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

at least a few buildings as I lurched through the streets. I barely remember any of that. The next clear memory I have is of approaching the city’s north gate. I stood there for a moment, trying to think how I could get through.

Then there came shouts, and the gate swung open. A party of rangers on foot came through from the outside—returning from patrol, I guessed. Whatever the case, I seized my opportunity. As soon as the gateway stood empty, I ran towards it. I tripped at the last moment, but I fell to the ground outside just as the gate slammed shut.

My escape had not gone unnoticed. A cry went up, and they labored to open the gate again. I scrambled to my feet and ran. It was not long before I heard them behind me—many voices, shouting in the darkness, hunting for me by moonslight. But that was dim and fey, for rain was falling, and the thick clouds in the sky obscured everything. Despite my drunken state, I was able to keep my distance from my pursuers because I knew the land so well.

My feet carried me north on the same road Mag and I would travel all those years later, searching for the weremage. And they brought me to the bridge. But as I came to the place, the clouds obscured the moons completely, and everything went almost pitch black.

I crashed into someone, and we both fell to the ground.

At first I panicked, thinking one of my pursuers had caught me. But then I realized the person had been in front of me. They had just crossed the bridge from the other direction. They were making for the city.

The clouds parted for a moment, and in the flash of moonslight I saw a face. But it swam in the darkness and my own drunkenness. All I could focus on was the black cloak, trimmed with red. The colors of my family.

I screamed and backed away on hands and knees.

Because, you see, I knew about the shelf by the end of the bridge.

I fell onto the shelf and crawled to the slope on the other side, pitching myself over. It was slick with rainwater, and I flew down it faster than a hawk diving upon its prey. My stomach lurched, and I vomited over the side, my sick splashing upon the valley floor far, far below. But at last I came to the end of the slide.

For a long while I lay there, panting, heaving, feeling ill in both body and spirit. At last I looked back up the slide. The ranger must have seen me. But whoever they were, they had not followed. They had to have recognized me. Yet they had not followed.

I thought that mayhap they had cracked their head when I knocked them over. That they had been knocked senseless, unable to understand what they had seen, unable to call the other guards and point them in my direction.

I thought about them fairly often over the next few months. I hoped they were all right. I thought they must have been; we had not struck each other all that hard. But then how had I escaped? It made no sense.

Do you understand, Sun?

You will.

The rangers rounded us up and walked us back to Kahaunga, positioning us in their midst. They did, however, show us the courtesy of fetching our horses, when we told them they were a little farther up the road. For our part, we made no trouble for them on the way back to Kahaunga. Oku followed faithfully at our heels, seemingly unconcerned by the new company we kept.

As we went, the captain questioned us, asking where we had taken lodgings and where she might find the old man we had come to Kahaunga with. I barely heard her, and so Mag answered. They went to the place, and one of the rangers went inside to fetch Dryleaf. He emerged with a bemused expression, his hand on the guard’s arm.

“Are you there, Kanohari? Chao?” he said.

“Here, Dryleaf,” said Mag.

“Ah, good. Your plan of secrecy and stealth has gone swimmingly, I see.”

Mag stuck her tongue out and blew at him. Dryleaf smiled.

“Well, I am told the Rangatira requires an audience. We should be honored.”

Mag laughed, and even one or two of our guards gave a brief chuckle before biting it off. Dryleaf flashed them all a smile and went to take Mag’s arm for guidance. Before we left, Mag looked down at Oku.

“Oku, kip,” she said sternly.

The hound cocked his head at her, and a low whine issued from his throat.

“Do as she says, boy,” said Dryleaf.

Oku lay down in front of the inn. But he did not take his eyes off us, even as we set off down the street and out of sight.

Our captors led us through the city towards my family’s stronghold. I found myself unable to speak, unable to do much more than stew in terror at what lay before us. We were being brought to see my mother. Would she recognize me? Could she? I had not had my wending when I left, and many years had passed since then. But still, she would have to know my face. I was her child.

Then I realized how little that had ever seemed to mean to her, and I felt even worse.

The stronghold gates swung open as we approached, and the rangers led us inside. The captain ordered most of them away, bringing only three with her as she escorted us into the stronghold. Memories struck me like a fell wind as I stepped through the door, leaving my knees weak. Mag saw it, and she put a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

“Easy,” she murmured. “We will all be fine. Let me do the talking.”

“Gladly,” I said, my voice weak. I pulled up my hood and dragged it down low over my face.

The captain stopped us