Yerrin: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 6)

by Garrett Robinson

  He smiled too quickly, the way he always did these days, and nodded. But he donned his boots slowly, and after they left the room he walked sluggishly a half-pace behind her. He likely thought she meant to discuss her dream with him.

  In fact she wanted to, but she promised herself she would not. They had not spent much time together lately—especially because they had not lain together since Yewamba. Niya’s crime—or Auntie’s—had left a lasting mark upon him. The mind required time to heal from such a thing, but it also needed help. Few people were better suited to help Chet than Loren. And more than that, she was partially responsible for what had happened. She owed him more attention than she had given.

  The town shone in the afternoon light around them. The low sun’s red glow bounded from every snowy surface to fly back into their eyes, so that Loren had to squint whenever she turned towards it. Lazy smoke drifted from smokestacks all around, floating up into a clear sky. Loren hoped the weather remained this fine on their journey.

  Soon they walked through farmlands. The path south went up a hill and then turned east, bending back and forth at the corners of each farm until it joined the main road that would lead them to Bertram. Here in Dorsea, farmers used small copses of trees to mark the borders of their property. Each time Loren and Chet walked beneath the branches, it felt for a moment like they walked in the Birchwood again.

  “Do you remember Northwood?” said Loren. “The way you used to take me walking each day?”

  Chet’s head jerked towards her as she started talking. But her words calmed him, and he gave her a genuine smile this time—warm, and not too fast. Loren thrilled to see it on his face again.

  “Of course I do,” he said. For a moment his eyes clouded. “Those were dark days for you. As these days are for me.”

  “It was painful, then,” said Loren softly. “But it was better to know the truth about my father. Indeed, I think it helped me. I had traveled for months, and I thought I rode a tall horse, staring down my nose at those below me who resorted to violence. Little did I know I had made my first kill before I even left home.”

  Chet shook his head. “That is not the whole truth, Loren. You did what—”

  “I did what I had to,” said Loren. “I know. And even after learning the consequence, I have not turned into a killer. Yet it has shaped me. I know now that others, too, do what they must.”

  “You are speaking of me and … and her,” said Chet.

  Loren shook her head quickly. “That was different.”

  For a moment she forgot herself. She reached out to him and took his arm. But Chet jerked away from her as if she had pressed a red-hot poker into his skin. Loren recoiled, drawing her hands to her chest.

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  “No, it is I who should apologize,” said Chet. “I … I have been getting better about it. But still, when I see you, still some part of my mind sees …”

  “No, Chet,” she said, trying to keep her voice kind and firm at the same time. “You must never apologize. You did nothing wrong, and you have done nothing wrong since. I am at fault. I have been ignoring you. That is why I wanted to walk with you now—to try and bring back the memory of Northwood, when the world was a better place and we were … well, not happy, entirely, but happier. So much darkness has come since then.”

  “It has,” said Chet. His hand rose to his chest, to the place just above his heart where the dagger of a Shade had pierced him. It no longer gave him pain, but he would rub at it on occasion—and ever more often since Auntie. “Darkness came, but it always passed. But not this darkness. Not now.”

  Loren ached. She wanted to reach out to him, wanted to hold him. She felt the desire constantly, and she knew she only meant to help him. Always she had to remind herself that it would not help, that it would only hurt him more.

  She folded her arms and turned to walk again, keeping her pace slow so that he did not feel the need to hurry. “I thought the same thing, you know. After Jordel died, I mean. I thought the grief would never leave me. In truth, I suppose it has not. But it has become bearable. Mayhap you can hope for that.”

  Chet was silent for a long moment. Then he stopped walking. Loren turned and, to her shock, found him weeping.

  “I do not want to leave you,” he whispered.

  She did not answer at first. She did not trust herself to speak. Tears did not come, but she felt the ache of them in her heart, her throat. They choked her, and she fought to master them.

  “I do not want you to go,” she said at last. “But I want you to be happy, and I want you to be safe. I fear that neither of those may be possible if you remain with me.”

  A sob burst from him, and he scrubbed at his eyes with his hand. It was all Loren could do to keep from embracing him then.

  “I am not faithless,” he said. “I came with you to find Damaris. That is what all this has been for, and I think … I feel that we are close. Even after learning that she has evaded us, I think I can sense her just in the next town. I want to see it through.”

  Loren looked down at her feet. “Do you think it will help? Help you, I mean?”

  He sucked in another cry as his head swung back and forth. An answer? A rejection? Loren did not know.

  She could not hold him. She could not take his hand. So she gestured back towards Sidwan.

  “Come,” she said. “Let us return to the others. We have a long ride tomorrow, and we both need our rest.”

  Chet nodded and walked beside her. By the time they reached the town and returned to the inn, he had mastered his emotions. Likely the others thought his flushed face came from the cold. But Loren lay awake long into the night, listening for every sound of him shifting on his pallet, wondering if he hid the motion of another silent sob.

  They set out for Bertram the next day. The folk of Sidwan seemed sorry to see them go. They had likely caused a greater commotion than the town had seen in years.

  Before leaving, they checked in on the constables one last time. The Yerrin wizard was bound and blindfolded. Magestone sickness had not yet set in, but Loren knew it soon would. She did not envy the constables, who would have to remain here to witness it. The other Yerrins sat in a small cell, the only sort of jail for leagues in any direction, and not built to hold five prisoners.

  “We shall see to them,” said the fat constable with the drooping mustache. Loren had learned he called himself Ham. The name was almost too appropriate. “A letter has been sent to the city of Chosun, and some of our brethren will arrive soon to escort them to better holdings.”

  “Thank you,” said Loren. “Do not forget to tell them of the mindmage. She will no longer be so dangerous as she was, but no wizard should be trifled with.”

  Ham shuddered. “I will remember it. Thank you, Nightblade.”

  Loren gave him a sharp look. She had not told him that title. No doubt this was some work of Gem’s. Glancing back, she saw the boy’s crooked teeth flashing in a grin.

  “You are welcome, constable,” said Loren. “Your service will not be forgotten.”

  He puffed up his chest and saluted with his hand over his heart. Loren gave him a final nod and led her party out of the town.

  The road to Bertram was easy enough, though somewhat slower because of the snow. The king paid local workers to clear it away from time to time, but they had not done so since the last snowfall. Sometimes Loren’s party had to cut into the countryside to avoid a large drift that had piled up. They rode as long as they could while the sun was high, and each night they stopped early enough to gather firewood before dark. At first Loren had been hesitant to light fires, but Shiun had advised it.

  “Bandits are more active during winter,” she said. “But they are not likely to trifle with our party. At least four of us look like we can fight.”

  Gem glowered. “I would say five.”

  Shiun arched an eyebrow. “As you say. In any case, I think they will leave us alone. Our greatest foe is the cold.”

/>   One night Loren and Gem went out to fetch firewood together, taking Chet’s hatchet with them. Loren cut down dead-looking branches and piled them into Gem’s arms, and soon the boy had a sizeable stack. Once he might have struggled with such a burden, but now he bore it easily. Over their long journey together, he had shot up like a weed, and he had begun to grow some muscle as well.

  “I have been meaning … er,” Gem began. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I have meant to ask if I might start taking a watch at night.”

  Loren looked at him in surprise. “That would be most welcome,” she said carefully. “But mayhap we will pair you with someone else, at least to start. I would hate to wake in the morning and find you had fallen asleep.”

  Gem scowled at her. “Do you think I cannot remain awake when I wish to?”

  “I would never say such a thing,” said Loren, keeping her face carefully neutral. “Except that I would, for you have tried standing a watch before—with me, in the Greatrocks. I had to nudge you thrice an hour. You enjoy your rest, master urchin.”

  His scowl deepened. “And what wise man would not?”

  Loren chuckled. The boy’s insouciance and seemingly bottomless cheer had been a comfort through many dark times. She wondered how she had ever thought to leave him behind, as she had long ago. A journey without Gem seemed a foreign concept after they had ridden so many leagues together. And the same went for Annis.

  At that thought, Loren turned to regard Gem carefully. “I have been meaning to speak with you, as well, but of another matter. How long do you and Annis mean to keep up this strain between you?”

  Gem’s cheeks and ears grew bright red, and he ducked his gaze. “I … it is not something either us have planned, exactly, I think.”

  “And I notice it has not been pleasant for either of you. That goes for the rest of us as well.”

  He sighed. “I know it.”

  “You know that what happened is not your fault. Nor is it Annis’. If either of you blames the other, or yourself …”

  Gem shook his head quickly. “Of course not. I know that. Only … only, is that not the worst part? When no one is to blame? If she had done something wrong, I could take her to task for it. Or if I had done something wrong—outlandish as the notion might seem—I suppose she could do the same to me, and then there might at last be an end to … to the discomfort. But neither of us have done anything wrong, and so what can we do to fix it?”

  His words were all too familiar to Loren. She had said something very similar to Xain back on the High King’s Seat. Many whom she held dear had left her, one way or another—first Jordel, then Albern and Mag, and finally Xain. Yet they had had no choice. Jordel, Albern, and Mag had been slain, all of them in defense of Loren and her friends. Xain had been reunited with his son, and had remained on the Seat to see to the boy’s safety. None of them had any choice in what they had done, and Loren had had no choice but to move on. Yet that had not diminished the pain of their parting, and in some ways had only inflamed it. It had taken her a long time before she could think of them with anything but heartache.

  “Mayhap it only requires a bit more work,” she said. “On both your parts, I mean. Finding a way to turn your friendship warm and easy again, the way it used to be.”

  Gem looked down at his boots. Then he shrugged, feigning a nonchalance Loren knew he did not feel. “In any case, I suppose it was foolish of me not to predict such an outcome. I should have known long ago that Annis would confess such feelings for me.”

  Loren cocked her head. “Because of the way she acted? She has fawned on you almost from the moment you met.”

  “She has?” Gem’s eyes went saucer-wide. “I have not seen that, nor is it what I meant. I mean only … well, how could any young maiden keep herself from desiring such a man?” He held the bundle of sticks in one hand while gesturing at himself with the other.

  Loren kept herself from cuffing his ear, but it was a mighty struggle. Still, she felt the need to pierce the bubble of his high opinion of himself.

  “I hope she did nothing wrong by it, but Annis told me something of your conversation. And she made some mention of Uzo.”

  It worked. Gem deflated at once, and his cheeks flushed anew. “Yes, I … well, he is very …”

  “He is,” said Loren, nodding. Uzo was indeed a beautiful young man, though she had never felt the same connection towards him that she had with Chet. Or with Niya, whispered her mind, though she quickly banished that thought. “But unless it has happened without my noticing, I do not think that you have said anything more to Uzo than Annis said to you for a long while.”

  “You have not missed anything,” said Gem with a sigh. “I may think very highly of myself—and with good reason—but I hold no illusions about Uzo. He scarcely seems to notice me, and when he does, he seems to regard me mostly with annoyance. And besides, how old do you think he is? What would he want from one who is scarcely more than a boy?”

  “You are not much younger than I am, and Uzo is not much older,” said Loren. “Yet I see what you mean. He is a soldier, after all, and from what little he has told us about himself, I do not think a great romance is something he desires.”

  “Well, I long for such a romance enough for the both of us,” said Gem. He looked up at the sky as if searching for strength. The firewood almost fell from his hands. “But I suppose that is my lot. I think every great scholar, and artist and warrior—and sometime medica—only lives a more complete and fulfilling life if they have suffered a great unrequited love in their youth.”

  Again Loren’s hand twitched, itching to slap the back of the boy’s head. “No doubt,” she said instead. “It seems almost a requirement.”

  Her thoughts went to her dreams again, the way they so often did these days. She saw Gem’s terrible snarl, the way his face twisted in a rage she had never seen there in the waking world. Her head twitched as she felt his teeth tearing at her throat.

  She cut down another branch. But after she put it atop the pile, she took the firewood from his arms and set it down on the ground. Then she took Gem by the shoulders and turned him to face her. He looked up at her—though they were getting near to a height of each other now—and they remained that way for a little while, studying each other in silence.

  “You know that I care for you, do you not?” said Loren. “You are one of my dearest friends. I will never stop looking after you.”

  Gem’s brow furrowed. “What under the sky are you talking about? It is my job to look after you, not the other way around.”

  Loren shook her head. “Your wit is one of my favorite things about you. But be serious for a moment. I do not jest.”

  His mouth worked. Without warning he leaped forth, wrapping his arms around her in an embrace.

  “I know it,” he said. “And you may be my favorite person in all the world. And that is quite a statement, as I have seen so much of it.”

  She patted his hair gently. “Good. I never want you to forget it.”

  Gem drew back and looked up at her, and she saw recognition in his eyes. “This is about your dream. About how you have seen me attack you.”

  Loren nodded, suddenly nervous to speak.

  “Then take my vow, though I have given you one before. I vow never to do you harm. I would end my own life first.” He cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Though I would rather not do that either, if it is at all possible.”

  Loren smirked and embraced him again. “And I command you never to do so. I only wanted you to know how high of an esteem I hold you in. As long as you know it, I am satisfied.”

  He bounced on his feet and stooped to gather up the firewood. “Then be satisfied! Only we should be getting back, for I am sure the others will not be happy until they have had a chance to warm their frozen limbs.”

  She smiled and hung the hatchet at her belt, leading him back towards the camp. But a shadow remained over her heart. She had told Gem of her dreams, yes. But she had left o
ne thing out, something she had only realized recently. Whenever she saw Gem turn vicious with rage and attack her, he had been a grown man.

  It means nothing, she told herself. Do you trust your dreams more than the boy at your side?

  Loren glanced at him and hoped she believed her own answer.

  TWO DAYS INTO THEIR JOURNEY, the road began to wend through the western foothills of the Greatrocks. The skeletal trees grew fewer and farther between, giving way to an open but hilly landscape that must have been brilliant green in summer, but was now a dead, dark brown where it was not covered in snow. After four days of hard riding, they emerged through a great cleft in the earth onto a highland, and there they came to Bertram at last.

  The city had been built at the confluence of two rivers that came leaping down out of the Greatrocks to the east. The waters joined to form the Fanrong, which ran west to Dorsea’s coast to meet the western sea. No kingdoms contested that coastline, and Dorsea drew great wealth from its fertile lands. Eventually, that wealth spread through the rest of the kingdom by way of the river.

  They paused for a midday meal of rabbit that Chet had shot that morning. While they ate, they gazed down at the city. Gem leaned forwards suddenly and pointed. “Is that the King’s road running through the city?”

  “It is,” said Shiun, nodding. “Bertram was the capital of Dorsea for hundreds of years. When the Dark Wars ended and the last Wizard King vanished, the High King took some of Feldemar’s lands and gave them to the Dorsean king—or, you might say, returned them to her. They were Dorsean lands in the beginning, or else the kingdom would not have earned its name, for it would have bordered only two of the oceans.”

  Gem’s eyes widened as he stared at her. “The last Wizard King? What do you mean they vanished?”

  Shiun paused for a moment, and she looked at the boy carefully. “It is not something that is widely known, and it might have been better for me not to mention it. But the last Wizard King ruled in Feldemar, and held her kingdom long against the other eight. When the war turned against her, she vanished. The High King Andriana searched everywhere, but never found her. Underrealm lived in fear of her return for many years, but that is now centuries past. She died long ago, though we may never know where. In any case, when the northeast lands were reclaimed, the Dorsean king moved the capital to its original home in Danfon. Therefore Dorsea has had two capitals, but they are both on the King’s road, in accordance with the ancient edicts.”