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

The translator quivered at the anger in his voice, but now one of the other elders spoke. He was not quite so hoary as the first, and there was a clear current of anger in his words. The translator looked uncomfortable, but after a sharp reproach from the elder, she spoke. “Elder Hagan says: we allowed nothing,” she said, her voice shaking. “We brought them to you. You allowed them to escape, not us.”

I looked at Mag behind our rock. “We were right on that count, it seems.”

“Never mind that,” said Mag. “I cannot see the Shades clearly enough to tell if the weremage is among their number.”

“What of the leader?” I said. “Satyrs respect only strength and size. She would have better luck speaking to them as a large warrior than in her natural form. You saw how slight she was.”

Mag frowned. “So it could be her, but how can we know?”

Before I could answer, something happened in the circle. The Shades seemed to have had enough of the satyrs’ arguments. Their leader raised his hand, palm pointing towards the elders, and the circle fell quiet.

“Enough,” said the Shade. “The Lord is tired of your excuses. There will be payment in blood. Two of you may present yourselves, or we can make the choice for you.”

My stomach turned. The elders cowered in their seats, and as they did so, I glanced at the two empty stone chairs. Did I see bloodstains on the rock, or was it my imagination? Had this Lord already demanded such a sacrifice once in the past?

Elder Seko looked at the others. They chattered back and forth in their own tongue for a moment, with Seko sounding increasingly desperate. Finally, Elder Hagan shot to standing and barked a series of short, loud words. The rest of them fell silent.

Slowly, Elder Seko stood from her chair. Beside her, another elder, almost as grey and wizened, stood as well. Together the two of them stepped towards the Shades.

“The two oldest,” I muttered.

The Shade leader stepped forwards. He held up a hand—and then his eyes began to glow. My heart did a somersault, thinking of the weremage—but then just as quickly, it sank into my stomach. Elder Seko gasped and clutched at her throat. Slowly, a finger’s width at a time, she rose into the air.

“You are servants of the Lord,” intoned the Shade. “As are we. And he does not brook failure.”

“He is a mindmage,” I said. “He is not who we seek.”

“He will kill them,” said Mag. Her voice had taken on the lifeless monotone of her battle-trance.

“I am not certain that it would be wise to—oh, sky save us,” I said, for Mag had leaped out over the top of the slope. She sprang forwards, shield raised and spear held high.

Mag was among the Shades before they knew what was happening. From five paces away she threw her spear. It impaled the Shade mindmage through the chest. He froze, staring at her weapon as the glow died in his eyes. His magic fell away, and Elder Seko fell gasping to the ground.

Before the Shade had started to fall, Mag seized her spear and kicked him away, ripping the weapon from his torso. She had killed another of the Shades before the rest could react. I loosed two arrows, each taking a Shade in the head. They fell like puppets with cut strings. Two stood, but not once Mag reached them. One managed to get his sword out—Mag batted it aside with her spearhead before it sliced around in a wide arc and laid his throat open. The other leaped towards Mag with raised blade, but I fired another arrow. It took the Shade in the chest, and she fell to one knee, wheezing. She looked up just in time to take Mag’s spear in the neck. Her body fell to the floor, her hands jerking as they tried to reach for her throat. She died before managing it.

It was over almost before the half-ring of satyr warriors realized what was happening. But once they saw the corpses on the floor, they raised their weapons with angry brays, smashing the weapons against their shields in a violent cacophony. Mag fell into a fighting crouch, her shield up and her spear ready to strike. I nocked another arrow, but did not draw.

“Enough!” I cried. “It is over.”

Elder Seko had risen by now, helped to her feet by the other satyr who had offered himself in sacrifice. She spoke in anger and fright using the satyrs’ language. I frowned at her and then looked over at the translator. The translator shook worse than ever, but she tried to compose herself as she spoke.

“Elder Seko says: it is not over,” she whimpered. “Who are you? Why have you done this?”

I arched an eyebrow. “We have saved the lives of two of your elders. You do not sound particularly grateful.”

The elders might not have deigned to speak the human tongue, but they seemed to understand it well enough, for the oldest one screamed a reply without waiting for my words to be translated. The translator swallowed hard. “Elder Seko says: you are no servants of the Lord. This was not his will. His retribution will fall upon all of us now, and it will be swift and merciless.”

“Then I suggest you stop obeying this Lord, whoever he may be,” said Mag. Elder Seko drew up straight and raised a hand. The half-ring of satyrs edged forwards, but Mag stood firm. “I would not do that, if I were you. It will only result in a pile of satyr corpses to go along with these human ones.”

I gritted my teeth. Mag did not know the nuances of speaking to these creatures. Threats rarely worked unless one had a satyr utterly at their mercy. The satyrs might have been in such a position, in truth, but they could not