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

in the lightning paws of the mountain lion. But she had known nothing. She could feel it within her—every form she knew, every animal she had taken into her canon, now stronger, faster, more nimble.

But beneath it all, in her very essence, she could sense something new. A form she had never seen before, had never even imagined. Now it presented itself to her, offering up every detail, letting her see it in its entirety, the way a weremage must see a creature when they learn its form. Every part of it was now as familiar to her as the raven in which she had journeyed endless leagues.

This was power. This was safety—the strength to destroy any enemy who ever crossed her. No one could ever banish her again. No one could ever cast her aside for being useless, not with this form inside her.

It was everything she had ever wanted.

She let the form flow into her. And she began to change.

Her eyes turned black, and then they began to glow. A sickening darkness seeped out of them and consumed the fading sunlight. Her skin swelled. It flowed out like water and then hardened, turning rigid as glacial ice, and like ice, it was white and translucent. She fell forwards on all fours. Her shoulders and arms swelled like those of an ape of the northern jungles, but half again as tall and three times as heavy. Her face jutted forth, and huge fangs erupted from both top and bottom jaws. Where the skin formed into solid white armored plates, it also grew jagged spikes that erupted out all across her form. Between the blades, the surfaces were rough like tree bark made of razors, so that nothing could touch her without coming away bleeding.

Kaita gave herself one moment—only one. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and then exhaled again, tensing and flexing every muscle in her new body.

She could not believe it. To know that this was the strength of magestones. This was the power of the Wizard Kings of old. How had they ever lost it? How could anyone have taken this away from them?

No one could stop her now. She should have taken the stones weeks ago. She could have plunged straight into the center of the Mystic army. Who could have stopped her? No blade could pierce her hide. No one could live once she had set her sights on them and pronounced their death.

Her eyes snapped open, and they focused on Mag.

A moment ago, Mag had looked uncertain. That was gone. Her face was a deadpan mask again, the battle-trance with which Kaita was all too familiar. Kaita hated it, hated Mag for it.

The rainstorm above them had worsened, and now lightning cracked in the sky. Thunder rocked the ground, sending waves through puddles of rainwater. And Kaita roared to meet it, and the sound was like every demon in the darkness below. She charged, and it was more terrible than the worst storms of winter.

Kaita’s first swipe came faster than the lion, too fast for Mag to dodge. She raised her shield instead, hoping to roll with the blow as she would have with the bear. But it was too strong, and with a crash, she was flung back, sliding five paces through the mud.

For a moment, Kaita stood there, flexing her great clawed fingers, marveling at them. She had never been so fast, never so strong. Why would the Lord not grant this gift to all his wizard children? Underrealm would not stand for a month, not against even a handful of them.

Mag got to her feet. The mud clung too thick for the rain to wash it off. Still, her face was the impassive mask, not a muscle in it twitching.

But that was fine. Kaita did not need to see Mag’s fear. She did not need her to scream or to weep.

It was enough to watch her die.

Kaita launched herself across the snow. Mag tried to dodge aside, but Kaita turned, quick as lightning. Her left rear limb struck out, a crushing blow that slammed into Mag’s back and flung her facedown into the ground.

When she came up, her lip was split open. Rainwater mixed with the blood, sending it racing down her chin to splash into the mud.

Kaita’s heart sang.

Again she lunged, and then again, each time swiping, snarling. Mag tried to avoid her blows, and sometimes she managed it. But Kaita was simply too fast now. She struck Mag once in the ribs, and something cracked. Her claws raked down Mag’s spear arm, sending more bright blood to stain the churning ground.

Though it was Kaita’s own claws doing the cutting, she almost could not believe it was working. Never in the past had she so much as nicked Mag’s skin. From what she knew, no one ever had.

Mag backed off two paces. She was breathing hard now, though her mangled spear arm did not shake. Her lip still bled down her chin and onto her shirt, but her expression had not changed.

As Kaita stood there marveling at her success, Mag leaped. Her spear came up, and she jammed it straight into Kaita’s neck.

It struck the chitinous armor. And there it stuck. Kaita could barely feel it—like a playful pinch from a lover.

She bared her dagger-long fangs, a snarl and a smile all at once.

Her claws raked Mag’s body. The spear went spinning away. Mag’s shirt of scales kept her from being gutted. But the claws punctured it in places. Blood soaked into her undershirt. And now her spear was behind Kaita, far out of reach.

Kaita stepped forwards, planting her claws in the ground on either side of Mag’s head. Mag looked up into her ink-black eyes.

I was running through the snow in the fading afternoon light, Oku by my side. Ahead of us, I could hear the inhuman screams of some unknown creature. A new form of Kaita’s, I guessed, though I could not imagine what sort of animal