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

her had spilled from the Shades she had killed. But Oku trotted by her side, looking up at her and whining, and I did not understand why.

We were in Lan Shui, and Mag was alone, fighting two vampires in the burning house that had once been a Shade hideout. We had named one Shoulders. The other was the largest, so Mag had dubbed it King.

She kicked Shoulders over a chair. Flames caught along its skin, and it screeched in pain as the fire consumed it. She followed up with her spear, impaling it against the wall.

Shoulders lashed out in its death throes. Its clawed hands and feet raked across Mag’s arm, her shoulders, her neck. But Mag, secure in her battle-trance, did not flinch. She watched its body wither and die, vanishing in flames like parchment.

King smelled the passage down into the basement with the magestone blood. He knocked her aside, breaking one of her arms in the process. Mag fell to the ground, impassive, silent.

And by the time Yue and I found her, her wounds had sealed themselves, and her arm had returned to normal.

“One left,” she said, pointing to the basement door. And we followed her down without question.

Mag was in the woods outside Shuiniu. She was naked and alone. She could not speak, for she knew no words. And she was hunting dinner.

A deer stood in the forest, a half-span ahead of her. In her hands was a sharpened stick—a poor substitute for the spontoon she would one day own, but still deadly in her grip.

She stalked as close as she dared. When she could not draw any closer without the deer hearing her, she threw the spear. The instant it left her hand, she was already sprinting forwards.

The spear plunged into the deer’s flank. The animal screamed, even as Mag leaped through the air towards it. Landing feet first, she bowled it over and seized the spear. She yanked it out, shoved it into the deer’s neck, and held the buck down while its body jerked in its final spasms.

She had crouched down, ready to feast, when she heard a snarl. She whirled faster than blinking, but not quite fast enough. Her fingers sank into fur as she clutched the throat of a panther.

It knocked her to the ground as she had done to the deer. But Mag was prey to no creature. Her hands became knives. She could not reach its eyes, but she struck it under the legs and in the jugular. It yowled in pain.

But before she could drive it off, its jaws clamped down on her throat. It gave a vicious jerk of its head, and her neck broke with a sickening snap. Mag’s body went limp.

The panther held her for a moment. Then it dropped her and padded over to the deer. For a moment, it sniffed, inspecting the corpse, before digging its fangs into the hide and beginning to eat.

Mag’s body jerked.

Her neck snapped back together, and she gave a strangled cry of agony. She closed her eyes, deep breaths forcing themselves in and out, while the wounds in her neck slowly sealed over.

She rose.

The panther turned. It stared up at her, its amber eyes glinting in the sunlight that broke between the tree trunks.

It must have known this was a fight it could not win, for it turned and fled deep into the woods.

Mag heaved a sigh and returned to her deer. Once again, she crouched, ready to eat. But this time, she kept a wary ear out for any other creature approaching her.

And then she heard something. Footsteps, coming closer.

She went to investigate. And she stumbled upon Duana, out for a walk.

It was the battle of Northwood, and the beginning of my long, long journey by Mag’s side, seeking revenge against Kaita.

Sten had died. Mag had attacked Kaita with all her fury, but the weremage had escaped. Now the two of us stood against a fresh wave of Shades. But the people of Northwood had rallied around us, and there was a pitched battle in the streets.

I saw Mag surrounded by her enemies. I saw her kill, but I also saw them cut and pierce her with their blades.

A club struck me unconscious. And Mag saw me fall.

No, she thought, in the part of her mind behind the battle-trance. Not Albern. Not him, too.

She shoved through the crowd and scooped me up. Holding me under one arm, she carried me through the battle and to safety. Behind a building that hid us both from sight, she set me down and felt for a heartbeat.

It was there, and it was strong, thank the sky. Her battle-trance fell away, and she breathed a sigh of relief. But it turned to a hiss of pain as her wounds started to seal themselves.

When she was whole, she picked me up again. The battle was starting to wind down. She found Elsie and placed me in her charge, to be healed on the floor of the tavern’s common room. When I awoke and saw her, I stared at her in wonder.

“Before I went down,” I said, “I saw you surrounded. I thought I saw you wounded.”

(I had seen her wounded.)

She stepped forwards and held out her arms. “They did surround me. I fought my way free. Do you see any wounds?”

(At least she did not lie to me. Not then, anyway.)

I did not see any wounds, and so I sighed. “You are frightening sometimes, Mag.”

“Only sometimes?”

She smiled, and it hid every bit as much sadness as the mask of her battle-trance.

She was the Uncut Lady still. So far as any of us knew.

Sun stared blankly at Albern across the bar. Surreptitiously, she glanced down at her mug. How much of it had she had? Was this her second drink, or third? Was the ale the reason the old man had ceased to make any sense?

“What exactly are you saying?”

Albern’s mouth twisted. And though he had