The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4)

by Garrett Robinson

  “No, I will not,” said the innkeeper, sounding absolutely delighted.

  “Listen, friend,” I said. “No one appreciates your generosity more than we do. But you cannot survive on good deeds and well wishes alone. Take some of our coin.”

  The innkeeper answered only with another two pennies laid on the pile.

  “Stop telling him to take money,” growled Mag, who seemed to wish to ignore the fact that she had just done the same thing. “It only makes him give us more.”

  “I think you should leave,” said Dryleaf. “It seems an untenable situation for the two of you, unless you wish to rob the poor man blind.”

  The innkeeper nodded gaily, as though he had never heard truer words.

  “But we are robbing him blind,” said Mag. “I used to own an inn myself, you know. And I am—well, in all honesty, I am insulted on his behalf.”

  To my surprise, Dryleaf put his hands on his hips and scowled in Mag’s direction. “If you do not wish for people to give you gifts, to say nothing of praise, then I would cease your frankly ridiculous habit of running around and saving them from danger. Many people in the nine kingdoms see this as the only natural reaction to such a thing.”

  “I did not come here to save anyone,” grumbled Mag, avoiding looking at either Dryleaf or the innkeeper. “And so be it, if they are too foolish to take my money—put them back.” She snatched the pile of silver away from the innkeeper, who had been reaching for another pair of pennies from his purse.

  We beat a hasty retreat from the inn and out into the street, Mag scowling, Dryleaf chuckling mightily, and me trying to restrain myself from joining him. Mag was still trying to cram the coins into her purse several streets later—the innkeeper had given her quite a lot of them. But we both stopped short as we saw Liu standing there before us.

  The boy was not alone. Next to him was the man who had taken him in when we had brought him back to Lan Shui. I had never learned his name. But beside them both sat Oku. The dog grinned up at us, tongue lolling from its mouth as it panted in the heat of the day.

  “Liu,” said Mag, crouching at once to speak with him at eye-level. “How are you?”

  “I am well,” he said. “You killed the monsters?”

  “We helped,” I told him. “Many in the town fought them together.”

  “I am glad,” said Liu. “I am glad they are dead.”

  Mag looked a little sad at that. But she reached out and ruffled his hair. “We have to be going now, but we know we leave Lan Shui under your protection. You will watch out for all these people for us, will you not? Many of them are not very smart. They will need you.”

  Liu smiled at that. “Of course. I am going to be a constable one day.”

  “I think you will be a great one.”

  “I think Oku should go with you,” said Liu.

  I took a step forwards. “Liu, that is very kind of you,” I said. “But he is your hound. This is his home.”

  “His home was in the mountains,” said Liu. “So was mine. But I think he needs to go and protect other people’s homes now. That is what you are going to do.”

  “Let him stay and protect you,” I said.

  Liu’s eyes began to well with tears, and his cheeks flushed. “I am safe now. You killed the monsters. But there may be other monsters out there. I want to know that you are safe, too.”

  Mag had moved behind the boy, and she was giving me a scowl he could not see. And in my mind, that settled the matter. I gave Liu a warm smile.

  “Then it would be our pleasure to take him along with us.”

  Mag barely stifled a groan. But she plastered a smile on her face as Liu turned and hugged her legs. Then the boy went to Oku and clutched at his dark brown fur.

  “Take care of them,” he said. “Mayhap I will see you when we are both older.”

  “We will make sure to come and visit,” I said. “Thank you, Liu.”

  “Fare well,” said Mag. She gave the boy another tight hug and then headed north. I followed her, Dryleaf on my arm. Oku took two tentative steps after us, but then he stopped and looked back at Liu.

  “Kip, boy,” said Liu. “Go with them.”

  Oku looked at us, and his mouth snapped shut. He looked back at Liu and whined.

  “Oku, tiss,” I said.

  The hound met my gaze. He ran back to Liu and licked his face twice. Liu laughed and gave the dog another hug. Then Oku ran after me, trotting at my heels. Just before we turned the corner out of sight, he gave one last glance back at Liu. Then the boy was gone.

  I had forgotten the way to the constables’ station, so we followed Dryleaf’s directions to find it. A sharp knock produced Constable Ashta in short order, and she ushered us in to visit Yue. The sergeant had been laid upon a wide, soft bed in the back room of the station, where she was propped up on many pillows. She appeared to have been dozing when we arrived, but her eyes snapped open as we entered. She shifted herself so as to appear more upright. As we came to her bedside, she surveyed us with stern, uncompromising eyes.

  “You lot are off, then?” she said brusquely.

  “We are,” said Mag. “But we wanted to ensure you were well taken care of.”

  “Of course I am,” said Yue. “And entirely unsurprised to see you scuttling off after having made so much trouble.”

  I chuckled. “Yes, but at least we leave you with our apologies. That must be worth something.”

  “Hardly,” said Yue. “But actually, there is one matter that must be tended to before you sally off. By the King’s law, there is a bounty on vampires. Any killed and turned in to the law are worth five gold weights each. You have killed seven while you have been here. I never learned my numbers very well, so let us call it forty weights.”

  Mag gave a loud, frustrated groan and turned to me. “Darkness take all these people. Do they not realize that coins are worth money? Why are they so eager to be rid of them?” But then her eyes lit up with an idea, and she whirled back to Yue. “No! Keep the coins. Use them in our name, to support those who lost homes and loved ones to the vampires’ attack. And start with that absolute fool of an innkeeper whose custom we took. Will you do that for us?”

  “Lan Shui has more than enough helping hands to take care of those who are bereaved,” said Yue. “And I am afraid the King’s law is quite clear about the terms of the bounty.”

  “Sky above, you—I will not—this—” Mag ended in a sputter, thrusting a finger at Yue. “I am not taking your gold. So unless you mean to get out of that bed this instant and pursue me out of town to hide a coin purse in my saddlebags, I am afraid you must be disappointed. Albern, I am taking my leave. Say your farewells, and then let us ride on from this haven of woodenheads.” She stalked out of the room, only pausing for a moment at the door to turn and give Yue a final “I am glad you will recover” before vanishing.

  I stepped up beside Yue with a smile. As I did, Ashta passed Mag on the way in. She stared after Mag, who had stormed off in a huff, and shook her head as the door slammed shut behind her.

  “You shoved the purse in her saddlebag?” said Yue.

  “I did, Sergeant,” said Ashta. “And judging by the look on her face, I am glad she did not see it.”

  “Despite her admonishment,” I said to Yue, “Mag herself has never been good at holding on to coin. I hope you will forgive her rash words.”

  “If she follows the King’s law, I will,” said Yue, arching an eyebrow.

  “Thank you, constable. Though you know, you helped us kill two of the beasts.”

  “Yet constables are exempt from the bounty,” said Yue.

  “That seems unjust,” I said.

  “I do not write the laws,” she said. “I only enforce them.”

  I placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her through the thick bandages she had there. “And I think you do excellently at it. Fare well, constable. I am sorry to have disturbed the peace of your people.”

  “Things are better now than they
were when you arrived, I suppose,” said Yue, meeting my gaze. “If you ever draw near to Lan Shui again, I would not mind if you visited us. You did not get to see many of the town’s more attractive features. This bed, for example, is quite comfortable when it is not holding a convalescent.”

  I do not mind telling you that my cheeks went absolutely wine-dark with color. From his place by the door, Dryleaf gave a conspicuous cough, and Ashta became suddenly very interested in something out the window.

  “I … I am sure it is,” I said finally. “Mayhap I will take you up on your offer, if ever I return this way.”

  “You would be fortunate to,” said Yue with a snort. Then her eyes slid past me to Dryleaf. “Still your giggling, old man. I have not forgotten the help you gave to these people when they were still strangers. I have my eye on you.”

  “And it is only that fact that lets me feel safe when I lay my head down at night,” said Dryleaf, bowing. “I am glad you are well, Yue.”

  “Of course you are,” said Yue. “Well, enough of both of you. I have been ordered to rest well in order to speed my recovery, and I always listen to my healer.”

  “That is a lie,” whispered Dryleaf, as we beat our hasty retreat. “She is one of the most obstinate patients in the nine lands. The healers have told me so. I think she was as stunned by her words to you as you were, and wanted an excuse to kick us out.”

  We returned to the inn, where we began to ready our horses for travel. Foolhoof looked at me as suspiciously as ever, while Mist, of course, easily took the blanket, bit, and bridle as Mag put them on. Dryleaf sat on a little wooden stool near the front of the stable, a gentle smile plastered on his face. It looked forced.

  “Mag,” I said quietly, stepping close to her for a moment. “Do you think the innkeeper has any spare horses for sale?”

  “Any innkeeper worth their salt does, and he is too much of a fool to be worth that much,” said Mag irritably. But she glanced around the stable. “No, in truth, I think he does. There are too many horses here for the number of guests I have seen in the common room, at least. Why do you ask?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Dryleaf, sitting by the stable’s front door, and then met Mag’s gaze. I raised my eyebrows. She pursed her lips and looked at the old man, considering. At last she looked back at me and nodded.

  I left my horse for a moment and went to the old man, sitting beside him on the bench at the front of the stable. “Dryleaf,” I said. “I have been thinking much about what you said.”

  “Hm?” said Dryleaf, shaking himself as though he had been pulled from deep thought. “I have said many things.”

  “I mean about how you came to be in Lan Shui.”

  Dryleaf sighed. “Oh? Have you?”

  “I have,” I said. “And I thought—though you may have no interest in such a scheme—I thought you could come with us, if you so desired. We have no plans to visit the Birchwood Forest. But we might go there one day.”

  For the second time that day, Dryleaf moved with the shocking speed of a much younger man. He leaped to his feet, hands trembling, and I saw tears well up in his cloudy eyes.

  “I … if you took me with you, I would—I swear I would be no burden, and I would—”

  “Sky above, man, of course I know that,” I said. “You have forgotten more leagues of travel than I have ever ridden. And for my part, I would be happy to have your wisdom at our side, and I swear we would keep you safe. And something tells me we may have tasks ahead of us for which we will require your help.”

  “Anything,” said Dryleaf. “If my old bones can do it, consider it done.”

  “Very well. I have your first task for you.” I pulled out my purse. “Go and see the innkeeper, and purchase yourself a horse. I think he would refuse to take any of our coin, but I think he might take yours.”

  Dryleaf let out a laugh that almost turned into a sob, shaking his head. “Even your first task for me is a gift. I am in your debt, Albern of the family Telfer, and I will not forget it.”

  “You will not have time to,” I assured him. “Before long, the hardness of the road and the open fields upon which we make our beds will have reminded you of why you abandoned them for comfort and safety. But while you are seized with this madness, I will take advantage of it.”

  “How very shrewd of you,” said Dryleaf. “But now excuse me—I must purchase myself a horse.”

  The business was done before we had finished saddling our mounts, and soon the three of us rode out of the stable, Oku trotting along beside our horses. As we passed through the streets, townsfolk waved and wished us well—especially Mag. She rode high in her saddle, her back straight. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead, the way they had been when we rode into Lan Shui. But now she turned her sight upon the people who called out to her, and smiled at them, and wished them well.

  And I was proud to ride by her side, as we made north for Calentin.

  For home.

  “A good tale,” said Sun, as Albern’s voice trailed away to nothing. “A good tale, and well told.”

  Albern did not answer her for a moment. He stared at the fire between them, the flames dancing in his eyes, his arm across the top of his knee, and his fingers hanging idly before his face. For a moment he resembled nothing so much as a statue, a warding figure placed in the woods to guard them from death and darkness, and to provide comfort to any traveler who came his way—comfort, but no help.

  Finally he stirred and looked at Sun across the fire. He stared at her for a moment, as though he were hearing her words again in his mind, and then he smiled. “I recognize the words of praise that were customary in your family’s court, and I thank you for them.”

  “Now tell me about your arm.”

  Albern laughed. “No. Not yet. That is the end of the story—or the only ending most people care about. But endings are useless if you do not know where things began. The journey, the whole of it, is what a story is all about. In this small tale I have just told you, imagine how much drier it would have been if I had just told you about Lan Shui and fighting the vampires, without telling you about Northwood first. Imagine how little you would have cared about Northwood if you had not known about Sten.”

  It was a fair enough point. But the spell of the old man’s tale was wearing off now, and it left her feeling cold and alone in the woods, despite the fire and Albern’s presence. “Well then, I suppose we had better—”

  “Quiet,” rasped Albern, so suddenly that Sun obeyed without question.

  The old man rose, and from his belt he drew a sword—old, battered, but well sharpened and polished. Sun got to her feet as well, though she did not know why. Without thinking, she drew an arrow and fitted it to the string of Albern’s bow, peering out into the night beside him. She had not heard whatever had alerted him, but now she could feel it. The woods were too quiet, and there was a presence. Something was out there, watching them.

  “What is it?” she whispered. “A wolf?”

  “Not a wolf,” said Albern.

  And then a creature of nightmares bounded into the firelight. Man-sized and man-shaped, but horribly twisted and bent. It landed on all fours, and there it crouched, hissing at them. Pallid, white skin. Hands that ended in claws as long as Sun’s fingers, and a mouth full of pointed teeth.

  Sun might have had difficulty identifying it, if she had not heard it mentioned so often already that night.

  Vampire, her mind screamed.

  And then it roared as it attacked.

  First it leaped for Sun, but Albern gave a great cry and jumped in between them. His wild, swinging sword drove the creature back a pace or two, and Albern sidestepped to draw it farther from the fire.

  Sun’s whole body had gone rigid, but then she realized what Albern was doing. He was stepping aside so that she would have a clear shot. With that thought, her body seemed to move of its own accord. The bow came up, she drew, and she sighted down the arrow.

  Albern gave a cry and swiped
at the vampire. It lunged to the side, arms wide. And Sun loosed.

  With everything Albern had told her that night, she fully expected the vampire to dodge her shot. But to her surprise, it pierced the vampire straight through the wrist. The creature screamed—a terrible, ear-shattering noise that threatened to deafen her, especially in the deep silence of the woods.

  The vampire wrenched the arrow out of its limb. The edges of the wound began to turn black. It whirled on her, hissing, but Albern attacked, sword flashing in the firelight.

  With a shriek, the vampire leaped off into the woods and the darkness.

  The clearing settled again to silence. And as it did, Sun realized that now she was shaking, now she was quivering and breathing so hard that she did not think she would be able to stand for more than a few heartbeats. The bow clattered from her hand to the ground, and suddenly she was sitting, though she had made no move to lower herself. Her tailbone hurt, but it was a dull, distant sort of pain.

  “What … sky above, what was that?” she gasped, though she was not truly speaking to anyone.

  “Too bad, is what it was,” said Albern. “I had hoped we could kill the thing, but it got away. Ah, well. They tend to do that, as I have told you already tonight. And the wound will fester—if it does not die from the infection, it will at least be easier to finish off.”

  “That was a vampire!”

  “Of course it was.”

  Sun looked at him, eyes wide. “You knew? You knew that creature was coming?”

  “Why, yes,” said Albern. “That is why we came out here. And was I not right? You are a warrior true. I can tell. I can always tell. Even back then, I could tell, and I am better at it now.”

  “But I—but you met me in a tavern by chance!” said Sun, rising shakily to her feet. “What would you have done if I had not come? You could not have faced that thing alone!”

  Albern smiled at her, gently and with a little sadness in his eyes. “We met in the tavern, but not by chance. This is the thirteenth town you have visited on your family’s trip, Sun. The sixth one was the first time you slipped away from the caravan. You have done it again in every town since. You have been looking for something.”