The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Garrett Robinson (poetry books to read TXT) 📖

we passed through the city’s eastern gate. He had a very large estate, hectares of vines stretching across the feet of Tahumaunga, which loomed high above. There was a west wind that day, and so the air was clear, the mountain’s lazy smoke blowing away from us. Once we were a good distance out of town, Mag threw back her hood.

“If the weremage is watching us from the sky, that is because she already knows we are here,” she proclaimed. “And it is far too wonderful a day to stay sweating under that hood any longer.”

I smiled at her. We let the horses proceed at their own slow pace, with Foolhoof occasionally trying to wander off the road towards a particularly delicious-looking patch of grass. Oku padded happily beside us.

A light wooden fence surrounded Victon’s land. It would have been proof against nothing more determined than wandering deer, and the gate at the front stood open. We walked up between the rows of vines, seeing no one nearby. Only when we drew closer to the house at the end of the path did we finally see six figures, bent and plucking the last of the year’s grapes. So deep were they in concentration that we drew very close indeed before one of them noticed us. Her plump face, brown skin further darkened by the sun, crinkled as she squinted at us.

“Visitors,” she said, loud enough for us to hear.

Two of the figures, the ones closest to the path, raised their heads. One of them was a young man, the other a woman, and from their jet-black skin and features, I knew them for Victon’s kin. When they saw us, they stepped away from their vines and came walking up. The rest of the workers gave us only a cursory glance before returning to their jobs.

“Good day,” said the woman as she approached. “I regret to inform you that we have no stock available for sale. Last year’s wine is not yet ready, and it is all reserved, in any case.”

“That is ill news,” said Mag. “Or it would be, if we were here looking for wine. We have come to see Victon. He is an old friend, even if he is now of such stature that others must greet us when we visit. Am I to guess that you are his children?”

They looked uncertainly at each other. “We … are,” said the boy. “How do you know our father?”

“From the days of our youth,” I said. “Or hers and mine, at least, for Victon is older than either of us. We were sellswords together, in the days when he fought for the Upangan Blades.”

A flash of recognition shot across both their faces. They looked up at the two of us with renewed interest, and the girl’s eyes shone. She pointed to Mag.

“You … are you the Uncut Lady?” she asked.

Mag scowled. I strangled a bark of laughter before it could break free. “I am Mag, if that is what you mean.”

“Sky above,” said the boy. He came to me, extending a hand. “Well met, friends. And what is your name?”

I am afraid I looked quite thunderstruck. It was Mag’s turn to hide her laughter. “You mean Victon never told you about me?”

They both looked embarrassed, and the boy slowly drew back his hand. “He … he might have?” he said, making it sound like a question. “Only not well enough that we would know you by sight.”

“I am Albern,” I said. They both blinked. “Albern of the family Telfer?” I said, struggling mightily to hide a note of desperation.

At last the girl’s face lit, and she smiled. “Oh, of course! The Uncut Lady’s follower!” She turned to her brother. “You remember. He was the one who ran away from the bear.”

“What?” I rather shrieked.

The boy, who appeared not to have heard me, burst out into laughter at the girl’s words. “Oh, him! Sky save me, Father always makes me laugh when he tells those sorts of stories.” He extended his hand again. “Well met, Albern. I am Nuru of the family Victon, and this is my sister, Zuri.”

“Well met,” said Mag, recognizing that I was quite incapable of speech for the moment, though I did take Nuru’s hand and shake it. “You know the two of us already, and our elderly companion is called Dryleaf.”

“And are you an old friend as well?” said Zuri. “I do not recall Father mentioning you in his stories.”

“I am sorry to say I am not,” said Dryleaf, who was still wiping away tears of strangled laughter at my reaction. “Though from everything I have heard, as well as your excellent manners, I think I will enjoy meeting your father to a rare extent.”

“Come with us,” said Nuru, gently taking the bridle of Mag’s horse, Mist. “Father will be overjoyed to see you.”

“It will be our pleasure,” I managed to growl. Zuri approached Foolhoof, and the dark-taken gelding actually nuzzled into her outstretched hand. “Oh, have you decided to forsake me, too?” I asked him.

Zuri looked up at me, aghast. “What?”

“The horse,” I said, dismounting and letting her take the reins. “Never mind me. Thank you.”

The house was large, but not opulently so. The walls were light brown stone, but the roofs were curved red tile, which I had not often seen outside of Dorsea. It made for a wonderfully attractive combination, especially with the great wooden doors through which Victon’s children led us inside the house.

Victon was napping, and so we met his wife, Nuri, first. She was positively radiant, with a round waist and eyes that danced, her skin even darker than her children’s. She was delighted when they introduced us, and she went to fetch Victon as soon as we had finished our greetings. When he emerged, still blinking bleary eyes from sleep and leaning heavily on his crutch, his face beamed with a smile that burst into laughter as he saw