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

no reason why she should not,” I replied. “She may stalk us as she did before, but she will only see us heading west, and she knows we are chasing the weremage. She would never guess that we mean to find the satyr elders and threaten them, because, of course, that is an incredibly idiotic course of action.”

Mag gave an easy smile and began to fetch food to break our fast. “Then we will have the element of surprise.”

I laughed and helped her prepare the meal. As we ate, I began to form a plan. I had some vague idea of where the satyrs were—many treks through the mountains had brought me to their borders, so I knew the edges of the lands, at least. Most of their homes were in the western end of the mountain range. They had dwellings in the caves there, which they had connected with a series of tunnels so that they could travel through the mountains with relative ease. But satyrs did not naturally dwell within the earth except when they denned to birth and raise their children. More often, they were to be found in the open air, leaping from slope to slope and across all the flatlands along the valley.

Therefore I guided Mag west, across the valley floor and into the mountains on the other side. There were no roads or paths in this part of the mountains, but we did not need them. The trail of the Shades was plain before us. Hundreds of feet had trampled the ground, so that it was churned and muddy, like a farmer’s field laid open and ready for fresh planting. Sometimes groups of bootprints would break off from the rest, turning north or south and away from the main march.

And then, on the second day, the army’s tracks turned and headed north, deep into the mountains. But the tracks of a smaller party carried on west from the spot. They were few—mayhap a half dozen, no more. We stopped on the spot and ate our midday meal, enjoying the warm sun above, and then pressed on as soon as we had finished.

I continued to lead Mag west, until we came to the end of the valley and the beginning of the mountains again. There we found a wide road leading up into the peaks. It was bordered by perilous drops in places, but wide and firm enough to provide no great danger. I had never traveled this road before, but in past years I had espied it from afar. I guessed that it was no construct of some long-gone king, as the Shade stronghold had been. This track was not paved at all, but had been worn into the ground by many feet—or, more likely, many hooves. It looked like an animal track that had been adopted by the satyrs, who would not have cared how steep it was or how high the drops on the side. It branched often, but I always led Mag on the most well-worn routes. Those, I hoped, would take us to the heart of the satyrs’ domain. The side tracks would likely lead to smaller camps and settlements throughout the mountains, or mayhap even into the heart of the cave system the satyrs had built.

The horses did not seem to enjoy the journey much. They had some difficulty on the steeper parts of the road, and on occasion I had to find another way around, a gentler slope that would allow us to circle back to the main path.

I should have been reassured by the absence of any satyrs watching us, but I found myself growing more and more perturbed as we pressed on. We had passed the borders of their lands already. All my experience told me they should have attacked us long ago. But there was no sign of them. I could not fathom it, though I spent much thought on it during the day when we rode and during the night when I stood watch. I could understand if the bulk of them had retreated farther into their caves and mountains when the Shades had passed this way. But their patrols should have increased. Instead they had vanished entirely.

It was the third day after we had left the valley floor that I finally spotted signs of the satyrs again. We came around a bend in the path to find ourselves suddenly standing in plain view of one of their villages. It was little more than a glorified camp, with a few huts built of wood and mud, along with caves in the mountainside where I guessed most of them dwelled. Several campfires could be seen on the ground outside the dwellings, but none of them were lit. The place had been abandoned.

“Where did they go?” said Mag.

“I wish I knew,” I said. “Let us hope they are only hiding from the Shades.”

We looked through the huts and poked our heads into the caves. The satyrs were not hiding—they had abandoned their homes. All their supplies and tools were gone. Though that seemed an ominous sign, it actually eased my mind somewhat. It meant they had had time to plan their departure, and had not been driven to flee in terror. I had harbored half-formed fears of some great force sweeping through the mountains, driving these creatures before it. But whatever had prompted them to go, they had had some forewarning.

Still, I did not feel comfortable making camp in their village, so we found a flat shelf not much farther along on which to stay the night. I was especially dour as we laid out our bedrolls that evening, and Mag could not help but notice.

“Your frown will freeze on your face soon,” she remarked.

“I like the look of things less and less the farther we go,” I said.

“Yet our way has been easy so far.”

“Easy, yet troubling. Do you not wonder what drove all the satyrs out of this region?”

She shrugged. “You are the guide,