The Legacy of Lord Regret: Strange Threads: Book 1 Read Online Free

mad by their transformation,
     they were certainly no longerrecognisable to their old comrades. Fortunately others, like Yalenna and Braston, remained as good as ever, despite what had
     been forced into them.
    ‘The Wardens were saviours for a brief moment in time, but in the days to follow, the battles they waged against each other
     would draw in the rest of the world, and make Aorn’s people wonder if they would have been better off under Regret. And, through
     the Wardens, his corruption lived on …’

    ‘Are you sure?’ Tarzi glanced at the sky, as if it might fall dark again. ‘Maybe you imagined it.’
    Rostigan barely heard her. Not even a trace of Silver-stone’s threads remained. It had not been ripped away, it had been
removed
.
    ‘Rostigan?’
    ‘No. I did not imagine it.’
    ‘But what does it mean?’
    ‘I don’t pretend to know for certain, but if …
someone
… stole an entire city they may have punched enough of a hole in reality to send out ripples, maybe big enough ones to explain
     the flickering of daylight.’
    Tarzi’s eyes shone in fear.
    ‘And I saw someone,’ Rostigan added, ‘just before. Cloaked, running away, and wearing a broad hat too.’
    ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
    ‘I did not think it significant at the time.’
    ‘I’ve seen paintings of Stealer. She always wore a hat.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And covered her face.’
    ‘This figure wore a kerchief.’
    ‘That does not change the fact that Stealer was killed!’ Tarzi rubbed her temples furiously, muttering to herself. ‘Knights
     rode forth from Silverstone, dressed not in armour, but plain trousers and tunics. Riding mares unremarkable in nature or
     colouring, wielding dull and simple swords. And since there was nothing about them to turn into poetry, when they found Stealer
     in the woods, her quill could not save her. As she burned, all the things she had stolen were returned to the world.’
    Rostigan nodded. ‘That is the tale.’
    ‘That is the tale from
three hundred years ago
.’
    ‘Indeed.’
    ‘Are you saying you don’t think she really died?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then what?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    Rostigan did not voice that, for some time, he had been growing concerned about the Spell. It wasn’t just the increased rumours
     of worms and silkjaws, or the battle at Ilduin, or even the moment of night on the beach … it was the sight of a falling leaf
     spinning too slowly, or an animal running backwards in a way that seemed impossible, or an odd scent wafting in the air, like
     earth burning. It wasknowing that the Wound above Regret’s Spire had never been closed and, more and more, it was a feeling he had.
    He had not tried to explain it to Tarzi. She was young, and for her the world was as it had always been.
    Looking about, he thought he spied the place where the figure had disappeared – yes, there, by a stream running into the woods.
     His head pounded – if Stealer really was loose again, there would be much grief for the people of Aorn. Even the other Wardens
     had been afraid of her. Immune to her gift they may have been, but she could still vanish castles from under their feet, armies
     from their fields. If Rostigan had a chance, here and now, to stop her before she did any more harm, before the world even
     knew the peril, before she could add new pages to her legend …
    Now was the kind of time when he bemoaned Tarzi’s company most. And, frustratingly, exactly the kind of time which she stayed
     with him to witness.
    ‘I must track the woman I saw,’ he told her. ‘It’s the only way to be sure. And, if it is Stealer, I must kill her.’
    Despite everything, a wild excitement filled Tarzi’s eyes. ‘Imagine the song should you best her!’
    ‘Do not wish such things upon the world,’ Rostigan said darkly. ‘Hope that I am wrong.’

    It was growing dark and the stout trunks were thickly crowded, in places almost wall-like. Fallen trees lay at oddangles, pushed from