“I despise all this waiting.” Mag wore a scowl, and she did not sit, but stood in the center of the room with her arms folded. “You nobles seem to have perfected the art of making people wait on your beck and call.”
“I have not been a noble for some time,” I said.
She was about to respond when the door to the chamber opened again. It had only been a few moments, and so we all turned to it in surprise. There stood the page again, looking almost as startled as we were.
“The Rangatira is ready to receive you,” she said, as though she herself could not quite believe it.
I barely kept myself from asking, Already? But Victon gave us a knowing grin. We helped Dryleaf stand again, and followed the page back out into the main hall and up a short flight of stone steps to a large door at the end of the room.
Beyond lay the Rangatira’s audience chamber. It was the bottom floor of the keep’s central tower, and so it was circular, with a wall towards the back that obscured the staircase leading up. In front of that wall stood a small dais—nowhere near so grand as the king’s, as I knew from personal experience, but imposing enough. And upon that dais was a chair, where sat the Rangatira. He was a little older than I was, with a thick and braided beard that reached the middle of his chest. Some grey flecked that beard, as well as his temples, just like mine. He had extensive tattoos on his cheeks and chin. Upon his brow was wisdom, and in his eyes burned the fire of courage. His arms were thick with both muscle and fat, and he was clothed in practical garments that were fine enough for his office, but not ostentatious. I felt myself instinctively straightening my posture, standing like a soldier in formation. This was a leader, and no mistake.
“You address Conrus of the family Matara, Rangatira of Opara and of southeastern Calentin,” said the page.
I bowed with a fist to my forehead, and after seeing me, Mag did the same. After I straightened, I went to Dryleaf and carefully guided his hand to his forehead. But before I helped him bow, Lord Matara raised a hand.
“That is not necessary,” he said. His eyes shifted to the page. “That will be all, thank you.”
The page bowed, fist to her forehead, and left. The chamber settled to silence as Lord Matara studied us. At last he beckoned to Victon.
“Greetings, old friend,” he said. “I see you have finally brought that which you owe me.”
Victon beamed his most charming smile and approached with the wine. “And it is my pleasure to do so.”
The Rangatira smiled in return and came down from the dais to accept the bottle. He turned it over in his hands once before placing it on a table near his chair, and then he came over to us, studying us with keen eyes.
“You are the ones who have come to ask a boon?” he said.
“We are, my lord,” said Mag, bowing again.
He turned to her, clearly assuming that she was our leader—which suited me just fine. “My duties keep me rather busy, and so I must be brief,” he said. “How may I help you?”
“We were hoping, lord, that we could inquire as to whether there has been any unusual activity in Opara of late?”
Lord Matara frowned. “You shall have to be more specific. Odd goings-on are all I seem to deal with. That is the lot of a Rangatira.”
Mag gave me a quick glance. How to inquire without tipping our hand?
“Rangatira,” I said. “Has anyone, by chance, reported any sightings of a rogue weremage? A Calentin woman of about my years?”
The effect on him was immediate. His dark face grew darker still, and he glanced quickly back and forth between the two of us. “A weremage? I cannot say that I have heard of one, no. But that is a matter for Mystics. Are the two of you redcloaks in disguise?”
“We are not,” said Mag quickly. “But we have a special interest. Have there been any crimes recently, mayhap, something outside of petty theft or a street brawl, where the perpetrator has not yet been caught?”
“Nothing that has come to me,” said Lord Matara. “Though I could make some inquiries. But what do the two of you want with a rogue weremage? You would do better to turn this matter over to the Mystics and let them track her down, if you can give them a report as to the crimes she has committed.”
I sighed and reached for my right sleeve, drawing it up to the elbow. There, on the inside of my forearm, was my family’s mark. I showed it to Lord Matara.
You will already be familiar with noble marks. The family Telfer’s is made of three arrows pointing down, and behind them lies a bow. It is somewhat reminiscent of the Mystics’ symbol. There mine sat, etched into the skin with black ink.
“We have come from the family Telfer,” I told Lord Matara. “We have pursued this weremage a long way, and Lord Telfer’s grudge against her is quite personal. For that reason, we would rather not involve the Mystics. The redcloaks would not allow us to pursue our hunt, but would take it upon themselves. We would prefer to handle things quietly.”
I could see Victon’s surprise. Of course, he knew I was a Telfer. But he also knew that I had not been home in many years, and this story was rather different from what we had told him. But he was wise enough to play along.
The Rangatira, for his part, suddenly looked rather stony. Instead of answering, he turned and walked back to his dais, climbed the stairs, and sat down upon his chair. The message was clear: this was no longer a personal matter, a favor bestowed by him upon his friend, Victon. This had just become official business.
“Why did you not tell me this before?” he said sternly.
“As he said, we wished to handle this matter quietly,” said Mag.
He kept his gaze fixed upon my face. “I do not know that I know you,” he said, “though you have the Telfer look.”
“I do not know that I know you either, Lord,” I replied, “though you look like a Matara.”
The words were mayhap brazen, but they drew a small smile from him. “What is your name?”
“Kanohari.”
His gaze slid past me. “And she?”
“This is Chao,” I said, pointing to Mag. “She is an old friend of the family, and a loyal companion in a fight.”
“And the other?”
I frowned, though I tried to hide it. When it came to matters of Rangatira and rangers, I did not know why he should be so interested in my companions. “He is Dryleaf. An advisor, and one with much expertise in the matter that drew us from home.”
“The matter of wizards, you mean,” said Lord Matara.
“I do,” I said. “Forgive me, Rangatira, but why do you ask? By which, I only mean that so many questions tell me something is amiss here in Opara.”
Lord Matara considered me for a moment, deep in thought.
“When was the last time you were in Telfer lands?”
Quickly I added the time up in my head—not the true answer, of course, but the time it would have taken us to get here from Tokana if I first rode into Feldemar and then traveled in haste.
“What is the date, my lord?”
“The eighteenth of Yanis.”
“Then it was over a month ago,” I said.
Lord Matara nodded. “That is as I thought. There have been recent developments that I have only recently been made aware of. The High King has sent word to the nobility across the land, asking us to be especially alert for strangers passing through our domains. But if you are supposed to know why, it would be proper for you to hear it from your own lord, not from me.”
That put a tremor in my heart. And despite myself, I could not keep from asking the obvious. “And yet, my lord, if you are supposed to be suspicious, why did you allow us to enter your council chamber?”
“Because you came with Victon,” he said. “And I have verified that this is Victon. I have my own wizards, and though you did not notice them, they probed your party for magic as you entered, to ensure he was no weremage in disguise.”
“A wise measure,” said Mag.
Lord Matara glanced up at her, looking annoyed
for a moment.
“Forgive her, my lord,” I said, glaring over my shoulder at Mag. “She has been a family friend for so long that she has grown somewhat lax in decorum, and she is such a skilled warrior that my lord tends to overlook it.”
To my immense relief, he smiled at that. “I suppose there are some in Opara whom I treat the same—Victon among them, though that is for his wine, and not his skill in battle. Though I have heard that that was prodigious in earlier days.”
“Nearly an age ago now, Rangatira,” said Victon, giving another bow.
Lord Matara smiled before turning back to Mag. “If you are so skilled a warrior, I would enjoy sparring with you sometime, if you remain in Opara long.”
Before Mag could say something else idiotic, I replied, “I am afraid that is not our plan. We wish to find and eliminate this rogue weremage, and then to return home as quickly as we may.”
He nodded. “Fairly said. Very well. If you have been hunting this weremage for almost a month, there is little chance she has anything to do with the matter the High King warned us about. That is reassuring, but it also means I cannot spare my personal attention for the matter. I will send for my lead ranger to assist you.”
He lifted a hand in a clear gesture of dismissal, though a kindly one. I bowed, fist to my head once more, and ushered Victon, Mag, and Dryleaf from the room.
“Sky above, Mag, would you please try to keep at least a modicum of respect?” I said, once the page had escorted us back to the waiting chamber and the door was closed.
“I was plenty respectful,” she said. “And I took his measure before I spoke. That was a man who respects bravery and a good laugh.”
“She is right,” said Victon with a chuckle.
“He seemed an honorable man,” said Dryleaf. “I could hear a strength in him.”
“Strength, and wit, and many secrets,” I said. “I knew him, when I was young, before I had even seen fourteen summers.”
“Before your wending, then,” said Mag. “No wonder he thought you looked familiar.”
“The years have altered my appearance at least as much as the wending,” I said. “Not all of us have retained our youth so well as you.”
She gave me a brittle smile. Dryleaf sighed as he settled back in his chair cushions. “It is good for you that you were not recognized,” he said. “It seems you do not have as much to fear in your homeland as you thought.”
But I was not entirely convinced. Certainly, here in Opara, it was far less likely that anyone would recognize me than it would have been in Tokana. But all it would take was one member of my family—even distant kin—and then I knew word would make its way back home. To my mother.
I feared to think what might happen then.
Victon spoke up. “This is where I should let you go your own way, I think,” he said. “I know little of these matters.”
“Of course,” said Mag, clasping his hand and pulling him into an embrace. “Thank you for everything, Victon. We will try to see you again, if we can. Will you be all right, getting back to the farm on your own?”
“I told you I can mount my horse,” he chuckled. “Besides, the Rangatira’s servants are always willing to help me.”
“Then thank you again,” I said. “May the sky smile upon you, and the moons light your way through the dark.”
“I enjoyed our time together more than any I have had in a good long while,” said Dryleaf, reaching out to allow Victon to take his wrist. “May the time before our next meeting be short, and may the reunion be joyous.”
“With your presence, of course it will be,” said Victon. “I would give much to have you tell more tales and sing more songs for my family.”
“Nothing would please me more,” said Dryleaf. “Once this business is taken care of.”
“Of course,” said Victon. Then he took Dryleaf’s shoulder and gently placed his forehead to the old man’s. “Until next time.”
He left. We settled ourselves into chairs to await the arrival of the lead ranger.
“I was interested in that secretive business the Rangatira mentioned, about the news from the High King,” Dryleaf said, once the chamber had settled to silence again.
“It must be the Shades,” said Mag.
“That was my guess,” said Dryleaf. “Yet Conrus thinks our weremage has nothing to do with them. I wonder just what Enalyn told the nobility.”
I could not help getting somewhat rankled. “The least you two could do is refer to Lord Matara and the High King by their proper titles.”
Mag waved an airy hand. “We leave such niceties to you nobles,” she said. “You just told me I have a poor grasp of decorum.”
Before I could argue further, a thought struck me like an arrow between the eyes. I grinned, prompting a confused frown from Mag.
“Mag,” I said, struggling through a throat that had suddenly gone tight. “If the High King warned the nine kings of the Shades, that means she received the message.”
She looked every bit as thunderstruck as I felt, her hands clenching to fists. From his place in the cushioned chair, Dryleaf turned his head back and forth, arching an eyebrow.
“Eh? What message?” he said. “You did not tell me you were on speaking terms with the High King.”
“Not us,” I said. “Friends of ours, ones who barely escaped the destruction of Northwood. They were trying to deliver news of the Shades to the High King, but they were pursued. We had feared for their safety.”
“I see,” said Dryleaf, nodding gravely. “Then I am happy for you both that they survived.”
“Mag, we know where they are,” I said. “We can find them. We can search for Ammon and find—”
“Of course we can,” said Mag, giving me a small smile—but a stern one. “Once the weremage is dead, we are free to go wherever we wish. We will find Loren then. I swear it.”
I felt crestfallen. In my joy over realizing that Loren had survived and fulfilled her mission, I had almost forgotten about the weremage, about anything but my sudden desire to mount Foolhoof and ride for Feldemar as fast as his legs could carry me. But of course, we had come this far, and there was still the weremage.
“Naturally,” I said. “After we have finished here.”
“And speaking of which,” Mag continued, “if the nobility knows of the Shades, it could become a problem for us. If the Rangatira seeks information about them, but he is trying to keep their existence a secret, then his servants might withhold information from us. It is understandable, of course, but contrary to our aims. But I know how to solve the problem.”
Before I could ask what she meant, the chamber door opened. In stepped a person whose golden badge marked them as the lead ranger. They were twixt, short and thinly built, with sharp eyes and hair cut only a finger away from the scalp. Their clothes were much finer than mine, but had clearly seen just as many miles and just as much wear. The tunic’s sleeves ended just past the elbow, and I saw scars and calluses on the fingers that told me at once this was an archer, and a well-practiced one.
“Greetings,” they said. “I am Tuhin of the family Matara. I serve the Rangatira.”
“His lead ranger,” I said, stepping forth and offering my hand. “Greetings, friend. I am Kanohari of the family Telfer.”
They took me by the wrist and shook, sizing me up for a moment. They had to look up into my face, for they were a head shorter. “Well met indeed. It is a long while since I met a ranger from Tokana.”
I smiled weakly. “And a long while since I met one from Opara.”
“I have met the Lord Telfer, you know. She came to visit some years ago. An honorable woman, though a hard one.”
This caught me so thoroughly by surprise that I was unable to respond for a long moment. I was terrified of my mother discovering my return, but I had managed to put thoughts of her aside—until Tuhin spoke of her so brazenly. A response seemed far out of reach, but I summoned it.
“She certainly is a hard woman,”
I said at last, forcing a weak smile.
Tuhin chuckled. “Doubly so to her rangers, I imagine. Still, it seems to get results. When she came, she only brought Maia, her lead ranger, but he was a fine man. Rarely have I met a ranger with such skill.”
I began to get a sick feeling. I knew no one named Maia. It had been many years since I had spoken with my family, of course, but I had thought that my middle sister, Ditra, would have been the lead ranger. Had something happened?
But of course, when we were younger, Ditra had been more like me—nearly as “soft,” as my mother would have put it. I could well imagine that Mother might have decided not to elevate Ditra to the position.
Especially not after what had happened to Romil, my other, eldest sister.
“Maia is a fine man indeed,” I said, feeling as though I had pulled the words from the depths of a bog.
“If they set you to this task, you must be a capable warrior,” said Tuhin. “And if by any means I can help, I shall. Out of respect for them both.”
Though I felt sick, I nodded and waved to the others. “This is Chao, and my elderly friend is Dryleaf.”
“A pleasure,” said Dryleaf, holding out his hand for them to take it. “The Rangatira’s lead ranger! We stand in mighty company. Why, I would guess you have wandered nearly as far as I have.”
“I can only hope, Grandfather,” said Tuhin warmly. “Well met. Now, I hear we have a weremage to hunt. A dangerous prospect at the best of times. You should tell me all that you can.”
They beckoned us over to the chairs, which we moved to surround a table near the back of the room. Mag and I carefully explained what had drawn us here, though I took the lead in the storytelling, changing the details to match the tale that we had come from Tokana. They listened as I described a road east into Feldemar, which then cut south through that kingdom into Dorsea, and then circled back around to head north into Opara.
Tuhin frowned. “Why would she come back towards Calentin if she fled it in the first place?”
“Because she has friends here, or so we have gathered,” I said.
Tuhin nodded slowly, pursing their lips. “Hm. If she is lurking near here, there are only a few places she could be—especially if she has company.”
The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Page 33