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

implications of what had been happening, but
     that had been short-sighted of him. It was her business to know history and legend, so she was necessarily well versed with
     what may be coming.
    ‘What about the good Wardens?’ said Klion. ‘Surely they will save us?’
    ‘Oh yes?’ said Tarzi. ‘If that’s what you believe, then by all means stay here and do nothing. Let me tell you this, however
     – even good Wardens need help. Why else would Braston ask for an army, if he could handle everything by himself? Make no mistake,
     fine people – complacence is tantamount to downfall. Silverstone is gone! Will you let that loss stand alone as a terrible
     tragedy, or become the new way of the world?’
    Across the room, the threader gave a little smile. Rostigan could see the man was impressed – certainly he could not have
     said it better himself.
    ‘All right,’ said the innkeeper, once more coming aroundhis counter, ‘I think you’ve terrorised my customers plenty for one night.’
    ‘It isn’t me,’ snapped Tarzi, ‘from which terror originates. I trust that
you
won’t be joining us on the road tomorrow, good innkeeper? Where instead? Sleeping peacefully, like a hog in a hoghouse, unaware
     that you will soon be sent to slaughter? Happy in your ignorance, your denial?’
    The innkeeper’s face went bright red. ‘That’s enough!’
    ‘
I
shall join you.’
    This from a muscular young man with bronzed skin and a healthy spark, a farmhand by the looks. At his words, the friends he
     sat with bobbed their heads.
    Rostigan knew the type. Bored with their decent lives, they would find the call to any adventure appealing. Armies were built
     on such headstrong young folk, who did not understand that glory was a word used long after the fact.
    ‘And I, miss,’ said Borry, ‘though I may be too old for such an undertaking – at the least I shall bring you supplies for
     your trip.’
    Other voices rose and soon the room was full of them. The innkeeper may not have succeeded in shouting down Tarzi, but as
     people began to discuss all that they had heard, she was, in a way, dismissed by the collective. Many of them now clustered
     about the threader, peppering him with questions. Meanwhile Tarzi moved back to sit with Rostigan, not meeting his eyes immediately.
    ‘Are you angry with me?’ she asked.
    Rostigan removed the pipe from his mouth. ‘A little,’ he said. ‘But … well, what does it matter?’
    ‘And about going to Althala?’
    As he scratched at the tabletop, a splinter broke free to drive up under his fingernail. Wincing, he pulled it out.
    What other choice?
    ‘Of course,’ he said, and sighed.

SKULLRENDER
    That night it took Rostigan a long time to find sleep. It wasn’t because of Tarzi continuously stealing the sheets, then depositing
     them back upon him in a tangle, for he was used to that. Rather, it was news of the Unwoven stirring, making him wonder if
     they might soon leave the Dale on mass, as they had done once before. And, as he drifted in and out of wakefulness, he saw
     golden fields of grass shining in the sun, and felt a warm breeze on his face that was almost comforting.

    They said there was nowhere flatter in Aorn, and Rostigan had travelled widely enough to believe it. Stretching from the foothills
     of the Roshous Peaks, the Ilduin Fields were a great expanse of hard ground and tough yellow grass. It was hot there also,
     damn hot, and he sweated constantly under his steel.
    ‘There’s the Pass,’ said Loppolo, King of Althala.
    Away in the distance, a V-shaped break in the mountains marked the entrance to the Tranquil Dale. In the centuries since Regret
     had turned his people into Unwoven, and despite their lord’s long absence, they had never forgotten his order to guard it.
     Unusually, however, in recent days, a great many of them had spilled from the Pass to camp on the Fields, beneath colourfully
     inconsistent banners. It was a sight not seen in living