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

The wall to my left exploded outwards, flinging me through the air. I struck the wall of the building opposite and slumped to the ground.

Gasping in pain, I looked up. The troll loomed there, framed in the hole it had put in the building. Its eyes narrowed as it looked down at me, ears angled up. The earth trembled as it stalked forwards on stony fists.

The terror in my heart turned to rage. I struggled to my feet, leaving my bow where it had fallen and drawing my short sword. Sheer disbelief stopped the troll in its tracks.

“If I am to die, then I will die,” I said. “But on my feet.” In Tokana. Like my mother. Like Romil. That was a bitter thought.

The troll snorted. It took another lumbering step forwards.

There came a flash of metal to my right. Mag came rushing at the troll’s flank. Her spear leaped, the edge skittering along its stony side. It roared, turning to swipe at her. But Mag ducked with inhuman speed, and her spear slashed up again. This time the tip of it flashed dangerously close to the troll’s eye, and it reeled back in confusion.

“Your bow,” said Mag. Her voice was toneless, her eyes lifeless with her battle-trance. “That sword will do little good.”

I barely heard the words. I could only stare at her in wonder. She was covered in dirt and mud, but she was utterly unharmed. She did not limp, or hunch over like a fighter nursing a broken rib. I could not even see a bruise, though I imagined there had to be many beneath her clothes and armor.

“Mag, are you—”

“Your bow,” she snapped.

The words pierced my confusion at last. With shaking hands I stowed my sword in its scabbard and stooped for my bow, keeping watch on the troll. It was staring down at Mag, seemingly just as astounded as I was. But even as we watched, confusion turned to wrath.

“Mag—”

“Aim for the eyes,” she said, and attacked.

I was glad to see she had learned her lesson after the last time. The troll tried to bat her aside as it had before, but this time Mag ducked the swing. Her spear flashed up, and the troll recoiled as the blade passed across its cheek—not breaking the skin, but again drawing too close to the eye for comfort.

It took two stumbling steps back, but Mag followed. She slashed again and again. The long, bladed edge of the spear could not hope to pierce the troll’s hide, but it provided an ample distraction. I reached to my quiver and drew another arrow. With Mag occupying all of the troll’s attention, I had enough time to draw, to hold, to sight along the shaft.

A long, slow breath escaped me.

I loosed.

The arrow sank into the troll’s eye, deep enough to strike the skull behind.

It screamed and stumbled back, swiping at the air as if trying to swat away a fly. Black blood dribbled down its face, staining its teeth as it bared them. Mag tried to make another strike, but its flailing arms drove her back.

Something flashed in the sun as it flew towards the troll. A glass vial struck the beast in the face, and dark, oily liquid spilled all over its body.

We froze. So did the troll. It swiped at the oil, black as its own blood, and stared at it in confusion.

“Hail, friend.”

Mag and I looked up. Standing on the roof of a nearby building was Maia, Ditra’s lead ranger. He had thrown the flask. Now he stood in an almost languid position—but he had an arrow nocked, and its tip was wrapped with a flaming rag.

The troll looked up at him, squinting with its one good eye through the oil.

“Well met,” said Maia amiably. “You are covered in flammable oil, and I have a flame to light it. I highly suggest you turn and run.”

At first the troll seemed too angry to understand, but gradually it made sense of the words. It looked down at itself, smelling the pitch that covered its body.

It looked back up, and even I could see the fear shining in its remaining eye.

The troll fled from the village, climbing over a hill and out of sight.

Maia waited until the troll was out of sight. Then he turned as if to leave.

“Wait!” I cried.

He paused. I saw his shoulders heave with a sigh before he turned back and gave Mag and I an easygoing smile.

“Yes?” he said.

“You saved our lives,” I said.

“Oh, you seemed to be doing well enough,” he said. “I only wanted to make sure.”

Mag had let her trance fall away. Now she arched an eyebrow up at him. “I suppose we are grateful. Though I do question what you are doing out here in the first place.”

He gave another sigh and climbed down from the roof. I came over to stand beside Mag. As I neared her, I heard the padding of soft feet. Oku emerged into view, coming to take his place at our side. The poor hound looked almost ashamed, as though he had dishonored himself by fleeing, even though I had told him to.

When Maia reached the ground, he looked us over. “Are the two of you all right?”

“We are fine,” said Mag. “Though as I said, I have questions.”

“I was simply passing through,” said Maia. “I heard the commotion and came to help.”

“Are you not in troll territory?” I said. “I am surprised to learn that Ditra—that the Rangatira would send her rangers out this far, when they should be patrolling the lands that you are still trying to protect.”

“You yourself are beyond those lands,” said Maia.

“And the Rangatira gave us permission to be here,” said Mag.

Maia looked slightly uncomfortable. “As she did with me.”

“Yet she told us her rangers would be too busy to aid in the fight,” said Mag. “What purpose brings you here?”

Maia looked over his shoulder as though searching for aid.