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

again at Mag, but from the corner of my eye so that she would not notice. Mayhap I need not have worried. Her gaze was distant as she let it rest on the horizon, and I doubted she had heard a word Dryleaf or I had spoken.

The old man had said I would know when my heart had healed. But some wounds, I wagered, never healed at all.

The next day, we reached the city of Opara, which stands at the foot of the mountain Tahumaunga.

I do not know how far you have traveled, but I doubt it is as far as me, and I can tell you this: there are few sights as glorious, as awe-inspiring, and as frightening as that fiery peak. Tahumaunga looms over the land all around, its crest often wreathed in smoke, which drifts away south and east. There are higher mountains in the nine kingdoms, but none stand so tall in isolation, dominating the horizon and commanding one’s attention.

There are tales from the time before time that say it spouted its flames often, sending great rivers of molten rock cascading down its slopes and flooding the wilderness all around. But those flames had long since subsided when Roth’s armies conquered the nine kingdoms. Now it belched forth its fires mayhap once in a lifetime, and they were gentle and slow when compared to the mountain’s ancient fury.

Opara had been built at the foot of the mountain long ago. The King’s road did not pass through it, but it was still sizable, for it was an important waypost on the kingdom’s southern border. The Tongarn river poured from underground caverns within the mountain, and the city had been built around the place where the waters reached the lowlands. The south gate stood open as we approached, but the guards there raised a hand to stop us, and one stepped forwards to take Mag’s reins, for she was at our head. He looked at each of us in turn with a studious gaze. He and his companions wore the black and red armor, trimmed in white, that marked them as servants of the Calentin king. A curious feeling, somewhere between longing and discomfort, came over me as I beheld them.

“Good day, friends,” said the man, a short and stout fellow. I do not know how many Calentin citizens you have met, but we often decorate ourselves with tattoos scarred deep into the skin of the face. They covered this guard’s chin, which jiggled when he spoke. “Whence have you come?” One of his fellow guards edged closer and knelt a pace away, extending a hand towards Oku.

“Southern Dorsea, and before that, Selvan,” said Mag. “We hail from the town of Northwood.”

“A long way to travel,” said the guard. “I am Ari, of the family Parata. What is your business in the kingdom?” Oku had drawn tentatively closer, and finally he allowed the other guard to scratch him behind the ears.

“I am Kanohari,” I said, speaking before Mag as a way of reminding her not to give her true name. We had discussed this before. Mag and I would use false names, in case word of us somehow reached the weremage and warned her of our approach. Dryleaf would need no such precautions, we thought, since he meant nothing to the Shades. “I am returning home, and these are my friends, accompanying me on the journey.”

As I spoke, I dismounted and threw back my hood. The guards’ faces lit with recognition, and Ari gave me a warm smile. My father was a Heddan, but my mother was of old Calentin blood, and the features of my homeland were plain upon my face, even if my skin was a bit pale.

“Welcome home, countryman,” said Ari. He pressed his fist to his forehead. “How long away?”

“Too long,” I said, giving him a smile that I did not feel. “Many years.”

He chuckled and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Well, you will lose that Selvan accent before long.” He shifted his attention back to Mag, giving her a nod. “You are true friends to accompany your fellow on such a long journey.” Behind him, Oku had gone belly-up to allow the other guard to scratch him. One hind leg kicked wildly at the air.

“Oh, do not worry,” said Mag, smiling at me. “It has all been a long ploy. I mean to get him drunk and then steal all his coin.”

“She is joking,” I said quickly, scowling at her.

Ari chuckled, but then his countenance grew stern. “You are welcome to Opara, but I am afraid we must inspect your belongings. Orders from the Rangatira, and none but his servants are exempt.”

“Of course,” I said easily. Yet in my mind, a warning bell began to toll. Inspecting travelers at the border? That was something I might have expected in the eastern regions, the mountain passes where I grew up. But the southern border had never been a place of great watchfulness. It had never needed to be, for Dorsea knew better than to bring their aggression here, and they turned it instead upon Selvan, or Feldemar, or sometimes Hedgemond.

Fortunately, we carried nothing suspicious upon us. We were indeed simple travelers, even if our ultimate goal was not quite so simple. After perusing our rations and travel gear and Mag’s considerable stock of coin, the guards waved us on through the gate. Oku leaped up with a yelp and, after giving the guard’s face a quick lick, he came pelting after us. Ari raised a hand to wave farewell, and then they were out of sight.

Riding into those streets was a strange sensation for me. The scent of cooking food wafted on the air towards me, bringing the aroma of dishes I had not smelled in years, but recognized at once. Most people around us had tattoos, and more than once I caught myself staring at them, tracing their twisting designs with my