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

Seko snorted, her nostrils flaring. “Elder Seko says: we have no more answers for you.”

My breath had grown quick, and I tried to calm myself. “The Lord has caused great suffering in the human kingdoms,” I pressed. “In this, we share your—”

Seko cut me off without waiting for the translator, and the translator relayed her words as soon as they were spoken. “Human worries are nothing to us. You have saved two lives, and we have answered more than two questions already. Leave now, and remember our generosity and kindness.”

Though my nerves felt grated almost to the root, I knew better than to try to press her any further. Instead I took a step back and bowed low.

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you, Elder Seko. We will never forget your mercy or your lenience.”

Mercifully, Mag managed not to laugh, though she had to cough to hide it. I tossed my head at her, and we walked away from the circle of satyrs. I did not look back until we were well out of sight, though I imagined I could feel the satyrs’ eyes boring into my back long afterwards.

Mag and I came riding down out of the mountains some days later.

Elder Seko had said the weremage went to a village near the southern river of the Great Spearhead. I thought long on those words, and soon I thought I had an answer to them. I remembered Dorsea well enough, for I had often campaigned there, and I remembered how the Blackwind River came down out of the Greatrocks to join the Bluewater, forming a sort of spearhead in the land. I knew there was a town there, though I did not recall the name of it. And so it was in that direction that I guided Mag, and soon brought her to the outskirts of Lan Shui.

It looked a sizable town to us. Not a large city, certainly, but big enough to lose people in. It was built around the river, and I guessed that they used it for trade and for travel. Farmlands were laid out beyond the town proper for leagues in every direction. But as we drew closer, I began to notice that some farms seemed abandoned. About half the fields had no one working in them, and the crops, though mature, were untended.

But I did not remark upon it at first, for Mag seemed to be in a poor mood. As we drew closer to the town, I thought I understood why. Though the homes were clearly of Dorsean make, and the people here wore Dorsean clothing, it was impossible not to see the similarities between this town and Northwood. And when thinking of Northwood, it was impossible not to think of Sten.

“Do you know why the river is called the Blackwind?” I asked her, trying to pull her from such thoughts.

Her head jerked around, as if she had forgotten I was there and was surprised to hear me speak. “What? No.”

“It is the twin river of the Bluewater farther north, and they join at the city of Bertram to form the Fanrong,” I said. “In the days of the Sunmane, one of her generals—a man named Torben—came through what would be called the Moonslight Pass into Dorsea’s western reaches. His army was low on rations and water after the pass, where they had been attacked many times by satyrs, who were in those days more plentiful. They followed the Greatrocks south until they reached the river and the fertile lands that surrounded it. Torben named the river then, for as he said: ‘It shone in midday’s light like the purest sapphire, though I valued it more highly than gemstones, for instead of wealth, it brought my soldiers life.’

“His army camped around the river for one week, resting. At last they continued their journey south, seeking for the end of the Greatrocks and what might lay beyond them. Soon they arrived here and found this second river, and Torben called it the Blackwind.”

My words cut off suddenly, more suddenly than I had intended, for in the middle of the tale, I had remembered its ending. Torben had called it the Blackwind because when his army came to it, they were attacked by a greater host of satyrs than they had yet faced, and there was a great swarm of imps as well. In the fighting, Torben’s son had been killed, and so he had named the river as a curse. That was not the sort of story I thought it would be best for Mag to hear just then.

She did not seem to notice the strange way I had cut the tale short, for her eyes were on the town’s gates ahead. I followed her gaze and saw why. The gates were almost fully closed, and in front of them stood three constables with less than friendly expressions.

“Trouble, do you think?” said Mag.

“I doubt it. It is not unusual for a town to be wary of strangers, especially this close to the mountains, where there are many perils.” But we both knew that was not entirely true. There was no war near here, and so there was no reason for this town to be wary of anything except satyrs and harpies, neither of which would be hampered a whit by a closed gate.

We spoke no further word as we approached the constables, and for their part, they made no move and said nothing as we pulled to a stop before them.

“Hail, friends,” I said in a cheery voice. “We beg your leave to enter this town—and, too, we ask its name, for we have never been here before.”

One of the constables stood a pace ahead of the others, and the white stripe on her red leather armor marked her as a sergeant. Beneath her red helmet was a shock