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

by Garrett Robinson

  She shook her head. “Those were questionable. They could have been interpreted to be within the trolls’ territory. But they were close enough to the border that it could have been viewed as a mistake. This time it is obvious. The trolls are making a statement.”

  “A statement?” scoffed Callen. “They are trolls.”

  Lord Telfer’s fist tightened again, but this time on the hilt of her dagger. Maia held his tongue. He was the Rangatira’s closest advisor for a reason. His disarming smile, his wry wit, his charm—these helped stave off Lord Telfer’s darker moods, and she knew enough about herself to know how valuable that could be. But Maia had no quip for this, nothing to say that would diffuse the sense of danger in the air.

  He turned to the king’s representative. “Callen, may I speak with my lord alone?”

  She frowned. “This is an important matter. My counsel may be—”

  “It concerns a private affair,” said Maia, giving his best smile. “I promise, I shall tell you as soon as we have finished. We consider your advice invaluable.”

  Callen’s eyes narrowed. Maia knew she did not entirely believe him. But she gave a conciliatory nod and left the room.

  “If she had remained in here one moment longer …” Lord Telfer let the words trail off.

  “Yes, I rather thought our situation might be further complicated if you were to throttle her,” said Maia. He leaned over the map. “You are right, my lord. The trolls are encroaching upon our lands. That has never happened before. I do not see how it can continue without coming to war.”

  “War,” said Lord Telfer, her expression souring. “War, against those creatures.”

  “Rangatira, how can we … what would that mean? We have never gone to war with the trolls. Not since the days of—”

  Her eyes flashed as she looked at him.

  “—not since ancient days that no one remembers, and few tales speak of,” he finished, quickly catching his mistake. “We know how to fight them, though it has not happened in an age. But we have no great stores of oil, and if they continue to advance at their current pace, we will not have time to gather more. If it comes to battle, many will die.”

  “And if we continue to allow this invasion?” countered Lord Telfer.

  “The trolls have not killed anyone. Not yet. And after a dozen villages, I cannot believe that that is an accident. It has to be their intent—not to slaughter our people, but simply to drive them from lands the trolls see as their own.”

  “Yet the pact is clear.”

  “And have we ourselves not violated the pact for almost a century?”

  Both her hands came crashing down on the table. Maia straightened at once, snapping his hands to his sides.

  “These are my people!” she roared. “We never pushed into lands the trolls occupied! We never raised a hand against the beasts! We only took what space we needed to live on, only felled the trees we required for new dwellings. Go and find the refugees who flood into Kahaunga every day, and tell them they have violated the treaty. See if that is sufficient comfort to them after losing their homes.”

  “I apologize, my lord.” Maia stared straight ahead, just over her shoulder. “I spoke without thinking.”

  “You are my counsellor, yet you offer no counsel,” said Lord Telfer. “You invent theories why the trolls are behaving this way, but you provide no solution. What would you do about it?”

  “Send me to treat with them,” said Maia. His eyebrows rose imperceptibly, as though he was struggling to keep his expression neutral. “Or send Callen if you wish. She is a diplomat, after all.”

  Despite her anger, that made Lord Telfer snort. “She has other uses here. And I will not throw your life away to the trolls. You are too valuable to me.”

  She turned away. That meant the matter of his insubordination would be set aside, for now. He had spoken out of turn, but he had said many worse things through the years, and received no reprimand. Maia was useful. That meant he could get away with much. Only occasionally did his lord feel the need to remind him that he could not get away with everything.

  “We will have to decide what to do about the trolls,” said Lord Telfer after another long, uncomfortable silence. “But in the meantime, we will protect our people. Send out our messengers to every mountain settlement—all those beyond the pact’s borders. And anyone within a league of our side of the border as well. They must leave their homes and join us here in Kahaunga. Tell the rangers to be vigilant. The trolls are not to be trusted. Muster every soldier that can be gathered, in case this should indeed come to war. And finally …” She sighed and played with her ear with two fingers. “I will compose a message to the king. I am not yet willing to ask them for aid, but I must inform them of these events. Have our fastest messenger ready to take my scroll.”

  “Of course, Lord Telfer,” said Maia, nodding. He turned at once and made for the chamber door.

  “Maia,” said Lord Telfer, just as his hand came down on the doorknob.

  “Rangatira?” he said, looking back over his shoulder.

  “When you are done—and only when you are done—speak with my daughter. Tell her I cannot confer with her tonight.”

  Maia hesitated a moment. “My lord … if she asks to visit you here in your chamber, instead?”

  “Refuse her,” snapped Lord Telfer. “This is no situation for one as soft as she. She would be useless, and I must have all my wits about me.”

  Once again, Maia had to restrain a sigh. “Yes, my lord,” he said, and left the chamber.

  He knew, of course, that Lord Telfer loved her daughter. He only wished that, for once in her life, she would show it. Even if only to him.

  The trolls were still picking through the remains of Whetu’s nameless village.

  Chok, their leader, stood on a hillock overlooking the village, resting on his haunches with both fists planted on the ground. His back was straight, his shoulders thrown back. His thick tongue, corded and muscular like a stout human’s arm, dug crumbs from his back teeth. As the trolls of his pack searched the buildings for plants and grains and the other foodstuffs they so loved, he gave a rumbling huff of pleasure. They had eaten well already, and the feast would last into the next day.

  His gaze turned upon Apok as she stepped out of one of the human homes. Her shoulders crashed into the doorframe as she passed, but it did not slow her in the least. The wood shattered under the impact, shards and splinters of it raining upon the ground. Apok paid no attention, but merely climbed the hillock towards Chok, a large cloth-wrapped bundle under her arm.

  She reached him and bowed her head. Chok rose up to his full height, rolling his shoulders, a sign of calm and peace. Apok lifted her bundle and unwrapped it to reveal several brown loaves of bread.

  “More food?” she asked, lifting one of them towards him.

  Chok grunted and took it. He broke it in half and handed one back to her before shoving the rest of the loaf into his mouth. An involuntary moan shook him as he tasted the sweetness of the baked bread. Trolls had not, in those days, learned to grow their own crops or cook their own food. The mountains they chose to live in were not well suited to farming, and they had never much wanted to bother with it in any case. But they relished the taste of the good crops we humans grew, and when they were baked or cooked into bread or other foodstuffs, with no spices to hide the natural flavor, trolls would go to great lengths to acquire and devour them.

  Apok ate of her own half-loaf, only eating once Chok had already consumed his own. She watched her leader from the corner of her eye, and Chok saw it. It made him somewhat uncomfortable. Apok was a loyal follower. She did not question his plans in front of the others, and she never countermanded him. But Chok knew she did not approve of the pack’s recent actions, these attacks upon human settlements, pushing ever farther south and west. Yet even now, she only watched him, speaking no word of whatever doubts she may have held.

  “This was a good day,” rumbled Chok. “We have done wel
l.”

  And it was true. It had been a good day. An anger had been growing inside him, building since long before their first attack on the humans. He did not like it, but he could not deny it. Now that they had pushed even farther south, past the border of the pact, just far enough to remind the humans of their power, the anger had finally abated.

  But it flared up again as he saw Dotag approaching.

  Where Apok was a good follower, Dotag always cast doubt on Chok’s plans. Where Apok obeyed Chok’s orders, Dotag would only do what he was told if he was harangued, or sometimes beaten into it—even if he had suggested the plan in the first place. Every troll in the pack knew that Dotag longed for Chok’s place at the head of the pack. But Chok would die before giving it to him.

  An involuntary growl rumbled through Chok’s body. Apok heard it and turned quickly. When she saw Dotag approaching, her ears spread wide from her head, and she hunched her shoulders. She did not growl, but it seemed as though she wished to.

  “This was a good day,” said Dotag.

  Though he had said the same thing only a moment ago, Chok felt a surge of irritation. He did not want Dotag’s agreement. He did not need Dotag’s approval.

  “Get ready to leave,” said Chok. “Be ready to go when the sun rises.”

  Dotag frowned. “We have not done what we came for.”

  “Tell me if you think the humans will challenge us again,” said Chok, speaking louder now. “They broke the pact, and we have driven them back beyond its borders. They will obey it now, because they know we will return if they do not.”

  “There are more villages,” said Dotag. “There is the city. We can go farther.”

  Chok snarled and took one leap forwards, landing almost within arm’s reach of Dotag. He slammed his fists into the ground. “Stop asking for more like a greedy whelp. Look at the bounds of the pact. We are past them. We came here to keep the humans out of our land. After this, they will not creep into our mountains again. Get ready to go home.”

  Dotag showed his teeth. “Gatak told us—”

  “Do not speak as if Gatak leads us!” roared Chok. “Tell me where she is. Tell me how many times the moons have changed since we saw her. Be wise, and be silent.”

  Now he did step within reach of Dotag. He could sense Apok just behind him, ready to help if it should come to blows. But he did not need her help to defeat Dotag. Age made him huge and strong. None of the pack could challenge him—not that any but Dotag would dream of trying.

  Dotag took a submissive step back, but despite his fear, he glared up at Chok. “Gatak will return. When she does, you will not be so brave. She brings a new master. One stronger even than you.”

  All the anger within Chok came surging up. He leaped forwards and seized Dotag’s neck, throwing him down on his back. Both stony fists rose and came crashing down on Dotag’s chest. The smaller troll gave a rumbling shout of pain. Chok wrapped his massive right hand around Dotag’s cringing face and brought their eyes within a handbreadth of each other.

  “How would you know what strength is?” he growled at Dotag.

  He shoved Dotag’s head into the ground and turned, striding away from the village. Just before he crested a hillock and passed out of sight, he gave a great roar and slammed his fists into the ground, creating two craters large enough for a child to sit in. The trolls in the village looked in that direction for a moment, and then they returned to their scrounging.

  Dotag fought his way back to his feet, trying not to wince at the pain in his chest. Apok looked disgustedly at him, and other nearby trolls gave him quick sneers. He glared at them, showing his teeth again.

  Chok had to die. Dotag had wanted to kill him and take control of the pack for as long as he could remember, for seasons beyond counting. The pack thought Chok was strong, but he had a weak heart. Chok could not see the coming future. Not the way Dotag could.

  He had intended to wait for Gatak’s return before he challenged Chok. But as he lumbered into the village, searching for more scraps, he began to plan.

  We returned to Opara. Tuhin tried to insist that we bring them to the Mystics for inspection, but we refused. If we took the matter to the Mystics, there would be awkward questions about why we thought the Rangatira’s lead ranger might be a weremage, and that would be bad for everyone involved. We settled for taking Tuhin back to the Rangatira, and his own wizards confirmed that Tuhin was who they appeared to be.

  “Well, at least you know something more than you did,” said Tuhin amiably. “And you now have a valuable skill indeed, as you continue to hunt your weremage.”

  After that, we had to report to the Rangatira. Tuhin told him that we had not found the weremage, but that we had stumbled upon a cluster of Shades in the wilderness. Lord Matara looked quietly suspicious, but he did not question us, and he set about making plans to increase his guard so that the Shades would not be able to claim another stronghold in his lands.

  We took advantage of his gratitude to solve another problem. Now we meant to ride into Calentin, across the domains of two different Rangatira on our way to Tokana. Armed travelers needed an official writ to pass through another lord’s domain, and that writ had to state the purpose of their journey. We were able to convince Lord Matara that we had not received such a writ when we began our hunt, since we had ridden out of Calentin, not into it. Tuhin spoke on our behalf as well, urging the Rangatira to help. He agreed, giving us a writ in his own hand. It would let us ride unhindered all the way to Tokana.

  All our affairs that afternoon took only a few hours, but I chafed at what seemed an unforgivable delay. I could not stop hearing Hoko’s words in my mind. The weremage was headed for Tokana. I did not know her aim, but I knew it had to be evil. Despite what I have told you already about bad blood with my family, the thought that they were in danger from the Shades filled me with a sick terror, and I could not pull my thoughts away from it. And we did not know when the weremage had left. At best, the journey home would take us just over two weeks. Who knew what havoc she might wreak in that time?

  I was all for riding out that very night, but by the time we were done with Conrus, the sun was close to setting. Mag insisted we spend one more night in Opara before we set out, and once he heard our tale, Dryleaf agreed with her.

  “You have been long on the road, my boy,” he told me. “The journey here might have been gentler to you than it was to me, but not by much. Sleep in a soft bed while you can, lest you find yourself ill prepared for the end of your road.”

  Mag and I had heard that wisdom many times in our days as sellswords, but now I chafed at the advice. Still, with both of them set against me, I had to relent. We spent another night in Conrus’ keep, sleeping in comfort and with good food in our bellies. But I asked his servants to wake us at least an hour before dawn, and when they did, I roused the others quickly. We were riding north before the sun showed its face.

  Thus began our journey north through Calentin. My hope that we could reach Kahaunga in two weeks proved futile. The early days of winter unleashed their full strength upon us. Snow and ice-cold rain plagued our road north. I bought sturdier cloaks—two for Dryleaf—and pressed on as hard as I dared. But still I despaired at our pace.

  My sour mood, however, hardly seemed to affect my comrades. Mag and Dryleaf knew the importance of our mission, so they were not exactly jovial. But they did not fall into dark periods of silence, as I did. They complained about the road, but they smiled as they did it. Once, when we were forced to make camp in between towns because I had pushed us to ride into the early evening, we were huddled around a meager fire beneath some trees. The rain made it impossible to see more than half a span in any direction. Suddenly Mag looked over at Dryleaf and laughed.

  “Well, old man,” she said lightly. “You are on the road again. I daresay it is not as pleasant as you had dreamed, when you were back in Lan Shui.”

  Dryleaf chuckled. “You are wrong, dear one. I feel almost young again. But remember, I
had been sitting in the same spot for so long. Years of holding still. Of course it feels good to be moving again now—I have only been doing it for a few weeks. Let us speak again in a few months, and I will tell you how I feel then. I only hope I do not hold you up again the way I did in Dorsea.”

  Despite my foul temper, his guilt made me feel guilty in turn. “We have told you not to trouble yourself over that,” I said. “No one can help it when sickness finds them in the wilds.”

  “Yet it happens to young folk like yourself less often than to the old.”

  “Less often to me, mayhap,” I said. “But never to Mag at all. She has never been sick a day in her life, that I have seen. Even when dysentery would sweep through our camp, forcing the captains to patrol the tents and ensure every fool washed their hands and boiled their water before drinking it, Mag never suffered from it. They used to say she was Elf-blessed.”

  Mag shrugged. “And I always said that I simply took better care of myself than you did, and I say it again now.”

  “I took perfectly good care of myself,” I countered. “Certainly better than you. Some folk have all the luck.”

  She shrugged again. Oku, who had been lying near my feet, raised his head and licked my hand. I scratched his ears.

  “Do you see?” I said. “Even Oku agrees with me.”

  “Oku was not there,” Mag pointed out.

  “He is wise beyond the measure of a normal wolfhound,” I insisted, lowering both hands to fluff his face. “Nothing escapes him.”

  The hound licked my face, and I laughed as I wiped it off. Then I sighed. “I know I have not been the cheeriest companion since Opara,” I said, only just loud enough for them to hear over the rain. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

  “We understand, my boy,” said Dryleaf. “And I hope we have not seemed indifferent to your plight. No one blames you for worrying about your kin.”

  “Friends have a duty to friends, and soldiers on campaign to each other,” said Mag, speaking so lightly that it almost sounded false. “Do not try too hard to hide your worries behind an insincere smile. The two of us will not let you sink too deep into an evil mood. Have I not already said that you are awful at taking care of yourself?”