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

Her battle-trance came over her, the dead-eyed expression crashing down her face like a portcullis.

She charged from behind, but the weremage heard her coming. She looked back over her shoulder, and I could practically see the fear shoot through her as she saw Mag. With a desperate swipe, she drove Oku back and darted towards the road to Kahaunga.

“After her,” called Mag, her voice toneless. I recovered my bow, and we gave chase together.

I managed to get off one more shot before the weremage vanished around the first curve in the road. It streaked just past her white tail. We sprinted after her, the slapping of our boots echoing off the mountains.

“Mountain lions cannot run forever,” I gasped as we ran. “Bursts of speed, but little endurance.”

“Save your breath for running,” said Mag tonelessly.

We had only one advantage. The weremage could not turn into a raven and fly away again. If she tried it, I could shoot her down, and she knew it. And in just a few moments, we would reach the bridge. That was a wide open space, and I would have a clear shot.

The hunt was about to end. The other Shade might have escaped, but that would be something to deal with later.

Then we rounded the path leading to the bridge, and I heard the sound of thundering hooves. Confusion made my steps falter, even as I saw the weremage dashing across the bridge in front of us. Beyond her was a party of rangers in Telfer colors, riding towards us on horseback. They were less than a span from the other end of the bridge.

“Now, Albern!” snapped Mag. “Shoot her!”

I shook off my surprise and fired. The arrow flew true, sinking into the weremage’s flank. She roared in pain.

An arrow in her side, and a party of riders ahead. The rangers had drawn up short, some reaching for their bows, others snatching spears from holsters on their saddles. The weremage was finished. She had to be.

And then she turned.

At the other end of the chasm, at the edge of a cliff which the bridge had been built to span, there was a small shelf.

A small shelf I had avoided looking at. The source of a bad memory I wished to forget.

The mountain lion leaped down to the shelf. And then she vanished over the other side of it.

From where we stood—and from where the rangers sat on their horses—it looked like she must have plunged to her death. But I knew she had not. I knew that over that shelf was a slope, steep and rocky, and worn smooth by ages of rainfall and exposure to the open wind.

I knew that. And so had the weremage. She had scouted this area better than I thought she could have. She had only run this way because she knew she had a means of escape.

“Albern,” said Mag, her voice still monotonous with her trance.

My attention was dragged reluctantly back to the present situation. Now that the mountain lion had vanished, the party of rangers had turned their focus on us. They were advancing slowly across the bridge, weapons raised. Two had dismounted, and they held their spears ready as they approached.

“Drop your spear!” called one still on horseback—a thicker woman with a shaved head, tattoos all over her lower face. “And you, your bow.”

“That mountain lion—” I began.

“Your weapons!” she shouted.

I ground my teeth in frustration—but I dropped my bow. “Do it,” I muttered to Mag.

Her battle-trance dropped away, and anger showed plain in her features. “Albern, the weremage—”

“We have no choice,” I said. “Unless you wish to slay a whole troop of my family’s rangers. I believe you could do it, but I hope you will not.”

She growled and dropped her spear into the dirt.

The rangers relaxed a bit and came forwards more quickly. We backed a few paces away from our weapons. Oku looked alert, but he did not growl at them, even as the two on foot scooped up the bow and spear.

“Who are you?” said the woman. Now that she was closer, I could see a badge on her chest—my family’s symbol, the bow and three arrows, crafted of silver instead of iron. A captain, directly under command of the lead ranger.

“I am Kanohari,” I said. “This is Chao. You must listen to us. That mountain lion you just saw—it was a weremage. She is on the run from the King’s law.”

That gave all of them pause. The whole party gave confused glances to their captain, who frowned down at us from atop her horse. “A weremage?” she said.

“Yes, and she is—” I bit my own words off, glowering at the ground. “She is getting away.”

It was too late. By now, the weremage would have reached the end of the slope. She had already had plenty of time to resume her human form, heal herself with her magic, and then take a raven’s form to fly away.

She was gone. She had escaped. Again.

Suddenly one of the rangers leaned forwards, peering at our faces. “Wait. I remember you.”

I looked up at him in surprise. And then I recognized him. He had been one of the guards at the gate when we arrived to Kahaunga the day before. My heart sank.

“Who are they?” said the captain.

“New arrivals to Kahaunga,” said the guard. “They came through the west gate yesterday, along with an old man.”

“On what business?” said the captain.

“They said they were delivering a message to a cousin of the Lord Matara.” The ranger’s frown deepened. “Which does not explain why they are out here in the wilderness.”

“We have Lord Matara’s writ,” said Mag.

The captain’s brows drew close. “If you serve a Rangatira, you know that visitors are not allowed to hunt in another lord’s domain, with or without a writ.”

“We were not hunting,” growled Mag. “We pursued a weremage. She attacked us. Why else would we chase a lion through the wilderness?”

The captain paused again. She gave an