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

by Garrett Robinson

  I scowled. “It was not I who ran off into the mountains alone after enemy archers, eschewing the hiding place that kept the rest of us safe.”

  Mag and Dryleaf both chuckled, and the old man shook his head. “You should listen to your friend, my dear. Just wait until age catches up with you. You will not find yourself so impervious to sickness then, nor to injury.”

  We fell into silence, and Mag stared at the flames for a while longer, deep in thought, while Dryleaf and I ate and went to sleep.

  I kept working on Jordel’s song as we went north. It would not leave my thoughts, as though Jordel himself were there and anxious for me to write something to commemorate him, before the matter passed from my mind. As if I could forget a man I had loved so well, with whom I had shared a bedroll more than once while we traveled through the Greatrocks—a tryst springing from lack of options as much as anything else, but no less earnest for all of that. Dryleaf heard me singing or writing it in snatches, and though he kept prodding me to share my work with him, I was not yet ready.

  “You have spent a great deal of time on it,” he said.

  “Not that long,” I told him. “I started shortly after we left Lan Shui. And I want it to be perfect.”

  Dryleaf scoffed. “My boy, there is no such thing as perfect, especially when it comes to songs and stories. I think you are letting your own conceit get in the way of your work.”

  “Conceit?” I said. “I only want to ensure it is a fitting tribute to a friend. A friend who was important to me.”

  “Your friend,” said Dryleaf. “What would he think, if you sang him the song you have? Right now, with no further work upon it?”

  I scowled, for I knew the answer. And I gave it, even as I tried to explain it away. “Jordel would praise it. He would tell me it was wonderful, because he was wonderful, and always full of praise. But that does not mean he would be right. He would say the same thing if I wrote and sang it with a troll’s grace. I have to make it worthy of him.”

  Dryleaf kept staring sightlessly northwards, but dissatisfaction twisted his lips. “You have told me you are inexperienced when it comes to this sort of thing. I would advise you to trust my judgement. But I know, too, that such advice is hard to hear, especially at the beginning. If you wish to keep it to yourself, I will stop hounding you.”

  I could hear wisdom in his words, and it made me feel guilty. But still I was not ready. “Thank you. And I promise: when it is ready, you shall hear it.”

  The old man nodded. I think now, looking back upon it, that he knew his job was done. He had planted a seed of thought in my mind, the idea that my own pride might be standing in the way of my accomplishment. Dryleaf’s wisdom had been valued in Lan Shui for a reason. I think he knew that, in time, I would see the truth of his words, and come to him for the help I was not yet ready to admit I needed.

  And he was right.

  As you might suspect, the Shades had a stronghold in Tokana not far away from my family’s dwellings. From there they carried out their plans, organizing their efforts according to the instructions they received from Rogan far away, but dealing with ordinary day-to-day matters on their own.

  And then, some time before Kaita rejoined them, they received another visitor—one they did not expect, and far removed from their usual routine. It started with shouts as guards on the wall raised an alarm. Before anyone knew what was happening, the gate burst inwards with an ear-shattering crash.

  Chok, leader of the troll pack, thundered into the bailey. Standing in the center of it, he slammed his stony fists into the ground and let out a roar. Everyone in the stronghold heard it, and the Shades on the walls dropped their bows in fear.

  A Heddish man named Phelan had been placed in charge of the Shades at the outpost. To his great credit, he emerged from the central stronghold to speak with Chok—though he brought a guard of six Shades to accompany him, all armed.

  “Ch-Chok,” he stammered, trying and failing to wear a diplomatic smile. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  The massive troll stumped up to the man, walking on all fours, his fists leaving broad cracks in the stone. He loomed over Phelan, nearly twice as tall as the man, glaring down at him with eyes that smoldered under heavy brows.

  “You are still here,” he growled, speaking in the common tongue of Underrealm.

  Phelan blinked. “I … I do not understand.”

  “You are still here,” repeated Chok, his voice rising in irritation. “You helped us drive humans from our lands. You told us where to strike and when. Now they are gone. But you are still here. These are troll lands.”

  “But Chok,” said Phelan, doing his best to sound placating through a voice that still quaked with terror. “The Telfers are our enemies, just as they are yours. That means we are allies. We work together.”

  “We worked together,” said Chok. “Because they went past the bounds of the pact. Now they are gone. Only you remain. A human in troll land is the enemy.”

  The last word came out in a growl that Phelan could feel in his chest, and he very nearly soiled his grey breeches. “But you … we thought you would keep pushing into the Telfer homelands. Gatak told us—”

  Chok roared in his face, and Phelan lost control of his bladder at last. The troll raised his fists, and Phelan knew he was about to die. But even as the guards behind him raised their blades, Chok slammed his fists into the ground on either side of Phelan, splintering the stone.

  “Do not pretend Gatak speaks for us!” roared Chok. “She has been gone for months. She is your creature, not ours.”

  “She is an emissary,” whispered Phelan, unable to put any more strength into his voice. He hoped the troll did not notice the piss now running down his legs. “She struck the deal in the first place.”

  “Tell me where she is now,” snarled Chok.

  “She will arrive soon!” cried Phelan desperately, with a small surge of courage now that he was in more familiar territory. “And when she does, if you and your pack have pushed the Telfers out of the mountains, you will receive a great reward. More crops than you can handle. As much bread as you can eat. That promise comes directly from the Lord, who never lies.”

  Chok seemed about to answer. But then another stone-shattering crash came from the direction of the gate. Chok whirled.

  Dotag stood in the entrance to the stronghold. The troll’s shoulders were raised in an attempt to seem larger, and his nostrils flared in and out with each breath.

  “You come here?” he roared, speaking in the trolls’ own language. Most of the Shades in the courtyard looked at each other uncertainly, for the words were unknown to them—but Phelan understood. “You come here and threaten our allies?”

  “Allies?” roared Chok. “They are in our mountains. They are no different from the humans we drove from our territory. The only difference is that these ones hold you under thrall.”

  Dotag snarled and took a leap forwards. “I am no slave to humans.”

  Chok advanced, more calmly than Dotag, and leered. “You would have us lick their boots in exchange for one loaf of bread. You are nothing.”

  Dotag struck, fist ripping through the air. But Chok caught the blow. He seized Dotag’s arm and threw him. The smaller troll flew through the air, over the heads of the Shades, who scattered out of the way. He crashed into the keep wall, buckling it. A hole the size of a human now gaped in the stone.

  “You think to challenge me?” roared Chok.

  The Shades fled. But even as he cowered near the edge of the courtyard, Phelan waved frantically at his soldiers stationed atop the wall. He motioned to them, cupping his hands and tilting them over, as if pouring a bowl of liquid onto the ground.

  Dotag shook his head, woozy from the impact. This time he was more patient, waiting for Chok to strike first. When the larger troll’s fist came flying, Dotag ducked. Chok struck the wall instead, widening the hole he had already made. Dotag struck twice under Chok’s arm, and the larger troll grunted as he fel
l a step back.

  “You fight like a coward,” he rumbled.

  “I fight to win,” snarled Dotag.

  Chok attacked again. But his blow was a feint, and when Dotag sidestepped it, Chok struck with his other fist. It connected under Dotag’s chin, sending him staggering backwards. He struck the outer wall of the courtyard, and only barely managed to throw himself out of the way as Chok’s following blow slammed into the stone. Above them both, a Shade lost her footing and pitched over the other side of the wall with a scream.

  “You are weak!” cried Chok, coming after Dotag, who tried to scramble away. Chok caught one of his flailing legs and spun, launching him into the keep again. He struck the double wooden doors headfirst, splintering them both.

  Phelan looked to the top of the keep. His soldiers were ready. He clenched his fists, beseeching his Lord for good fortune.

  His prayers were answered. When Dotag saw Chok coming for him, he scrambled back, deeper into the building.

  “Cowering with your human friends,” sneered Chok. “Tell me again how strong you are.”

  Chok reached the front of the keep. He stooped, reaching inside and trying to seize Dotag.

  “Now!” roared Phelan.

  The Shades atop the keep lifted their huge wooden levers. A massive vat of oil tipped as they strained against it. As it came spilling out, they plunged torches into it, setting it ablaze.

  A waterfall of burning oil crashed down upon Chok, dousing his whole body.

  The troll screamed in agony and stumbled back. The burning oil coated him, roasting his softer insides, his iron-hard skin no proof against the blazing heat. Blinded by the inferno, he flailed wildly about, seeking something he could hold to steady himself.

  Dotag charged out of the keep. He brought both fists around in a wide arc, smashing them into either side of Chok’s head. The troll leader stumbled back, dazed. Dotag punched Chok in the gut, and he bent double, groaning. Dotag clenched his fists together and brought them down on the back of Chok’s head, crushing it into the stone courtyard.

  He did it again. And again. And again, until Chok stopped moving.

  Slowly, Dotag backed away from the corpse, his shoulders heaving mightily with every panting breath. He lost his balance for a moment and fell on his rear, propping himself up with one arm. Then he seemed to realize that he was still in a human stronghold, and they were looking at him. He fought back to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and turned to look at Phelan, who was now cowering near the keep entrance.

  “I lead the pack now,” said Dotag. “We will do as the Lord has bid. But I want Gatak.”

  Phelan, hoping that the danger had passed for the moment, emerged into the open. “She shall soon return. We will send her when she does.”

  “See that you do,” snarled Dotag. “And when we drive the other humans out of the mountains, we will expect your reward.”

  Phelan could do little more than nod. He watched as Dotag went to Chok’s body and lifted it in his great, muscular arms. He struggled under the weight, but he carried it out through the gate and off into the mountains.

  Dark take me, thought Phelan. I need a new pair of breeches.

  Once he was out of sight of the Shade fortress, Dotag dropped Chok’s body. Then he began the messy process of scraping off the oil and the burned skin that covered most of Chok’s form. The other trolls could not know that the humans had helped Dotag with their fire.

  After removing most of the evidence of burning, Dotag found a large rock. He slammed it into Chok’s corpse over and over again, mashing it to a pulp almost beyond recognition. The wounds, the exposed flesh, and the black blood all worked together to hide the last signs of flame.

  Dotag took up Chok’s arm and began to drag him along again.

  It was nearly sundown by the time Dotag returned to the rest of the trolls, still carrying Chok’s body. As soon as they saw him appear over the rise, the trolls moved forwards. At their head was Apok. She saw what Dotag carried in his arms, but she could not quite believe it. Her heart sank as she finally recognized Chok’s face, mashed to a pulp but still bearing his telltale ripped ears.

  “What have you done?” she cried.

  Dotag answered by throwing Chok’s body down before the pack. He snarled and puffed out his chest, slamming his fists into the ground. “I have taken leadership from Chok. He was weak, and he was a fool. I am stronger than he. I lead the pack now.”

  Apok cried out—but a peal of grief, not an angry roar. She fell on her knees by Chok, gingerly touching his chest. Chok lay unmoving, his eyes staring past her, unseeing.

  Dotag ignored her, looking over her head at the rest of the pack as they gathered near. Some of them looked at Chok’s body in wonderment, some in shock. But none bore the same anger, the same grief, as Apok. They seemed attentive. Ready to hear what he had to say. Ready, mayhap, to obey.

  “The humans are our enemies,” declared Dotag. “We have driven them from our lands. But how long did they dwell there? They ignored the pact. Now we will teach them to fear us. These mountains are ours, as our ancestors declared in the beginning!”

  He thrust a fist into the air. Some of the trolls joined him, unleashing great, bestial roars.

  But Apok looked up at him, still cradling Chok’s body. “They are within the bounds of the pact already,” she said. “And they were never close to us. They never took any land we had already claimed. If you attack them now, you will be marked as a betrayer.”

  “They betrayed us first,” snarled Dotag, pressing his face close to hers. “They cast aside the pact. They cannot claim its protection now.”

  “Yes!” cried a troll in the pack. “Let us drive them from our mountains!”

  “And let us start with these strangers who still lurk in their stone walls!” roared another. “We will cast them down!”

  Dotag’s attention was diverted from Apok for the moment. “No,” he said at once. “The humans who serve the Lord are still our allies. They have not betrayed us. And they have promised us rewards beyond our reckoning if we drive the others out of the mountains. We will not harm them. They serve the Lord, and so do we.”

  Apok did not speak again. She did not call him a weakling for allying with the humans. But her eyes said much.

  Dotag ground his teeth with a sound like shattering rocks. But she had not challenged him, not openly. He could not kill her, not now in front of the others. They would never accept him as their leader if he did.

  Apok would live. For now. Until he could find another way to get rid of her.

  “We move south,” he declared, turning his back upon Apok. “We must be ready. Our allies will tell us when it is time to strike, and where to attack. Until then, we wait. We wait for battle.”

  And for Gatak, he said, but only in his own mind.

  In the middle of the month of Febris, Mag and Dryleaf and I reached Tokana at last.

  I will admit that when we crested that last rise to look upon the city where my family had long dwelled, I feared the worst. We had been almost a month on the road. I was certain the weremage had arrived well ahead of us. Whatever evil the Shades were plotting in my homeland, I knew it would be directed against my family. I half-expected to find our keep razed, and the city burned to the ground, with mayhap an army of Shades still camping on the remains.

  Instead, I found that things looked almost exactly the way they had when I left home two decades before. So much so, in fact, that I was struck by a wave of memory so powerful I pulled Foolhoof to a stop. Mag and Dryleaf, too, halted their horses. For a long while I sat there, at that familiar point where the road reached the crest of the plateau, and surveyed the city before me.

  The land ran relatively even to the north and south, until after dozens of spans, it finally climbed into new peaks, too sharp and steep for any dwellings. But to the north was a great lake in the mountains, and it spilled into a river that came running south into the dale before us. The wide ridge upon which we sto
od fell off to form the dale’s western slopes, and it was here that Kahaunga had been built. After centuries, the town around it had been spilled into the dale and become a true city. The colors were bleak with winter, except for the kauri trees. I sat there, feeling tiny and inconsequential against the size of the city before me, and the swelling heights of the mountains all around, and I did not notice as tears streaked silently down my cheeks, born of a feeling I could not understand and would not have dared to name.

  At last, Mag nudged Mist closer to me and took my arm. “Come, you great fool,” she said gently. “I would rather not camp here on the mountainside when there are inns so close by.”

  I scrubbed hastily at my face with my sleeve. “Of course,” I said quickly. “Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, lad,” said Dryleaf kindly. “Homecoming is never easy when one has been long away.”

  I nodded. But his words reminded me, too, that this was my home, and one place above all others where I did not wish to be recognized. If word reached my family that I was in Tokana …

  Somewhere on our journey I had acquired a scarf, and now I pulled it up and around my face to hide my features, while at the same time I pulled my cowl down low over my eyes. It left me with only a single small slit to observe the land as we approached, but I felt more comfortable at once. There was almost no chance that the guards at the wall would recognize me, but I was unwilling to take even such an infinitesimal risk.

  “The Rangatira here is named Thada,” I told Dryleaf and Mag. They knew she was my mother already, and I did not wish to say so aloud, even though no one was nearby to hear. “She is the ruling authority, and I imagine her daughter, Ditra, helps her in her duties. Have our writ from Lord Matara ready—it will get us through the gates.”