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

the earth by the hungry roots of others, but without the space to fall.
    Rostigan moved under a slanting trunk, Tarzi on his heels trying to remain as silent as he. She was fairly adept at it, he
     had to admit – as light on her feet here as when she sprung from tabletops performing stories – and yet there still sounded
     the occasional scrape of her boot on bark, or the crackle of leaves underfoot. It was dangerous – if the woman they pursued
     really was Stealer, the last thing he wanted was for her to hear them coming.
    The trees gave way briefly to stony ground by the side of the stream. Rostigan entered the clearing carefully, but no one
     was there. Instead, on the opposite side of the clearing, a strange sight greeted him. Running in a straight line off into
     the dark was a passage between trees too uniform to be natural. Its floor was lightly churned, earth caving inwards where
     the roots of stolen trees had been. As Rostigan drew closer, a whisper wafted forth.
    Standing in a wooden queue
    South to north, straight and true
    ‘She carved herself a path,’ he said.
    Tarzi bit her lip. ‘At least it will make her easy to follow.’
    ‘Only for me.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Yes, songbird, time for you to roost a while.’
    ‘How am I supposed to recount your doings if I’m not there to behold them?’
    ‘Or indeed, if you are rhymed out of the world?’
    ‘I wasn’t making any noise!’
    ‘You were doing well, but you must understand that this errand is madness. If Stealer really is somewhere ahead, there’s every
     chance I won’t return – and I won’t risk you into the bargain. She adores beauty, they say, so you’d be the first to find
     your way onto the pages of her notebook. The greatest hope is to take her by surprise – something I can achieve more easily
     without you.’
    Tarzi sighed and dropped her pack to the ground. She looked caught between being annoyed and slightly pleased with the compliment.
    Rostigan went to the mouth of the passage. There were fresh footprints in the earth, mockingly petite. He glanced back at
     Tarzi – she had not protested overmuch, and he suspected she might still try to follow. Perhaps she would decide she could
     remain a safe distance behind him and observe any confrontation from hiding.
    ‘Tarzi,’ he said.
    ‘Mmm?’
    ‘In your stories, when someone is told to stay behind, they never do.’
    She grinned. ‘What of it?’
    ‘Don’t smile, girl,’ he snapped. ‘Stealer is no laughing matter. Her return could mark the beginning of a new chaotic age.
     Perhaps there is but one chance, one small and tiny chance, to stop her now before that happens. Is that worth jeopardising
     for a tale to tell drunkards?’
    Tarzi’s glare was icy.
    ‘Promise me,
promise
that you will not follow.’
    She sat down heavily on a log.
    ‘Tarzi?’
    ‘I promise!’
    ‘A real promise, true? You will not sit for an hour, grow bored and creep along after?’
    ‘Wind and fire! I promise, you insufferable man.’
    ‘Good.’ He turned away.
    ‘What makes you think you have this small and tiny chance anyway? If it really is her, which there’s no way it can be.’
    ‘I have my reasons.’ Rostigan took a deep breath, and entered the passage.

    He went more swiftly than before, for he predicted Stealer at tunnel’s end, and that was not yet in sight. Insects and worms
     that had made their homes in the earth around absent roots now wriggled free and exposed. The passage never deviated, and,
     as night fell, the wood grew blacker and blacker.
    How deep have you gone?
he wondered.
How far do you flee?
    He winced as his boot crunched a beetle.
    Finally, ahead, he caught the twinkle of firelight. He slowed, stepping in shadows not found by the rising moon. Softly he
     approached the end of the passage, which he could now see opened up into a small clearing. He paused on thethreshold, peering through gaps in the trees. There, on a rock before the flames, sat a lone