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

I was something of a rarity, you see. Most people of Calentin do not travel very far from home, and so I had not seen them often since I left. Yet the smells, the sights, and the few snatches of song I could hear in the streets and alleys, all of it came together to pitch my mind straight back to my youth, as though I had never been gone.

“Those guards were very friendly, even if they did search our belongings,” remarked Dryleaf. “That is one thing I have always liked about Calentin. Not only is it a beautiful kingdom—or I considered it so, back when I could see—but the people are simply wonderful. They seem so happy here, tucked in their own corner of Underrealm and untroubled by the affairs of the wider world.”

“Calentin has its own troubles, and they are plenty.” The words came harsher than I intended. Dryleaf cocked his head in surprise, and Mag gave me a stern glance. “Do not look at me like that,” I told her. “I speak only the truth. No kingdom is an idyll.”

“We know it, but that is no reason to be such a grouch,” said Mag. “We are leagues and leagues away from your family. No one here will recognize you.”

I gave her a small and sheepish smile. She had seen to the heart of my poor mood right away. “I know that. But this is the closest I have come to my family’s domain since I left them.”

“Ah,” said Dryleaf, nodding sagely. “Bad blood, is it? Well, this is your home kingdom, and you would know more about it than I do. At least we do not have to go to your family’s lands. That is one hopeful thing.”

I hid a grimace and turned my attention back to the streets. But Oku seemed to sense something of my dark mood, for he whined and stepped closer, nudging my foot with his head. “Thank you, boy,” I told him, and looked up at Mag. “Do you see? Even the hound knows how to be a good friend.”

Mag snorted and leaned over from her saddle towards mine, wrapping me in a one-armed hug that almost lifted me into the air. “Here. Is this affection enough for you?”

“Release me before I faint,” I wheezed.

She let go and pounded me on the back, which only hurt worse. “That is more than enough support for now. I shall give you another dose tomorrow.”

“Please do not. I quite enjoy having ribs.”

Dryleaf laughed aloud, and I felt my dark mood dissipate somewhat. Mag sometimes made me feel inadequate, but that was through no fault of her own. It was only that she was impressive in so many ways. Yet she was always a true friend, never letting me wallow in my own misery, and doing anything she could to pull me out of it. In that moment, I appreciated it a great deal.

“Let us return to the matter at hand,” said Mag. “We are here for the weremage. We need a place to start looking.”

“A difficult proposition,” I said. “She could be anyone. We could encounter her at any time. In truth, she could have been one of those guards at the gate, and we would never have known.”

We had discussed this, of course, on the long road north. Dryleaf had raised the idea of telling the Mystics about the weremage—hunting down rogue wizards was one of their duties, after all. But Mag and I refused. The Mystics would never allow us to join them in hunting the weremage down. They never partnered with others for such a task, except in very rare cases where they had no other choice—or if they were an exceptional person, like Jordel, who had been far more trusting than most. Indeed, if we had told the Mystics of our aims, not only would they have barred us from the hunt and brought the weight of the King’s law against us if we persisted, but it is unlikely they would even have told us if they were successful. We had to do this on our own. The weremage had slain Mag’s husband, slain my friend. She would die by our hands. On that we were agreed.

Mag nodded at my words. “Our one advantage is that the weremage does not know we are coming for her. The only way she could have found out is if the satyrs sent word. No other servants of their Lord found out about our hunt and lived to tell the tale. And certainly none of them know Pantu told us we could find her here.”

“Yet we cannot hope to simply run into her on the street,” I said.

“You should seek out these Shades, I think,” said Dryleaf. “We know she meant to join some of them here. A weremage can be nearly impossible to hunt, but unless all the Shades are also wizards, they will be easier to pin down. Find them, and you will find her.”

“I think that is our best hope,” said Mag. “It will still require a good deal of work, but that can wait for the morning. It is already late, and we still need to find a bed for the night. Albern, do you know where we should seek lodgings?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I visited Opara but rarely, and that was decades ago. We shall simply have to choose an inn by the look of it.”

“I think you two will be better at that than I,” said Dryleaf, chuckling. “Though I think I will be a better judge of the food and the beds.”

It took us some time to find a place that looked suitable, and by the time we found it, darkness had begun to creep into the sky overhead. The sign hanging over the door named it the Ugly Squirrel—a joke, it seemed, for the building was beautiful, with a grid of dark beams framing tight wooden slats that had been painted a deep crimson. But