottle.

Once Forger had gone to collapse in his chambers, Karrak looked at himself in the mirror.

‘Good,’ he said, mulling the word over, seeing how it tasted on his tongue.

It was a question, to himself. Could he be good?

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m bored as it is. Might as well give it a try.’

He shed his armour without ceremony, letting it clank to the ground around him. At his weapons rack, his hand lingered for
a moment over his usual sword, but it was showy and distinctive enough to be recognised. Instead he chose a plain broadsword,
strong and nondescript, and slid it into the scabbard across his back. From the cabinet he took a bag of gold, finished the
remaining wine in two big gulps, and smashed the bottle in the fire. Then he went out the door.

In the kitchens, servants were startled by his presence.

‘Forget I am here,’ said Karrak, spinning threads into their minds, and they stopped their cringing and left him be. He set
about packing himself enough food for a few days.

As he walked the bright, colourful corridors of Castle Ander, he wondered if he would see them again. Maybe all he needed
was a couple of days to think, and realise what was really important. The lump-like feeling in his chest would fade. Was that
why he did not dismantle his empire? Or go to a window and tell his crows:
disperse
.

Did he safeguard against the possibility that this was naught but a brief and stupid mistake?

His breath shortened as he approached the room where she was being held. There were two smirking guards at the door.

‘She’s been cleaned up for you, lord,’ one said.

‘Go to bed,’ said Karrak, and the guards stiffened, and nodded. ‘And kill yourselves,’ he threaded, as an afterthought.

Was that
good
? he wondered, as they marched off. Aorn would be rid of two violent men, Karrak’s army that little bit weaker.

He opened the door and went inside. She jumped up from her pensive spot on the end of the bed, her hair still damp, her shoulders
speckled with moisture. Karrak found himself turning cold at the abhorrence in her eyes, a foreign feeling he did not care
for.

She could still be his, he told himself. He could make her think she loved him. They could live in the castle together, she
his doting wife.

‘You’re going to cast a spell on me, aren’t you?’ she said accusingly.

Karrak gritted his teeth.
It wouldn’t be the same
.

‘While my mind is still intact,’ she said, ‘I want to tell you that … that … ah! I cannot even find the words to describe
what a loathsome burden you are to the world! No worse a monster ever slithered from its mother, would that she had birthed
you off a cliff! And one day,
one day
, someone will succeed in killing you.’

Her ire was astounding.

‘I saved Aorn from Lord Regret,’ he said, wondering at the fact that he was driven to defend himself.

‘And how would you save a baby from drowning? By throwing it to a slavering wolf?’

Karrak took a step forward, and she flinched.

‘What makes you think,’ he said, ‘that I’m going to place you under any spell? Perhaps I won’t do you that kindness. Perhaps
I like my women unwilling.’

She paled at that, and he chastised himself. He had only wanted to quiet her, but threatening habits were hard to curtail.

‘Come here,’ he said, threading his words.

Surprisingly she resisted him – her will was very strong.

‘Come with me,’ he tried again. ‘Take my hand. I mean you no harm.’

Finally his command sank in, taking tenuous root in her mind. He did not think it would last forever. Maybe he could not have
made her love him, after all.

He led her out of the room and downwards.

‘Do not see us,’ he told those who crossed their path. ‘Do not remember our passing.’

Out of the castle they went, into the streets, Karrak repeating his mantra to all he saw. As they exited the city via the
eastern gate, he heard clinking in the quarry to the south, and grimaced.

A good man would set his slaves free.

Perhaps he would return.

They left the road and set out across flat land dotted by the lights of farmhouses. Karrak put into effect the little trick
he’d come up with, to stop Salarkis from tracking him. All night they walked, mostly in silence, and when the sky began to
lighten, Karrak knew he had best think about threadwalking. They were far enough from the city now that she could strike out
on her own without great risk of running into patrols. Would she try to return to the Plains Kingdom, he wondered? It was
still overrun with his soldiers.

‘You should head to Althala,’ he said. ‘It is the safest place in Aorn. Braston does a good job of protecting his people.’

She gave a stiff nod.

‘Go, then,’ he said. ‘You are free.’

‘What? This is some trick, is it?’

He marvelled at her resilience – great rulers had proven easier to manipulate.

‘
Go
,’ he said, ‘and forget about me.’

He pressed some coin into her hands.

She glanced back once or twice, frowning, and he knew she would be befuddled for a time, perhaps have difficulty orienting
herself, or recalling how she came to be alone in the fields. Maybe she would return to the Plains despite his words, and
get herself killed trying to free the Plainsfolk, but that was her choice now, for he had no say over what she did with her
life, in this one.