The Legacy of Lord Regret: Strange Threads: Book 1 (34 page)

He went to the window and poked out his head. Only a few slivers of night now remained, the day very close to winning. The
ground was some hundred paces below, but there were other windows nearer than that. As he clambered out, he summoned the sheets
from Braston’s bed, lengthening them to form a fabric rope. He sent one end to knot around the bed frame, then lowered himself
down to a window beneath. Once there, he wrenched out glass and frame with one swipe of his hand, and swung into the lower
room.

He found himself in a noble’s quarters, deserted with the door lying wide open. He wasted no time dallying, and ran out into
corridors filled with frightened, gabbling people.

It would not be difficult, he imagined, to disappear into the turmoil.

Salarkis rested his hands on the rail of one of the keep’s high balconies, watching the display in the sky.

‘Despirrow has put us all in danger,’ he said.

‘We were already in danger,’ replied Forger.

‘Well, then, he’s made it worse. I shall go and find him immediately.’

‘I don’t want you interrupting his mission.’

‘Ah. So you
do
know what he’s doing!’

‘I admit, I do.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Forger sighed. ‘Come, Salarkis. There’s something I want to show you.’

He stepped aside and held a palm up through an archway.

Salarkis dithered for a moment but, ‘Very well,’ he said, and allowed himself to be ushered through.

Something heavy smashed across the back of his head. He pitched forwards, bruised under his scales, bright lights flashing
before his eyes. As he fell he turned, tried to use his tail to catch himself, but it scraped along the floor and
he landed unceremoniously on his buttocks. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision.

Forger stood over him, a broken length of stone – some of the balcony railing? – in his hands.

‘Ah,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘What do you mean, “ah”?’ snarled Salarkis. ‘So we
are
foes, after all? Is that what you wanted to show me?’

‘More or less,’ said Forger. ‘People think I don’t pick up on things, but I’m not stupid, you know. Even before we died, we
were growing distant from each other. And I’ve heard the stories – didn’t you think I would – about you and Yalenna. About
how she blessed you, before killing you. Are you still blessed, Salarkis?’

‘You might call it that.’

‘Besides,’ said Forger, ‘you have such wonderful gifts. I admit I got a little greedy, wanted them for myself.’

‘What?’

‘Never mind.’

‘You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you? I’m going to disappear.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘How could you even think there was any point to hitting me like that?’

‘Well, I don’t know!’ said Forger exasperatedly. ‘I just thought maybe, if I could knock you out for a moment, you wouldn’t
be able to threadwalk, and I could finish you off in the meantime.’

‘Well, it didn’t work.’

‘I
know
it didn’t.’ Forger rolled his eyes. ‘I can see that, thank you very much. On the other hand …’

‘What?’

Salarkis waited, itching to be off, but also wanting to hear this last thing Forger had to say.

‘WHAT?’ he shouted.

‘All right, all right. Well, I was just going to say … this one more very important thing, before we part ways …’ Forger smiled.
‘On the other hand, at least I have bought Despirrow some time.’

Salarkis scowled as he unspooled.

As Yalenna burst into the room, the sight that greeted her almost made her reel. She wobbled in place, just managing not to
collapse.

Entering after her, Rostigan looked about grimly.

A sword stuck proudly out of Braston’s barrel chest; his head, in a corner, was facing away; there was a smashed cup on the
ground; and in another corner a quivering healer held his knees to himself.

He will pay for this
. The words began to run repeatedly through her head.
He will pay for this, he will pay for this
.

Rostigan approached the healer. ‘What happened here?’

The man started to stutter. ‘My … I was … Despirrow … that is …’

‘We don’t have all day for your gibbering,’ said Rostigan.

‘All day,’ echoed Yalenna, staring out the window. The light that shone through it was now constant and strong. Day had taken
hold.

‘Tell us what happened,’ said Rostigan, spinning persuasive threads into his words.

The healer blinked, powerless to withhold his secrets. ‘I came to bring King Braston poison,’ he said.

Yalenna spun around. ‘What?’

The healer nodded. ‘On the order of the true King Loppolo. Heartsorrow, mixed with curltooth.’

‘And did he drink it?’

As Yalenna stalked towards him, he swallowed.

‘Answer her,’ said Rostigan.

‘He drank it. Then Despirrow came, and … well … Braston was not able to fight back.’

Yalenna was almost nose to nose with him now. ‘So you killed him together.’

‘Er …’ The healer’s face was full of fear – speaking under Rostigan’s influence seemingly did not change the fact that he
knew he was in a lot of trouble.

‘I should bless the skin right off you,’ growled Yalenna.

‘By the Spell!’ This from Jandryn, who had arrived at the door. ‘Lady Yalenna, are you all right?’

‘Take this man,’ she said, thrusting the healer at him with eyes blazing, ‘to the dungeons. He has poisoned King Braston.’

‘Poisoned?’ echoed Jandryn, glancing at the headless body.

‘And send out guards,’ said Rostigan, ‘to search the castle. Despirrow is here, somewhere.’

Jandryn paled. ‘Right away.’

‘We should search for him too,’ said Rostigan. He touched Yalenna’s shoulder, and she started. ‘Yalenna? Don’t you want to
find him?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’

Salarkis appeared out of the air somewhere between Althala and Tallahow. A quick glance confirmed what he already suspected
– he had not made it to Despirrow in time. Either Despirrow was threadwalking himself, or dead.

Sighing, he sat down in the middle of nowhere to consider what he should do next.

Despirrow appeared back in the square outside Tallahow Keep. This time his sudden arrival was hardly noted, as everyone present
was pointing at the sky – here, like elsewhere, the middle of the night had fast become day.

He paused to look upon a person or two, to marvel at the new sense he had acquired. He could see a new kind of thread, of
which several wavered from each and every individual – not part of
their
pattern, but part of
the
pattern. It was something to do with how everything was connected – he didn’t pretend to understand it – but evidently it
was
how Braston had been able to discover where justice and injustice lay.

He made his way into the keep, feeling so powerful that he almost hoped guards would try to bar his way – yet they simply
bowed and let him pass.

Already I am known here
, he thought, oddly disappointed.

‘Look at you,’ he said to one of them. ‘Your mother raised you all by herself, and you don’t even visit her anymore! Shame
on you.’

The guard blinked in surprise, and Despirrow moved on. Having Braston’s power was going to be fun!

He tracked down Forger to the mirror room. The Lord of Tallahow was staring into the mirror, chortling and rubbing his hands
together.

‘Oh, my!’ Forger crowed. ‘You should come and see this, Despirrow! They are running about the castle like little ants, still
looking for you … and I have seen,
have seen
your work!’

Despite his ambivalent feelings towards Forger, it was hard not to glow at such enthusiastic praise.

‘And you have acquired Braston’s powers?’ Forger asked.

‘I have.’

Forger nodded. ‘Well, that is something, at least.’

‘What do you mean,
at least
?’

‘The prize is won at terrible cost, my dear, you must know this. When the world can’t decide if it’s day or night, that is
a bad state of affairs.’

‘It has cleared up now. The day shines true.’

‘Mmm. But who knows what the lasting harm may be? Anyway, I should not be maudlin, for these are exciting developments! Braston
dead, and you with his talent.’

‘I’m so glad you approve.’

As he watched the mirror, Forger’s eyes widened. ‘By the Spell!’

‘What is it?’

Forger didn’t shift from whatever he saw. ‘Come, look for yourself!’

Hesitantly Despirrow went to the mirror. He found himself staring at the view into Braston’s room. The door was still open
– had in fact been wrenched from the wall – and a healer was supervising Braston’s remains, having his neck wrapped so that
it stopped trickling. It warmed Despirrow to see it, though he could not immediately ascertain the source of Forger’s excitement.

‘What am I looking at, precisely?’ he said.

His body jolted, and there came a cold sting in his chest. He looked down to see the point of a blade sticking from his breast.
Turning slowly, he found Forger staring intently into his eyes.

‘What …’

Forger punched him hard, sending him staggering.

‘Forger,’ he rasped, grasping for purchase at nothing. ‘Don’t do this.’

‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ said Forger. ‘You are simply too irresponsible to wield such power.’

‘But we are … friends.’

Forger shook his head sadly. ‘No, not really. You only came here when you got scared, not because of any true loyalty. I have
realised, much as it grieves me, that I must stand alone. It’s not the way I’d choose it, but you, Salarkis, Karrak … all
have abandoned me.’

Despirrow tensed, trying to take hold of the strength so newly acquired. It was there, he knew it – he reached for Forger,
who moved smoothly backwards, and Despirrow pitched forward onto his hands. The strength was there, but he could not rise
to use it. He stared down at his splayed fingers, feeling the hopeless spasms of his punctured heart.

‘You … just want … my powers.’

‘Maybe,’ said Forger. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t really enjoy the stopping of time, athough maybe I will when it’s something I
control, rather than an inflicted annoyance. I already have strength to match Braston, as you can see.’