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

through the mountain pass, and had been attacked by harpies and satyrs, and had found a growing darkness in an old fortress. Those matters had to do with the Necromancer, though of course we did not know that at the time.

“How under the sky did you get involved in all this, Albern?” said Mag. “I thought you longed for peace and quiet in Strapa.”

“I did. But even Strapa is less quiet than it used to be, and less peaceful,” I told her. “Has word of Wellmont reached you yet, this far north?”

Sten waved his hand vaguely. “Rumors. Some Dorsean border squabble.”

“It is a bit more than that, I am afraid,” I said. “I did not witness the battle, but Loren and her friends did. Dorsea seems intent on bringing the city down to its foundations.”

“Why?” said Mag. “Surely they cannot think the High King would let that stand.”

Sten snorted. “Who understands Dorseans?”

“Well, first I heard of Wellmont, and that weighed on me,” I said. “And then that girl Loren strode into my bowyery. When I saw her and her companion, I felt … I do not know precisely what I felt, but I knew I had to go with her. There was something about her—and the man she came in with, but mostly her—that told me something important was going on. Something I could not ignore. And besides, their road north brought me here to visit you.”

Mag raised her eyebrows. “Though you almost got yourself killed along the way. That would somewhat have diminished the pleasure of your company.”

I gave her a half-bow from my seat. “I am pleased to hear you value it enough not to want to lose it.”

That made all of us chuckle, and we spent a moment or two enjoying Mag’s ale in silence. As an aside, whatever tales you have heard about her brew cannot do it justice. It was sweeter than honey, and as bracing as a bear’s roar. She would chill some kegs of it in the river, and then it was like drinking a draft of gold pouring from the peaks of mountains. Other times she would serve it from barrels kept in a storehouse, and then it was like pouring the warmth of a good hearth directly into your gut. There are stories of people who have killed each other for a barrel of it. Those stories are not true, but they could be.

“So you took a Mystic and three children into the mountains,” said Mag, sighing. “And you thought it would be a lark—a pleasant jaunt, after too many years standing still.”

“I had no reason to think otherwise,” I said. “And of course, that was before I found out about our fifth, unwilling party member.”

Xain walked into the room at that moment, as perfectly timed as if he had waited, listening, until he heard me speak of him. Most people know a few tales of Xain of the family Forredar, once a savior of the Lord Prince, once a dean of the Academy for Wizards, and all the other titles he acquired. But in that room, at that time, he looked far from impressive. He was thin and sickly, and his hair had become sparse upon his scalp. He suffered from a sickness, then, though that is too long a story to tell now. He would have walked right by us, had I not spoken just as he passed.

“Can you not sleep, Xain?”

He paused for the space of a few heartbeats, his arms wrapped tight around himself despite the room’s warmth, and surveyed us with shadowed eyes that glittered. Then he pulled out a chair and sat—but suddenly he went rigid, looking uncertainly at us.

“May I sit?”

“Of course,” said Mag, ever the gracious host.

“Thank you,” said Xain, sinking back into the chair and relaxing—at least somewhat.

Mag turned back to me. “You said that something bigger is going on. What, exactly?”

I suddenly regretted mentioning it. There was a curious light in Mag’s eyes, an interest she could not hide. I did not want to further stoke that fire. A darkness was gathering, it was true—as we know now, in these later years, all too well. But I feared that if I made it plain to her, it might pull her away from Northwood, the place where she had finally settled down with Sten—and thus, found happiness. Mag deserved that happiness more than most people I had met in my travels.

But while I hesitated, Xain did not. He knew nothing of my reason for secrecy, of course, and so he spoke before I could think of an answer that would forestall any more of Mag’s questions.

“You have been telling them of the Greatrocks?” he asked me. “Something bigger hardly begins to describe it. We found an ancient enemy in the mountains. An enemy of the Mystics, I mean. Our friend and leader, Jordel, perished trying to stop them. Now that he has fallen, it is up to the rest of us to warn Underrealm. I do not know everything, and I cannot say everything I do know. But we stand on the brink of a great conflict. The Mystics must be alerted, and the sooner the better.”

“Then where are you bound?” said Mag. “The Mystics have no stronghold here, and I do not know of any who currently dwell in the city. Will you ride for Cabrus?”

“They make for Ammon,” I cut in. Xain looked surprised, and I shrugged. “Did you think I was not paying attention? You and Loren did not take much trouble to conceal the plans you made.”

Mag frowned. “You say ‘they’ as though you do not mean to go with them.”

“That is because I do not, as I told them already.”

“And we understand that choice,” said Xain. “I would do the same, were I in your shoes.” But though he spoke the words easily enough, he did not meet my gaze.

“Then what?” said Sten, frowning at me over the mug of ale he had just begun to raise.