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

by Garrett Robinson

  Sun folded her arms in a huff. “And yet you will not even say it. Tell me the truth: is this the story of how Mag died?”

  Albern stopped beside her in the street. He turned and looked her straight in the eye. Sun felt transfixed by him, by the sorrow she saw in his dark expression.

  “Yes,” he said. “This is how she died.”

  They stood there for a long, silent moment in the middle of the street. Passersby moved around them with muttered complaints. The lowering sun cast heavy lines of black shadow across Albern’s eyes and cheeks, and his unmoving face bore down into Sun. She felt dumbstruck.

  “But … so this is the end of the tale?”

  “Were you not eager to hear it?” said Albern. “You wanted to get here. Why do you object now?”

  “Because … because I … I do not know why!” said Sun. “But what kind of storyteller lets his listener know how the tale will end?”

  “Sun,” said Albern slowly, “you know Mag dies. You have always known that. One of the first things you ever asked me was how she died. So how can it ruin the tale for you, if you have always known that would be the ending? Any tale would end with the hero’s death if talespinners did not cut themselves off at a happier moment of victory. And how many stories have you asked your family’s skalds to tell you again and again, no matter how many times you had already heard them? Why did you want to hear those stories after the first time, if you already knew what would happen?”

  “That is different,” said Sun. But she said it quietly, and she was not sure she believed it. “I felt like … those stories had a point, or they seemed to. Whether they ended well or poorly, there was a reason for it all. But I can see no reason for Mag’s suffering in the Greenfrost, no greater purpose served at all.”

  “Well, neither did we at the time,” said Albern. “But you have struck on something there. Even in a tale’s darkest moments, it is the storyteller’s job to make the audience feel as though their time is not being wasted—that there might be some hope at the end of a weary road, or at least some semblance of satisfaction. I am sorry you feel otherwise now. But stay with me a little longer, and when I am done, then you can tell me if you are still disappointed.”

  Sun sighed. “That prospect holds little hope for me, either. This tale is why we started traveling together. If you finish the story, does that mean we are done?”

  Albern’s expression, which had been stern and craggy, softened at once. He clucked his tongue for his horse, and together they started walking down the street again. “No,” he said. “No, of course not. I will not abandon you, Sun, not if you do not wish me to—and mayhap not even if you do, depending on the circumstance. And if it is any consolation, after this tale is done, I may have others, and you may wish to hear them. But because you have asked me so many times for the end of the story, I wanted you to find out—the way Mag needed to find out—that the end is not something we should rush. We should let it come in its own time. If we rush it, we may regret it.”

  He fell silent then, and they walked together for a short while without speaking. But even as Sun was pondering his words, a hand clapped down on her shoulder from behind.

  “Mistress,” came a rumbling, familiar voice. “The Lord and Lady Valgun command you to attend them at once.”

  Sun felt as though the whole world had fallen in on her in an instant, as if all the buildings along the street had collapsed on her head. She looked up into the face of Niall, one of her mother’s bodyguards. He stood a good head taller than she was, and his dark eyes squinted heavily down at her from his nut-brown face.

  Dimly, her mind took in other details. There was Ursa, Niall’s right hand, and Frida, diminutive and quiet, but lightning fast in a fight. The women stood on the other side of Albern, one of them with a hand on his horse’s reins. Albern himself stood stock-still, his gaze darting everywhere. Sun’s mind raced in circles until she felt ready to faint.

  “Mistress,” repeated Niall.

  Ursa had fixed a steely glare on Sun, while Frida’s look was almost pleading. She was one of the kinder warriors in her parents’ employ, but Sun knew she would not hesitate to bring Sun back home by force if that was what was required.

  “I am fairly certain she does not wish to come with you,” said Albern.

  “You are not involved in this, old man,” snapped Niall.

  “I am feeling rather involved,” said Albern.

  And then he drove one heavy boot straight into Niall’s groin.

  Niall collapsed as though struck with a sledgehammer. Even as Frida reached for her weapon, Albern brought his hand into a vicious chop at her throat. She fell back, gasping and hacking, while Albern slammed the top of his head straight into Ursa’s nose. Sun heard a crunch, and then Albern seized her, and she was following him down the nearest alley, both of them dragging their horses along.

  “Sky above!” cried Sun. “Sky above, what have we done?”

  “Strictly speaking, you have done nothing,” said Albern. He was breathing heavily—his burst of motion seemed to have taken a toll. “Those three are used to getting their way. None of them expected resistance. But they will not be stunned long. Well, not the women, anyway.” His hand fumbled in a pouch at his belt.

  Risking a glance back, Sun could see he was right. Ursa and Frida had nearly struggled back to standing. Niall, on the other hand, still lay whimpering on the cobblestones, clutching between his legs. But then Sun and Albern darted around a corner, and the guards were out of view.

  “We are leaving the horses,” said Albern. “They should lure your family’s guards away. I will send word to a friend to have them rounded up.”

  “But what are we—”

  “Now, Sun.”

  She slapped Vika’s flank. The horse whinnied loudly and ran down the alley to the street. Cries erupted from the crowd there. But Albern had stopped at a door leading into the back of a building. His left hand came out of the pouch at his belt, fingers gripping an iron key. In a flash, he unlocked the door and threw it open. He pulled Sun in after him and shut the door again.

  They both waited in the darkness for a tense moment of silence.

  The heavy pounding of boots came to the door. Sun’s blood froze.

  The boots continued down the alley, where the horses had fled. Soon all had faded to silence.

  “Dark below,” wheezed Albern. “That was a good run. Lucky we were already close to this place when they found us.”

  “Lucky indeed,” said Sun. Her body seemed to be responding properly to her impulses again, but all she wanted to do was collapse. Instead, she looked around at the space they were in. It was a small room, with shelves running along the walls. Only a little bit of light leaked in under the door through which they had entered. Another door to their right led deeper into the building. “But what is this place?”

  “The back room of an inn that has been unoccupied for some time,” said Albern. “Come, let me show you the common room.”

  Sun frowned in confusion, but she followed him nevertheless. The door to the right opened into a space behind the tavern’s bar. The bar was a large, impressive construction, all of black walnut with a fine grind and polish, but rough edges from the tree’s natural growth. High rafters converged in the center of the room above them. A large brass chandelier hung from where the beams met, currently empty, but ready to hold dozens of candles. High windows let shafts of sunlight pierce the room and kept it well ventilated. It seemed a grand place for parties, but Albern had spoken the truth—no one looked to have been here in weeks, mayhap months.

  “How did you know this place was here?” said Sun. “And how did you have the key?”

  “Well, you will already have gathered that I have many friends in Bertram,” said Albern. “This place belongs to one of them. They are planning to reopen it soon, and one of my errands in the city is to help them do so. Why, look at that—there is even a cask of ale here. Would you like a drink?”

  “Sky
above, yes,” said Sun.

  She went to the bar, dusted off one of the stools, and sat, while Albern moved around to the back and went to the cask. It was a quarter cask, but that was more than enough to enjoy themselves, depending on how long they stayed here.

  Albern tapped it and fetched two glasses from beneath the counter—they were free of dust, which told Sun someone had brought them recently. Soon the drinks were ready, and Albern handed Sun’s to her.

  “I hope that encounter proved to you one thing,” he said. “Your worst fear has come true, but you have survived it. Your family found you. And yet you remain free. Let us drink to that.”

  Sun could not help a small smile. “Very well. To freedom.”

  They raised their glasses and drank. Sun took one swallow and lowered the cup, pulling a face. It was not the worst swill she had ever had, but it was undoubtedly the worst she had tasted since meeting Albern. The old man had a gift for finding the best cup of beer around, but this seemed to be an exception.

  “Dark below,” spat Sun. “With ale like this, it is no wonder this place closed down.”

  Albern barked a laugh. “A good point. This cask is a gift to celebrate the tavern’s purchase, but mayhap it should not have been given. The best thing I can say about this ale is that it can get us drunk. And that is good, because the story is about to take a dark turn.”

  Sun stared at him. “About to take a dark turn?”

  She had meant it as a joke, but Albern’s expression grew mournful. “Darker, I suppose.”

  After Mag led Yue, Dryleaf, and me out of the hills, we went due south to lose ourselves in the Greenfrost. I took up the rear of our sad little procession, doing my best to hide our tracks from any pursuit. But privately, I doubted they would come after us. Kun would be enraged at the death of his nephew and dismayed at the gutting of his army. But he was a captain first and foremost. His highest priority now was getting the rest of his troops to safety before they starved to death. He might send a squadron after us at most, but I doubted we would earn even that mean of an honor.

  And, I reflected sadly, he no longer had Zhen to send after us. I did not know anyone else who would be able to track me, if I did not want to be found.

  The night was already half gone when we left. I pushed us to walk until dawn had begun to lighten the sky to the east. Then, at last, I stopped and had us set up camp, building a little fire. With daylight coming, we would not need to fear anyone spotting the glow through the trees.

  We were now mayhap a league south of the road where we had first ambushed the Shades. The Greenfrost glimmered in the swelling daylight around us. But where I had once thought the trees looked like eminent sculptures all in emerald, now they were like stern tombstones in jade, bending over us and fixing us with silent stone eyes of judgement. I tried not to look at them.

  We cleared snow from a spot on the ground near the fire, and there we set Dryleaf down to rest. We gave him every cushion we could summon, our softest saddlebags, and every extra cloak or blanket we had. He now looked like a prince lounging in a large bed of cushioned pillows. But his body and clothes were still grimy with travel, and fresh blood stained the bandages wrapped around his head.

  Mag sat close beside him, never taking her eyes from him. Yue was off to the side, staring unblinking into the fire. I could imagine the torment in Mag’s mind, but I could not begin to guess what Yue must be thinking.

  Dryleaf stirred. His hand sought Mag, and when he found her, he squeezed her arm gently. “I am afraid I am rather slowing you down at this point.”

  “Never,” said Mag. “If anyone harms our little troupe by being here, it is me.”

  “Enough, Mag,” I snapped. “In a contest of guilt, there is no winner. We all … we all need to sleep. We have been on our feet for nearly two days straight. Let us rest. Then we can figure out what to do.”

  I thought she would argue with me. I expected her to. But she only looked even more defeated, and that frightened me more.

  “Very well,” she said softly. “I will take the first watch.”

  “Let me do it,” I said. “It will let me inspect our surroundings and get the lay of the land, as well as make sure we have left no trail leading to us.”

  “Please, Albern,” she said, still not looking at me. “I would not sleep, anyway. At this moment, I feel as though I will never be able to sleep again. Let me have a few hours alone to … to try to master my thoughts.”

  I blew a long breath out through my nose. It turned to mist at once, flying up around my head like a Dragon’s breath. “Fine. But if you fail to wake me for my turn, I will not let you stand another watch for a week. Do you hear me?”

  Mag nodded. “I hear you.”

  “Promise me, Mag.”

  She looked up at me. The firelight danced across her face, but I could see no reflection of it in her eyes.

  “Do you not believe me, Albern?”

  I tilted my head. “Of course I do, Mag. But I know how you—I know something of how you are feeling right now. I will not allow you to give up. Nor will I allow you to try and find more ways to punish yourself. Now, I am weary, and I want to sleep. Promise me, so that I can lay my head down without fear.”

  “I promise,” said Mag. Small. Defeated.

  Lying, as it turned out.

  Another misty breath wreathed around my temples. “All right. Good night.”

  I pulled my bedroll off my pack. But before I laid it out, I went to Yue and put a hand on her shoulder. “Yue, I—”

  She shoved my hand away. “Leave me alone.”

  I shook my head. “Yue …”

  “Dark take you, Albern, you were wise enough to leave me be when I lost soldiers in battle. Be wise enough to get away from me now. I am not going to do anything stupid, if that is what you are afraid of. I just want to be alone.”

  I ground my teeth and turned from her to look at Dryleaf. He no longer held Mag’s arm but had his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth beneath the blankets. Silent tears left slow tracks down his cheeks.

  “Of course,” I said softly.

  I went to the other end of our little campsite and laid out my bedroll. Soon I was tucked inside it, huddling for warmth, my back to the fire and to my friends. Eventually, I heard Yue do the same, laying out a space to sleep and soon filling the clearing with little snores.

  I fell asleep not long after that.

  I woke up close to sundown.

  And Mag was gone.

  Mag waited by the campfire until the rest of us had fallen asleep. That was not long. Dryleaf’s injury sent him back and forth between senselessness and an agitated dozing. Yue and I were bone-tired and soul-weary. Before long, Mag rose from her place by the fire.

  A moment’s trepidation held her. What if someone came upon our camp while she was gone? But I had told her Kun would not pursue us. And she believed me. She always believed in me.

  Even if I could no longer believe in her.

  Oku got to his feet and trotted to her, a low whine issuing from his throat.

  “Kip, boy,” said Mag.

  Oku paused, one front paw hanging in the air.

  Mag knelt, scratching him behind the ears. Then she pulled him into her arms, sinking her fingers into his fur, holding him close and relishing his warmth. Oku pushed his nose between her elbow and body, nuzzling into her.

  “I am going,” she said quietly. “You have to stay here, and you have to stay quiet. Do you understand?”

  Oku drew back and looked up into her eyes.

  “Of course you do,” she said. “You are a good boy, are you not?”

  He took two slow steps back, and then he sat. He did not move or make a sound as she strode away from our camp.

  Before long, she had emerged from the northern end of the Greenfrost. As I have told you before, she was never good at tracking. But even she could see the signs of an army marching across the landscape. There was the trail, the deep furrow that Kun’s force had
left as it marched out of the woods and into the hills. She could even see, faintly in the distance, the smoke of campfires rising into the sky above the tops of the hills.

  She sighed, set her course, and started walking towards them.

  Far away, and yet not so far as all that, Rogan sat at a table in a tent, looking at a map of Dorsea. He was alone—or as alone as he ever was. His thoughts lingered on Kaita, and they left him despondent.

  Suddenly he felt a presence. The flap of his tent flew back, and a figure strode into the tent.

  Rogan looked up, and his heart nearly stopped as he recognized the Lord.

  “Father?” he said, frowning. Something was … wrong, but his mind was slow to identify it.

  Then the Lord came and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Rogan shot to his feet. “Father!” he cried, his voice shaking the tent canvas. “You … how are you here? You cannot be here! You—”

  “Be at peace, my son,” said the Lord. “I am here because I must be. Have faith.”

  “Of course, Father,” said Rogan, bowing his head. “Forgive me, I … oh, Father.”

  He leaped forwards and wrapped his arms around the Lord, crushing the smaller man into his chest. And though Rogan, like all the shadeborn, was always as warm as if a furnace burned in his chest, he felt an even greater warmth seeping from the Lord, suffusing him, granting him a peace of mind and a comfort that he had long missed.

  “It has been too long, my favored son,” said the Lord quietly.

  “It feels like forever and an age,” said Rogan, withdrawing slightly. “Are you absolutely certain that this is safe?”

  “As certain as I can be, and as safe as anything is,” said the Lord. “Besides, it could not wait. Much has become clear to me. I finally know the reason, Rogan. I know why we had to send Kaita to her doom, though it was agony to us both.”

  Rogan’s eyes shot wide. “Why, Father?”

  “You will soon see. Fetch horses, but only for the two of us. We must move quickly.”