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

“Dark below, Kaita,” he murmured. “What has happened to you?”

“Nothing,” said Kaita. “And much. I have been long pursued, many times cornered, and twice has defeat come crashing down at the moment of my victory. And now I seek Rogan, but for dark’s sake”—she sent a fist crashing down on the table, tipping her mug—“I cannot find him anywhere.”

Horata snatched up her fallen mug and replaced it with his full one. “Well, we can help, at least in one respect. Tagata will know exactly where Rogan is.”

“Yes,” said Kaita, her hands beginning to shake as she took up her bread and splashed it into her soup. “Almost at the end. Finally.”

But how many times during this journey had she thought the same thing?

She shied away from the thought. Despair helped no one, least of all the one suffering from it.

Being so preoccupied with her food, Kaita did not notice when another Shade entered the dining hall and approached the table. Only when Horata looked up at the woman did Kaita realize she was there.

“What is it?” said Horata. “Where is the commander?”

The woman—a girl, honestly, barely older than the children—glanced fearfully at Kaita before she answered. “She has gone. Some errand of the Lord called her away, and no one knows exactly why. She took no one with her.”

Kaita paused, her mouth partly open, still full of soup-soaked bread. “What do you—” She paused and swallowed so that her speech no longer slurred. “What do you mean, ‘some errand’?”

“I do not know,” said the girl, her face going pale. “No one seems to. She did not say when she would be back.”

Kaita’s hands stopped shaking. She went stone-still as she looked upon the girl, whose eyes filled with fear.

Tagata. The one person here who could tell her where Rogan was. And she had vanished just as Kaita had arrived.

“Dark below,” muttered Horata. “That is ill fortune beyond belief. I am sorry, Kaita. But still, you are here now. You can rest. We can get you new clothes, and—you will forgive me,” he chuckled. “But a bath might do you some good.”

“Yes,” said Kaita slowly. “Yes, it would. And I will enjoy sleeping in a bed rather than on the ground.”

Horata rose and drew her up after him, leading her to the bath and fetching new clothes while she scrubbed the dirt from her skin. But all the while, one thought remained with her, persistent, tapping at the door of her mind and trying to persuade its way in.

Was it possible that Rogan did not wish for her to find him?

Was it possible … the thought did not bear dwelling on … but could it be that the Lord himself did not wish for her to have what she sought? That despite his promises, he did not intend to give her the strength she needed to defeat Mag?

In a rigid mind, the seed of doubt can take long to find purchase. But once it has taken root, it can never be entirely eradicated.

“It is time, my son.”

Rogan’s hand clenched to a fist, crumpling the missive he had been reading. It told him something he already knew: Kaita was searching for him, and she was running herself to death in the hunt.

But this was the first time his father had spoken of the matter since Kaita had failed in Tokana, weeks ago. When Father had told Rogan that Kaita would have to die if the Shades were to win the war.

He stood from the table in his small room.

“Why now, Father?” he said.

“Do you not trust in me?”

“Always,” he said immediately. “Forgive my impertinence.”

The Lord’s laugh was gentle. “You are too quick to beg my forgiveness. Those who serve us feel the same way towards you that you do towards me—afraid of making the smallest misstep, even when they are only curious. You are always gentle with them. Remember to reserve that same kindness for yourself. To answer your question: it is time because I have seen that it is time. I have no greater understanding than you. I have only a better grasp of the sight.”

Rogan shook his head. “Then I trust in you. Only …”

“Only you wish to delay the moment as long as possible.” Rogan could feel the Lord’s deep sigh in his bones, and he felt, too, the sadness that came with it. “I desire the same thing. Yet if we are to achieve our aims …”

“I know.” Rogan’s voice had faded to a whisper. “Very well. I will send word to Kaita and tell her where to find me.”

“Thank you, my son.”

His father left him, and Rogan felt empty, as he always did.

Soon he left his room. A short hallway brought him to the chamber where his advisors were in council. As he strode in, they were leaning over a map of Underrealm, discussing a new wave of raids into Feldemar. But the moment they noticed Rogan, the chamber fell silent. Everyone present looked at him, eyes shining with love, awaiting his command. Only Ikaia dared to smile, stepping forwards and gripping his wrist.

“Things are proceeding well, brother,” she said. “Our brave warriors have done much to foment discord between Dorsea and Feldemar. And by all accounts, no one in either kingdom knows they are ours.”

“Good,” said Rogan. “And the affair in Danfon?”

“It only awaits your order.” Ikaia answered without thinking. But as she caught the reason he asked, she straightened, and her eyes went wide. The air in the room seemed to thicken, and now they were all frozen, looking at him, hanging on his next words.

“The order is given,” said Rogan. “Tell Wojin it is time to act.”

He paused. Unspoken words hung on the air, and everyone could hear them. No one moved. Almost he stopped there. Almost he left his father’s command unfulfilled.

But Rogan was a dutiful son.

“And send word to Kaita,” he said.