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

hardly be necessary,” said Nikau, placing a hand on Hallan’s arm. “But for now, we had better see to our arrangements. Come, Orla. I will not build your tent for you.”

Orla laughed, and it was like music. “Of course you will, if I ask it,” she said. “But I am coming.” She leaned in to give Dryleaf a quick peck on the cheek. “Await my return, dear one. We will come to hound you for a song as soon as we may.”

She danced away towards the back of the wagon. Behind her, some other lovers descended to the ground, and they began to see to the horses’ needs and set up tents near the army’s. I noticed Mag’s and my squadrons looking at them with interest, and I strongly suspected they would be glad for Dryleaf’s presence during the long march before us.

Mag was shaking her head with a slightly amused expression. “At least our march shall not be dreary—wherever we end up marching to.”

“No, it certainly will not,” said Dryleaf, beaming.

We all sang and spoke and laughed and drank that night, and the next morning we set out from Taitou before dawn. Tou’s company marched just behind Kun’s Mystics, as ordered. Dryleaf found a place in the army’s train near the lovers, among the wagons and carts of the camp followers that accompany any force on a campaign.

Mag and I were marching to war for the first time in many years. Though we walked in grim company, for the first time in a while, I found myself excited to take the next step in our journey.

The rider was headed south towards Taitou on a narrow, little-used hunting trail. The day was cold, and the warmth of her mount was little comfort against it. Sharp hills cracked the land around her, like broken fingers arching towards the sky in pain. Dark mutterings poured in a steady trickle from her lips, promising baneful revenge against Mag and me when at last she caught up to us.

To the south, a flight of birds launched itself into the air, screaming.

The rider stopped. Her eyes narrowed. She moved off the trail into the hills, hiding her horse behind some boulders. Retracing her steps, she found a place where she could watch the path while keeping herself hidden.

It was not long before a column of soldiers came into view. The rider leaned forwards, narrowing her eyes.

At the head of the column, she saw Mystics. Some were on horseback, but most were on foot. Behind the redcloaks were other folk. They looked like artisans and farmers, and almost none of them were mounted. But they carried weapons and shields, and sometimes one or two pieces of armor, though it was ragtag and scattered among them.

Militia, thought the rider.

And then she saw Mag and me. We were close to the head of the column, riding our horses in plain sight.

The rider froze. But only for an instant before she was cursing under her breath and racing back towards her horse.

“Dark-damned, steer-loving, slipshod nuisances,” she said, and carried on in like manner as she mounted. The moment she was in the saddle, she dug in her heels with a great cry, riding towards the hunting trail at a gallop.

Kun and his Mystics spotted her while she was still spans off. Immediately the Mystics formed up, drawing weapons and hefting their shields to form a wall in front of Kun. Knights barked orders, directing more of the column to advance and join them.

The rider slowed her horse to a walk, throwing empty hands into the air.

“Hail!” she cried. “My weapons are stowed, and I bear no ill intent. Kindly do not shoot me.”

Mag and I came marching forwards with our units. The rider studied us, eyes narrowing in a glare, but she could see that we did not recognize her. And why should we have? She was wrapped head to toe in clothing against the cold. Not even a shock of hair stuck out from her hood and mask.

“That is far enough,” Kun called out amiably. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Two things,” said the rider. “The first is more important. I have come looking for you, for I guess that you are the Mystic garrison from Taitou. I have news for you about the Shades.”

The effect on all of us was immediate. Mag and I glanced at each other, and most of the gathered soldiers gripped their weapons tighter.

The woman’s voice instantly struck me as familiar. But it was far away and muffled, both by her mask and by the heavy snows all around us. My mind raced, trying to place it, but I could not.

Kun’s smile only widened.

“I am curious about your news, as well as why you think I should trust it,” he called out. “But you said you wanted two things. What is the second?”

The rider’s voice went sour. “I am looking for three people in your company.”

Kun’s smile vanished. “Are you now.” It was not a question, but more of a statement of annoyed anticipation.

“I am,” said the rider. “I seek Dryleaf, an older man. And two whom I see before me: Mag, called by some the Uncut Lady, and especially Albern of the family Telfer.”

Mag frowned, and a flush crept up into my cheeks. Yet still I could not place her voice.

The rider smiled to herself, drawing a dark enjoyment from our reactions.

Kun, meanwhile, had turned a baleful glare on us. “I see,” he said. “Why does it not surprise me that the two of you are connected to this stranger, who rides out of the wilderness with knowledge of the Shades?”

Mag never took her eyes off the rider. “I do not recognize her, Captain.”

“Nor I,” I added. It did not seem wise to mention the familiarity of her voice, for I did not think Kun would be much pleased. “Who are you, stranger? Show your face.”

“Stranger?” The rider snorted. “How would a stranger know your names, or recognize