The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) by Garrett Robinson (elon musk reading list TXT) 📕

The girl looked annoyed. “In that case, I think I will take my leave.”

Kaita barely heard her. The first real notice she took was when the room went suddenly dark, as the girl snuffed the lamps before leaving. But she remained deep in her own thoughts.

Mag and I had arrived in Tokana at last. Kaita had lured me all the way home.

Soon, the long hunt—which had lasted much longer than the paltry past few months—would come to an end.

I was, as you have gathered, rather terrified of being discovered by my family. To help you understand why, I should tell you something of my eldest sister, Romil, and of something that happened soon after I had fled from home.

My mother had no tolerance for what she saw as my “foolishness,” by which she meant my desire to be happy. She still thought I could be useful to her, and so she sent Romil to bring me home. Romil was very like my mother, which is to say that she was cold and uncaring. Growing up, we hardly ever spoke to each other more than was absolutely required. My mother did not mind. As long as we obeyed her, she cared little for how we felt about each other.

It took Romil some months to find me. I had already had my wending and joined the Upangan Blades before she came stomping into our camp one day. Sentries challenged her, and Romil almost came to blows with them. But I happened to be passing by, and I saw them arguing.

The sight of her froze me in place. I had managed to convince myself that my family would simply … let me vanish. That my mother, who had never seemed to care about me one way or another, would forget about me, and be satisfied with two daughters who seemed willing to serve her. I should have known it was a fool’s hope.

I approached them and put a hand on the sentry’s shoulder. “She is with me,” I said. He gave me a doubtful look, but he went off on his patrol, leaving Romil and me standing there facing each other.

She studied me, and I studied her in turn. Behind her was a retainer of our house, but I barely noticed. I could only see Romil. She wore our family’s colors proudly. A bow was on her back, and an axe hung at her belt. She had done her hair in a single long braid that fell to the small of her back. Her expression was a mixed one—appraisal, and faint amusement, but mostly anger.

“You look different,” she said.

“A wending sometimes has that effect.”

She grunted. “So it does,” she said. “I hope it has made you happy, as well as cleared your head. It is time for you to return. Mother commands it.”

“I no longer follow Mother’s commands,” I told her.

Her fingers tightened on the haft of her axe. “Of course you do,” she said. “You are a Telfer. Mother has need of you, and wending or no, you can still be of use.”

It was, of course, a rather abominable thing to say, and I cannot with any honesty speak in her defense. The time after a wending is a delicate one. Doubtless you know the ritual one’s friends and family are supposed to perform, for the sake of the ander person. The kindest thing I can say for Romil is that I do not think she spoke out of malice. Mother had given her a duty, and that duty was the only thing she cared about. My feelings mattered to her not at all.

Her response sent my blood rising, and I answered somewhat more rashly than I should have. “I am so glad to hear it. That I might still be useful to her. But I regret to say that I am not going anywhere, least of all with you.”

She stepped forwards and seized my arm. A few paces away, the retainer’s hands balled to fists, though she bore no weapon. “Of course you are, you idiot,” snarled Romil. “You have had your lark as an honorless sellsword. But the game is over now. You can ride behind me on my horse.”

“No!” I cried, recoiling. But her grip on my arm was like an iron band. “Let go of me!”

“What is all this about?”

Never before or since have I been so glad to hear Mag’s voice. I looked over my shoulder to see her approaching from the midst of the camp. Near her was the sentry who had first spoken to Romil. He gave me a grim look over Mag’s shoulder—he must have sensed trouble brewing, and gone to fetch her.

Mag stepped up close, and Romil had at least enough sense to let go my arm. She stared Mag up and down with a haughty expression I was well familiar with.

“Who are you supposed to be?” she said.

“A friend,” said Mag. Then, as if afraid Romil might be confused, she added, “Not your friend, of course.”

Romil looked past her to me. “You keep charming company, Vera.”

My stomach did another ugly turn. Again I spoke without thinking. “My name is Albern now.”

Romil’s eyes shot wide, her expression incredulous. Then she gave a loud, ugly laugh. “Oh, it is, is it? I suppose I should have expected as much. You always had the strange notion that you were somehow better than the rest of us, though you never did a thing to prove it.”

“And that is about all I need to hear from you,” said Mag. “Leave. Now.”

“I do not even take suggestions from sellsword scum, much less orders,” growled Romil. “Walk away, if you know what is good for you.”

Mag looked over her shoulder at me. “I do not much like her. Should I—”

“Leave it.” I looked past her to Romil. “That goes for you as well. I am staying here. You can