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

“Go,” I said. “Guard her with your life.”

Mag nodded and vanished.

The room settled to silence as I knelt by Maia’s side. A cloak close at hand was free from bloodstains. I ripped it from the corpse it had adorned and began to tear strips off it.

“Keep holding that wound,” I said. “I will stanch the bleeding from your shoulder.”

“Vera,” he gasped.

Another sickening lurch in my gut. “My name—”

“Not—you.” For a moment the pain increased, and he only winced and sucked in deep, desperate breaths. “Vera. Ditra’s—daughter. Forgive—me.”

My hands stilled, and I could only stare at him for a moment. But I forced my mind back to the task, trying to find any way I could to stop him from continuing to bleed.

“Never mind that now,” I said. “Just keep pressing that wound.”

“No—good,” said Maia, managing a smile. His teeth were bloodstained, and each breath came in a deep, hissing gasp. “Too—deep.”

“Stop talking,” I ordered.

“Seen—it,” said Maia. “Many—times. Too—many.” He gave a rasping breath that might have been an attempt at laughter. Flecks of blood came out.

“Dark take you,” I growled. The cloth I pressed to his shoulder soaked through with blood in an instant. I turned my attention to his gut wound. “A Rangatira needs her lead ranger. You are not relieved of your duty.”

“No—choice,” said Maia. “She—needs—”

“What she needs is for you to stop talking,” I said. “Lift your hands when I say. Count of four. One—”

He lifted one hand from the wound and seized my wrist, staining my skin red. I met his gaze. His skin had gone deathly pale. A thin bubble of blood protruded from his lips and then burst. Each gasp was shallower, but he forced the words out regardless.

“She—she needs—you—to save—her.”

“Mag and the Rangatira have gone after her,” I said. “They will see to—to Vera.”

He shook his head—he could only move it a finger in each direction. “No. Ditra.” I felt his fingers slacken on my wrist. “Ditra.”

Slowly, as though he were relaxing into sleep, his head sank back. But his eyes never left me. Not even as I bowed my head over him, and the hall around us settled to silence.

“She killed him?” said Sun.

Albern nodded slowly. “She did.”

“Did Mag catch her?”

He shook his head, never taking his eyes from the trail they were following. Or rather, that he was following, for Sun could not see it. “She did not. Not then.”

“She escaped again?” said Sun, incredulous, her voice rising. “Mag was just behind her!”

“We hesitated a moment too long, after Maia,” said Albern. “Mag caught the other Shade that tried to flee. But Kaita took her mountain lion form as soon as she could. She was on the wall and in her raven form before anyone knew what had happened, and then she took wing.”

Sun glared into the grass, picturing it in her mind, running it over and over as though by sheer force of will she could change what had happened. “I cannot believe how she kept getting away from you. Did Mag not wish to catch her?”

“Oh, she did,” said Albern. “More than you can believe. More than she wanted to save the lives of the people of Kahaunga, certainly. Every time Kaita escaped us, it was sheer luck. If I had not lived it myself, I would not believe it. And though I do not mean to cast an even darker pall over what is already an unhappy tale thus far, I will say this: many, many times have I seen evil people escape judgement, while good people meet an early end. The world should not be that way, but sometimes it is.”

“I am no child. I do not believe that everything is always just and right. But dark below, at least tell me that she did not kill your—”

Albern raised a hand. Sun stopped short, glaring at him. “Are you shushing—”

“Please,” whispered Albern. “Do not speak for a moment. I think we are drawing close to the end of the trail.”

Somewhat mollified, Sun fell silent. Albern’s bow was in her hand, and his quiver on her belt. She drew an arrow, holding it nocked and ready.

“Where?” she whispered.

“Not far,” he said. “Come. Off the beaten path for a little while.”

Sun’s face twisted. She could see no trace whatsoever of their prey, and certainly not a beaten path. But she followed Albern as he cut suddenly right, working his way around the southern side of a great hill that rose to a cluster of reddish boulders at the top. It brought them to another hill, which Albern circumvented again. But when they came to a third hill, this time he began to climb. Sun followed, and when Albern began to walk in a half-crouch, she did the same.

They reached the crest of the hill. Two trees grew towards the north end of it, and they snuck up to one of them. A few paces from the edge of the hill, Albern lowered himself to the ground, creeping forwards like a jungle cat stalking through grass. Sun did the same, though she had to restrain herself from moving too quickly—it was easier for her than for Albern, with his missing arm.

Together they sidled up to the edge of the hill and looked down into a small dip in the land. Sun barely restrained a gasp.

A camp sat in the lowest flat point in the land. A motley assortment of disheveled individuals lounged about in various positions of rest, many of them near a campfire with some meat suspended above it. There looked to be a few guards posted, but they were scant paces away from the others, and they sat on rocks or the flat ground. They hardly seemed to be looking out for a squirrel to shoot, much less intruders.

But the center of the camp drew Sun’s attention immediately. There she saw a sizable cauldron made of black iron, and full of an even blacker