Contents
Copyright
The Books of Underrealm
Dedication
Map
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Blood Lust
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
Keep Reading
Thank You to My Patrons
Author's Note
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The Books of Underrealm
About the Author
EPILOGUE
BLOOD LUST
Garrett Robinson
Copyright © 2018 by Legacy Books. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
THE BOOKS OF UNDERREALM
To see all novels in the world of Underrealm, visit:
Underrealm.net/books
THE NIGHTBLADE EPIC
NIGHTBLADE
MYSTIC
DARKFIRE
SHADEBORN
WEREMAGE
YERRIN
THE ACADEMY JOURNALS
THE ALCHEMIST’S TOUCH
THE MINDMAGE’S WRATH
THE FIREMAGE’S VENGEANCE
TALES OF THE WANDERER
BLOOD LUST
STONE HEART
HELL SKIN
CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
NIGHTBLADE
MYSTIC
DARKFIRE
SHADEBORN
BLOOD LUST
THE ALCHEMIST’S TOUCH
THE MINDMAGE’S WRATH
WEREMAGE
STONE HEART
THE FIREMAGE’S VENGEANCE
HELL SKIN
YERRIN
THE CHRONICLES OF UNDERREALM—SHORT STORIES YOU WON’T FIND ANYWHERE ELSE
TAVERN CROSSINGS
THE NIGHT OF TWO KINGS
A NIGHT ON THE SEAT
THE MAN AND THE SATYR
THE BEAST WITHIN
CHASING MOONSLIGHT
BLOOD ON THE SNOW
THE HAMMER OF THE KING
THE TIDES OF WAR
THE LEGEND OF CABRUS
THE SUNMANE PASS
To my family
It’s been a long, hard year. I survived it thanks to you.
To my parents
The only thing I wish you’d done differently is sticking around to see this
And to everyone who’s waited patiently for this new foray into Underrealm.
You’re why I get back up and carry on.
I hope this is worth the wait.
For maps of the locations in this book, visit:
Underrealm.net/maps
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SUN HAD LONG AGO DECIDED that she would rather be adventurous than sensible. That was why she was wandering the streets of a small Dorsean town in the middle of the night. She had not heard the town’s name; she rather doubted anyone in her parents’ retinue had bothered to learn it. They had passed through a dozen towns just like it, and they would pass through a dozen more before the end of their journey.
She did not look forward to that end. But then, it had never mattered to her parents what Sun wanted. She was the daughter of a noble family, and she was expected to do as she was told—at least until she herself became the head of her house. That was the cruel joke of a noble’s fate. It came in two halves: for the first half, they were utterly subservient; and then one day, the second half began, and everyone else became subservient to them.
Sun wanted nothing to do with any of it. After nineteen years, she no longer had a child’s enjoyment of a noble’s life. She was old enough to know where it would lead.
It had been over two weeks ago that Sun had first snuck out of the camp, and she had repeated the venture in each new town along the way. Mother never noticed. Even Sun’s personal guards had been surprisingly easy to avoid. But the royal procession had been on the road for weeks now, and Sun guessed that the endless journey made everyone weary.
Not often did Sun ask herself just why she kept slipping away from the others. She had a vague sense that she was searching for something, but she had no idea what it might be. And so she told herself she only wanted an adventure.
Most of the time, that was easy to believe.
As she strolled the streets, she kept a cautious eye out for any signs of black and gold uniforms—the colors of her house—but saw nothing. She herself had carefully chosen a cloak of muted blue and skins trimmed in the same color. Too, she had worn sturdy traveling boots that would withstand the mud, for the streets of the town were soaked.
Free to wander the town as she wished, she found herself unsure of what to do. At this late hour, there were no shops open. The streets were nearly empty, and the few passersby moved quickly with their heads down against the chill. There were no children playing outside.
Only the taverns were still open. Sun paused in her walk, staring at an open door. Through it poured firelight and voices that floated on the air half-heard, like Elves murmuring in the mist. That thought made her shiver, and she pulled her fine cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Dare she enter? Sun looked uneasily down the street in both directions. She had not gone drinking in any of the other towns. Yes, it would be an adventure, but visiting a tavern in a faraway kingdom might be a bit too risky, even for her. She was no stranger to ale or mead, but she always drank in her family’s home, where a host of soldiers were on hand to ensure her safety. She did not have enough coin in her pocket to be worth killing for, but a thief would not know that until it was too late. Then again, mayhap she was safer inside the tavern than out here on the street.
Black and gold flashed at the edge of her vision, and Sun’s blood froze.
Two guards in the uniform of her house were walking down the street towards her. At first Sun feared they were hunting for her, but she saw at once that that was not the case. They moved slowly, chatting amiably with each other, clearly off duty. All the same, they would soon pass by, and they could not fail to recognize her.
Sun turned and darted around the edge of a nearby building—and crashed straight into a red leather breastplate.
“Oof!” grunted the armor’s wearer—a reedy man half a head taller than Sun. Sun felt a chill as she recognized his red armor: the mark of a constable.
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“Sorry!” cried Sun. She spun around him and made to run past—but the constable’s hand closed on her cloak.
“Here now,” growled the man. “What are you doing skulking about this—”
Before she could think, Sun reacted with instincts honed by her family’s master at arms. She spun her arm around the constable’s, trapping his wrist in her elbow and then striking his forearm with rigid fingers. The constable cried out and released her cloak, and then Sun was running through the night.
“Sorry!” she cried again, this time hearing the desperation in her own voice.
Dark below, she thought in a panic. What was I thinking?
The answer, of course, was that she had not been thinking. But the constable would not care about that. And if her family’s guards followed their duty—which they would—they would come running to see what this commotion was about. That meant at least three people were chasing her now, in a strange town far from home.
Her stomach lurched as she thought of being dragged back to her parents. For a mad moment, she wanted to keep running, beyond the town’s borders and into the countryside, and never return.
But that was foolish. She would have her adventure, and then of course she would go back.
She turned a corner and reached a low wooden bridge over a river fifteen paces wide, running through the center of the town. Sun took two steps onto the bridge before she thought better of it. She seized the railing and leaped over the side, coming down on the soft bank at the water’s edge. Crouching, Sun pressed herself back against a wooden piling, her ears pricked.
Heavy boots came pounding down the street. They thundered across the bridge. Sun heard three pairs of them. Her family guards had heard the noise, then, and now they were helping the constable in his chase. But all three of them ran straight across the bridge without pause. Sun heard “She went this way!” in the constable’s gruff voice. And then the street faded to silence.
Sun breathed a long sigh of relief. Holding the bridge for support, she clambered up the muddy bank to the street. She wiped off the mud as best she could, looking down at herself with a smirk on her face.
“You went looking for an adventure,” she told herself. “And you found one, even if it was nothing very grand.”
And then, past the far end of the bridge, her family’s guards skidded into view. It seemed they had grown suspicious and doubled back. One of them thrust out a finger towards Sun.
“You!” she cried. “Stop!”
Sun declined to obey. As she ran back around the next corner, she thanked the sky for her wisdom in not wearing her regular cloak. The guard had not recognized her from so far away—she certainly would not have referred to Sun as “you” if she had known who she was.
A strange feeling suddenly came over her. She skidded to a halt and tried to identify it. Then she realized—she had been here before. She was back in front of the tavern where she had first seen the guards.
She looked back over her shoulder. The guards were still out of sight, but their footsteps neared with every passing moment. She had no time to think.
Sun darted inside the tavern.
IMMEDIATELY IT FELT AS THOUGH a soft, gentle blanket had wrapped around her. The room was warm from twin fireplaces, but just as heartening was the low murmur of voices, filling the air with the cheer of good company. Most wore the simple clothing of Dorsean farmers and traders, with ballooning trousers and shirts that billowed at the shoulders, then gathered into tight sleeves running from elbow to wrist. Sun’s supple leathers were strikingly out of place.
She had stood in the doorway for a long moment now, and people were looking at her. Drawing her cloak tight, she picked her way between the tables. The furniture was clean but worn with age, a reflection of the tavern itself: faded, but warm; old, but enticingly fresh to her eyes. Conversations were friendly but subdued, and the patrons sat straight, their elbows collected, their posture considered. It was quite different from the drinking halls of Dulmun, where revelers lounged in whatever position they wished, some sitting on or splayed across tables, and more often than not, a fight in one of the corners surrounded by cheering onlookers.
Despite the difference from home—or mayhap because of it—Sun felt a powerful excitement stealing over her. It was as though she was in a skald’s tale, and every new face a character within it. The room felt like a place where anything could happen, where adventures lurked, waiting for someone to come and get them started.
And then Sun found a man in the corner who stood out among the rest. He was of an age that could certainly have been called venerable, but at the same time he seemed utterly uninterested in veneration. Contrary to the posture of those around him, this man had kicked his chair back to lean against the wall, and one leg was flung across the seat of the chair beside him. In his left hand he held a mug of beer, and his right arm was concealed beneath an old brown cloak that had seen many leagues and much hard use.
Sun stopped in the middle of the room, studying the old man—and she realized rather immediately that he was studying her in return. That intrigued her, but strangely, it did not frighten her.
And then she remembered that a constable and two of her family’s guards were chasing her, and fear came crashing back into her mind.
The old man put down his mug and curled his fingers to beckon her. Seeing no better choice, Sun moved to stand across the table from him.
“Put this on.” The old man reached into a bag sitting at his feet and pulled out a worn brown cloak, shoving it towards her. His voice was deep, and it grated with age, but it had a pleasant, almost musical quality. Sun briefly thought she would like to hear him sing.
She took the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders over the blue one, sinking into the chair across from the old man. It was not a moment too soon. Behind her, the tavern door crashed open. Sun knew better than to turn around and look. She huddled under the hood of the cloak—it smelled like sweat and ale, but not in an unpleasant way.
Across from her, the old man’s keen eyes swung back and forth, observing the front door without staring too long. “A constable,” he muttered. “Alone. Do not turn around.”
Sun wanted to tell him that she was not an idiot, but she kept her mouth shut. Instead of turning to look at the constable, she watched the barman. He was a portly fellow, with a bald pate above a fringe of hair that stuck out almost a handbreadth in all directions. As Sun watched, he did a very curious thing. He looked at the front door—presumably at the constable—and then he turned to look at where Sun sat with the old man. But rather than alert the constable to Sun’s presence, he only looked at the old man, twisted his mouth, and then shook his head as if to say without words, Not this again.
“Tunsha,” called the constable from the front door. “A girl in a blue cloak is running about. Have you seen her?”
The barman looked towards the front door again. Then, as if deep in thought, he rapped a silver ring on his finger twice against the bar. It rang out loud in the silence that had fallen since the constable came in.
“Not in here,” said the barman. His gaze did not waver.
The constable hesitated a moment, and Sun feared she was lost. But then: “Send for me if you do.”
The tavern’s front door swung shut. Sun released a sigh. The tavern filled with voices again, the patrons resuming conversations as if the constable had never appeared.
“He knocked to tell the others,” said the old man in a quiet voice. “When he hit his ring on the bar, I mean. He let the others know not to contradict him, even though most of them noted you when you came in.”
“And they listened?” said Sun. “Why?”
“Because this is that sort of place.”
Sun took that to mean a place where people hide from the law. And yet, she felt just as safe as when she had first entered. But it did not seem wise to remain.
“I thank you for your help, but I should leave you to your night,” she said.
“I … suppose,” said Sun, settling back in her chair. She studied the old man again. He was eyeing her fine leathers, and Sun knew he could tell they were not Dorsean. He himself wore a brown tunic under a dark leather vest, and baggy pantaloons that were out of style here. Neither did his face have a Dorsean look. His skin was almost as pale as a Heddan’s, but with a tone and features that suggested Calentin ancestry. Weather and travel had stained every bit of him, particularly his cloak. Sun felt that this was a man who could be very, very dangerous when he wished to be. Yet there was nothing about him that seemed unfriendly, and despite his unusual urging that she remain in the tavern, she did not fear any ill intent from him.
“You look like someone who is looking for something,” said the man.
“And what do I look like I am looking for?” said Sun.
“That is less clear,” he said. “Though I would not say it is something material. Sometimes we strive hardest for the things that we can only feel on the inside—an adventure, a tale, the thrill of love.”
An adventure. “You … are not wrong.”
He smirked. “I notice that you do not say if I am right.”
Lifting his hand, he beckoned to the barman, who nodded and reached for a mug. But Sun had noticed something else. When the old man had waved, his cloak had fallen back slightly. She had thought his right arm concealed beneath his cloak, but now she saw that it ended in a stump just above the elbow. Something about that twinged in Sun’s mind. But it was like a thought remembered from a dream, and before she could chase it down, a heavy girl in a faded yellow dress came with a mug of beer. She placed it before Sun and smiled.
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