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

“And what do they call you elsewhere?” He smiled and did not answer. “I am Albern of the family Telfer.”

“Telfer?” he said, cocking his head. “From Calentin then, are you?”

That made my heart skip a beat. Of the many people I had met across the nine kingdoms, only a handful had ever recognized the name Telfer. Even when they did, it was rare they could place the kingdom it came from.

I tried to speak easily, passing off the moment of hesitation. “I am indeed,” I told him. “But you do not look like a man from my homeland.”

“Nor am I,” he said. “I am from everywhere, as they say. In my day I was a wandering peddler who roamed all over the nine kingdoms. But one day my eyes went”—he pointed to the milky white orbs—“and once they started going bad, it happened fast. I was on my way north, but I was injured crossing the Blackwind just outside this town—I had an uppity horse, and it threw me, and my leg broke. It was not such a bad injury, but old bones are slower to heal. By the time I was ready to ride again, my traveling days were over. Since then, I have waited for anyone traveling to Selvan, hoping I could beg to come along, but the opportunity has never presented itself. It must be … three years now? Lan Shui does not lie on any of the great roads that cross Underrealm. We rarely see travelers at all—and even more rarely, lately.”

His mention of Selvan dampened my mood. Even now, the Shades would be pursuing Loren through the Birchwood, and I doubted anyone who lived there was safe. I thought to myself that it was a good thing Dryleaf had never reached his destination. Sometimes fate is kind in cruel ways.

But the last thing he had said caught my attention. “I thought something seemed amiss when I came here. Why is everyone so afraid? We were questioned quite closely by the constable when we arrived.”

“Yue, you mean?” said Dryleaf. “She is a good sort, if a bit stern. But if she let you in, you will have seen that for yourself.”

I noticed that he had deftly avoided answering my question. “A good sort indeed. But why did she suspect us so?”

Dryleaf pursed his lips and nodded a few times, as though bobbing his head in time to some beat I could not hear. His bushy brows had drawn close together. “I am not so sure I should speak of it,” he said. “After all, you are a stranger, if an exceedingly polite one. Some strangers are folk of pure intent, but others are less so.”

“And have you met any of the latter sort?” I asked. “Anyone in the town who seems not to have the best interest of the people at heart?”

He shook his head, but he did it with a little smile. “I am sorry, but I will not say more. Not yet. If you remain here for a while, we might discuss matters in more detail. But for now I think it is best if you look to yourself, and I do the same.” He shifted where he sat and reached for his meal. “And now, if you will forgive me, I must have a few bites before I get back to what earns my meal. I wish you well, and I hope we speak again.”

Despite his courtesy, the end of the conversation came so abruptly that I felt myself at a loss for a moment. Yet it seemed clear that I would glean nothing more from him just now, so I politely excused myself and returned to Mag.

“What a strange old man,” said Sun.

Albern laughed. “He was.”

“He has died, then?”

“Oh yes,” Albern said quietly. “He was old even then, and as I said, this was decades ago.”

Sun frowned. “I do not understand. Why was he so polite, and yet unwilling to help? He said strangers could not always be trusted, but if that was the case, why would he speak with you at all?”

Albern’s somber mood vanished. “You must learn to allow the elderly our peculiarities,” he said. “Oftentimes we do things only to make your life difficult, as revenge for the toll time has wreaked upon us.”

“But the town was in danger!”

“And how did he know it was not in danger from me?” said Albern. “That is pulling a little ahead of the story. But you should remember not to be too trusting of strangers, even if you still manage to be courteous to them.”

“I should not have trusted you, if I took that advice,” muttered Sun.

“True enough,” said Albern. “But as Dryleaf himself would discover, I am no one of ill intent.”

He remained silent for a good long while, staring down at the reins he held in his hand. He did not look as mournful as when he had recounted Sten’s death, but Sun thought she could still sense a deep sadness in him.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing exactly,” he said. “It is only that I have not recalled Dryleaf in a very long time. The old man and I rode many long miles together. When you get older, you will find that all your stories are laced with grief, for they always concern at least one person who is no longer with you. It is a curse that grows worse the older you get—that fewer and fewer people are left who attended the most important parts of your life. But enough somber talk. In truth, I was only thinking that our expedition tonight is rather like those adventures then, though of course I am much younger now than Dryleaf was, and you are much younger than I was.”

Sun blinked. “You mean that Dryleaf is a part of the story?” she said.

Albern smiled. “Oh yes, very much a part of it,” he said.

“He did not seem very important when