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

by Garrett Robinson

  Loren put a hand on Annis’ shoulder and squeezed. Not hard, but just enough to get her attention. Annis’ words cut off at once, and she looked up. Loren smiled gently.

  “I am sorry,” said Annis. “Babbling is a difficult habit to break.”

  “You are being too harsh with yourself, as usual,” said Loren. “It is as you said: Damaris must have been planning this rebellion for some time. If we had not followed her to Yewamba, and then to Dorsea, this still would have happened. And furthermore, she would be sitting safe in a stronghold of power, one that even the High King’s armies might have had trouble removing her from. Mayhap our actions have forced her hand sooner than she wished to reveal it. Her strength now—and the strength of the Dorsean rebels—is likely less than it would have been if we had not remained on her trail, nipping at her heels.”

  Annis ran her hands through her hair, mussing it for a moment before pulling it back into place. “You are right, of course. And these things are what I keep telling myself. But after such a long pursuit with nothing to show for it, I am becoming a bit discouraged.”

  At those words, she glanced back at the inn. Loren frowned, and then she thought of Gem sitting inside. She shook her head and wrapped an arm around Annis’ shoulder, pulling her close.

  “It would be good to have some sort of victory,” said Loren. “I agree with you there. Let us hope that one is just around the next corner—or the next turn in the mountain pass, as it may be.”

  Annis looked up at her and smiled. “Thank you, Loren. But now let us go inside and finish our meal, before I either starve or freeze to death. I am not sure which would come first, and I have no wish to learn.”

  Loren chuckled and led her back inside the Jolly Rat.

  ON THE THIRD DAY OF their journey, they rode down the other side of the Moonslight Pass to find the city of Danfon laid out before them.

  Dorsea’s capital had been built at the very feet of the Greatrocks. There the River Marsden spilled from the foothills, winding its way north and east until it joined the Skytongue to form the border between Dorsea and Feldemar. The Marsden flowed throughout the year, for winter’s chill was too weak to tame its mighty current this far north. Danfon sprawled wide across the landscape on both sides of the river, and beyond its walls, farmlands reached almost to the horizon. Loren had traveled the countryside east of here and knew it for a brown and arid place, but here the soil was rich and loamy, and it gave the capital a fine yield.

  They paused as they reached the final bend in the pass out of the mountains. Now they stood on a flat place in the land that seemed built for the sole purpose of observing the city, which seemed only a stone’s throw away. The streets, like Bertram’s, were laid out in neat rows that crisscrossed each other in a simple pattern. Near the western walls was the king’s palace. Its red tile roofs were free from snow, either because they were swept by attendants or because their height left them more open to sunlight. The tiles shone proud in the midst of the city, like a pattern of rubies set on a veil of white lace.

  Loren was struck by a feeling both unsettling and all too familiar. She had seen the palace before. Her dream had not shown it from this angle, but still she knew it. And when she turned, she saw the Greatrocks looming above her just the same. The world seemed to spin around her for a moment, and she clutched tight at the horn of Midnight’s saddle. The mare blew a loud snort as though she sensed Loren’s disquiet.

  “Welcome to Danfon,” said Wyle. Despite the city’s splendor, the smuggler looked at it with an upturned nose and a frown. “A city that I thought not to visit for a long time, if ever I returned here. We will ride around it to the river on the other side.”

  That distracted Loren from her thoughts, and she frowned at him. “The east? Why?”

  Wyle arched an eyebrow at her. “Did you not hire me to sneak you into the city unnoticed? There are secret ways that only I and others like me know of, and I mean to lead you to them. But they cannot be traveled on horseback. To the east is a town called Yincang, and there I know a man who will care for our steeds while we see to our business in the capital. We should reach the town just after nightfall, and there I suggest we remain for the night.”

  “We should enter the city overnight,” said Loren. “Doubtless we will attract less notice that way.”

  But Annis shook her head. “The capital will be in turmoil after the death of King Jun,” said the girl. “This new king, Wojin, will have established a curfew. We will attract more notice if we are on the streets after dark.”

  “Just so,” agreed Wyle. “And as for the secret passages, we are no less likely to be seen there after nightfall than during the day. Thieves and scoundrels—for so I am often called, very unjustly—do not keep the same hours as more honest folk.”

  After they came down out of the mountains, Wyle led them off the King’s road to a smaller courseway that curved through the farmlands. The plots of land were all sunken into the earth, and there were no people out working them. Loren knew little of farming, but at home in the Birchwood there were many crops that could be planted even in winter. This stillness was strange to her.

  “What do they grow here?” she said.

  “Rice, mostly,” said Wyle. “They will begin planting a bit late this year, for winter has lasted longer than it usually does. But the capital does not lack for food stores, and the king takes good care of his people when the seasons are unkind.” He paused for a moment and shrugged. “Or at least, King Jun did. I know very little of Wojin’s temperament, nor how he will care for his citizens.”

  Loren scowled, and her hands tightened on the reins. “I am surprised to learn that the Dorsean king cared so much for his own subjects. He gave little enough thought to the suffering of other kingdoms.”

  Wyle glanced at her. “You were no admirer of Jun, I take it.”

  “I did not know his name until only recently,” said Loren. “Yet if he was the king of Dorsea, then no, I had no love for him.”

  “You refer to Wellmont, I assume,” said Wyle. Loren jerked in her saddle and looked at him. Wyle nodded. “Your Selvan accent gives it away—and that is something you should try to rid yourself of, by the by. It is always better when others cannot guess everything about you simply from the way you sound.”

  “Why does everyone insist I have an accent?” growled Loren. “How can I rid myself of it if I cannot even hear it?”

  “Surely you can recognize that your voice is different from mine, and from the Yerrin girl’s,” said Wyle. “Even the boy’s voice is harder to place than yours. In any case, you do yourself no favors with your concern for Dorsea’s border squabbles. The Battle of Wellmont was little more than an overenthusiastic war holiday for our great king. Former king, I should say.”

  “You say those words easily,” said Gem quietly. His gaze was far away. “But we were in the city when it was attacked. It was far from a holiday.”

  Wyle only shrugged, increasing Loren’s irritation. “Battles rarely seem so to those who experience them, which is why I make a habit of avoiding them. But all manner of mad rumors have been spun about Wellmont since that attack. Something happened there, they say, that has turned the greatest heads in all the nine lands.”

  Annis arched an eyebrow. “I presume you include yourself in that company?”

  Wyle shook his head quickly. “Oh no, dear girl. I count myself an honest man of great wit, but I am aware of my own insignificance. I am no mighty figure in the affairs of the nine kingdoms, nor would I wish to be so. A life of good food and good wine and some little excitement is enough for me.”

  Loren did not wish to speak further of Wellmont, but Gem turned to the smuggler with interest. “What did you mean before?” he said. “What happened at Wellmont?”

  Wyle shrugged. “Rumors and speculation fly, but the truth is not so easily found. It seems that certain powerful parties have been trying to conceal the truth of the matter, and that is most interesting. I do not suppose you noticed
anything unusual while you were there?”

  “Other than the battle itself?” said Gem. “That was unusual enough for me.”

  “Enough of this talk,” said Loren. “I do not wish to hear more about Wellmont.”

  “As you wish,” said Wyle. The party fell silent for a time.

  They followed the road in its wide loop around Danfon to where it met the Marsden half a league to the east. There they found a great construct of stone and iron, with many great pipes sticking out of the riverbank to empty into the waters, pouring a steady stream of refuse. The smell of it struck them hard even in the cold air. Gem turned away and pinched his nose, shoulders heaving.

  “There you have it,” said Wyle. “The secret passages. Danfon’s sewers are some of the best in the nine kingdoms, and one can get entirely lost inside them. Which means, of course, that it is easy to avoid being found.”

  “Sewers,” muttered the boy. “I had hoped I had escaped sewers forever when I left Cabrus.”

  Wyle laughed and shook his head. “For those who skirt the King’s law, sewers are like a second home. You should enter a new line of work if you seek to avoid them.”

  Uzo glared at the smuggler. “We are the King’s law.”

  Wyle gave Loren a broad wink. “Of course you are.”

  He turned them away from the sewers and took them back to the road, which went east for a ways before turning south to reach the little town of Yincang. The sun had disappeared over the Greatrocks by the time they reached it, and twilight had set in. Yincang had no wall, and so they came unchallenged to its streets. Wyle took them straight to the inn. It was a small, nondescript building with only one floor, smaller than the stable at its rear.

  “Many travelers like us leave their mounts here while they do business in the city,” said Wyle. “This place was built to take better care of horses than humans.”

  The innkeeper, a spindly man with a thin beard, took their coin without comment and directed them to three rooms where they spent the night. They woke before dawn, dragging Gem from bed as usual, and set off for the capital.

  It was an hour’s brisk walk to the sewers. A small staircase led down from the riverbank to the opening of the pipes, but there was no platform leading directly inside. They had to take a few precarious hops from the end of the staircase along the water’s edge before they could get a handhold on one of the pipe’s edges. One by one they pulled themselves up and into the dark tunnel. Loren helped Annis make the climb, but Gem leaped up by himself, eschewing her help. His foot slipped, and his shoe came down in the sludge with a splash.

  “Ugh!” he cried, lifting his foot up. “What do the people of this city eat? That smells ten times worse than the sewers of Cabrus.”

  Wyle flashed an easy smile. “We spice our foods well in Dorsea, and nowhere more so than in the capital. Alas, our concern has never been what some foreigner will think of the smell of our shit.”

  Annis blushed at the smuggler’s frank words. Wyle seemed not to notice, and he led them on through the sewers without a pause. The passages twisted and turned, intersecting with each other in such a confusing manner that Loren was lost almost at once. Soon the smell of the tunnels became little more than a background sensation in her mind. She focused on keeping one hand on the wall and her feet out of the muck that ran just below the narrow walkway.

  After a time, she became aware of a noise. It grew steadily the farther they walked: a low, murmuring hum that echoed gently from the stone walls around them. Soon she placed it. It was the sound of many voices, human and animal both, as well as the low rumbling of wagon wheels. They were under the city.

  “Have we passed beyond the walls?” said Loren. “When will we surface?”

  “Soon enough,” said Wyle. “But I do not want to lead you back into the sunlight in the middle of some busy thoroughfare. It would not do to have King Wojin’s soldiers catch sight of us climbing out of the sewers in the middle of the street. There are back alleys where no one will observe us.”

  “And the smell will be worse there, I imagine,” grumbled Gem. Loren shushed him.

  The smuggler was as good as his word, and soon he led them up a ladder that took them into the open air. They had been in the sewer for hours by that time, and Loren gasped at the smell of cool, fresh air again. She could almost taste it on her tongue, and it seemed sweeter than honey.

  Wyle paused for a moment to get his bearings. “There is a place not far from here where we may settle in,” he said. “The innkeeper always has a warm bath ready with perfumes on hand, and she knows better than to ask me very many questions.”

  They came to the inn shortly, and Loren paid for their rooms. Some of the patrons in the common room turned their noses up as the party walked through, and the innkeeper offered them baths without being asked. They took turns, for there were only four tubs, but Loren commanded them to hurry.

  “I wish we had not spent a night in Yincang,” she told them, “and I want to make up for it by getting straight to work. I would rather not rest until we have spent at least some time in the city learning what we can.”

  After they were refreshed, they ate a quick meal and planned their next move. Wyle had many contacts in the city, but he did not think it wise to bring a large party with him when he went to visit them.

  “Take Shiun with you,” said Loren.

  Wyle put a hand to his breast, frowning. “Do you not trust me? I would neither run off on my own nor betray you, for I have always been—”

  “—an honest businessman. Of course,” said Loren, raising an eyebrow. “My assurances, smuggler, that she will only be there for your own protection.”

  His smile grew somewhat forced, but he bowed gracefully in his chair. “Of course. How thoughtful of you.”

  “The rest of us will get a feel for the city’s mood,” said Loren. “Chet and Uzo, visit some taverns and inns, any place that the city folk gather to have a drink. See what they think about the new king, and whether or not anyone has noticed the presence of the family Yerrin within the city walls. I will take Annis and Gem with me and visit shops. We can tell them we are gathering supplies to go on a journey. Let us try to get a few tongues wagging while we barter for prices.”

  WITH THEIR PLAN FORMED, THEY quickly finished their food and set off into the streets. Loren took Annis and Gem to a marketplace near the inn. They had lodged in one of the city’s finer districts, which must have been a deliberate choice of Wyle’s; the smuggler enjoyed a good bed and good wine. Now they passed between stores with fine luxury crafts displayed in the windows, which were often paned with glass and framed by ornamented wrought iron. Annis took the lead at once and led them towards the first shop—a tailor. Just before they reached the door, Loren paused and turned to her.

  “Barter hard for everything we purchase,” she said. “And if the price is too high, let us take our business elsewhere. We are only here for information, and it looks like the goods here are expensive.”

  Annis tilted her head. “We will have to spend some coin, Loren. We have plenty of it now, and a merchant’s tongue never wags so freely as when their purse is being filled.”

  “We do have coin, but that was not the case a few days ago, and I did not enjoy it,” said Loren. “Our gold may have to last us a long while. I do not have an endless supply of magestones to sell, after all.”

  Annis arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you think I would waste our funds? I am a Yerrin, Loren. I can buy information without emptying our purse. My mother taught me that much, at least.”

  “Oh, let her handle it, Loren,” said Gem. “I should so love a new suit of clothes.”

  Loren frowned. “You will only get them filthy. Indeed, I think you know some spell to coat your garments with grime, for it seems to happen instantly.”

  Gem scowled. Annis giggled at them both. “Trust me, Loren,” she said. “This is why you have brought me along, after all.”

  Loren sighed. “Very well. Of course I trust you
—and I brought you because you are my friend, not just because you are useful.”

  Annis smiled and led the way into the shop. Inside, they found the tailor to be a man both portly and incredibly short, a finger shorter even than Annis. At first he looked at them with disdain; though they had just bathed, their clothes were still worn from long leagues on the road, and were modest besides. But when Annis flashed a pair of gold weights in her palm, his demeanor changed at once.

  “Of course it would be my pleasure to serve you,” he said, beaming a smile. “Do you want new clothes for further travel, or something a bit more elegant for functions within the city?”

  Annis eyed the fine gowns displayed on mannequins along the walls. But after a moment she turned from them with a quiet sigh. “Indeed, we mean to ride from the city soon,” she said, “though it pains me to refuse such dresses as yours. Such fine craftsmanship is rare to see, though I should have expected it from an establishment as well kept as this.”

  The merchant’s smile grew still wider, and he bowed. “You learned your manners too well, for they compel you to be overly generous. Mine is a humble shop. But let me see what insufficient garb I can clad you in. My only hope is that you remember this mean little place with some fondness.”

  Shelves of fine cloth ran along the shop’s back walls, and there were more standing shelves in the center. He led them along the rows, bouncing on the balls of his feet and pointing out this or that weave and color, inviting them to feel the textures. Loren was glad she had just bathed, or she would have feared to smudge dirt all over the bolts of fine fabric.

  Annis appraised everything in the shop with an expert eye. Loren remembered how they met almost a year ago, when she had snuck into a Yerrin caravan just south of the Birchwood. The wagons had been filled with fabrics, for the Yerrin’s chief trade was textiles—at least on the surface. Loren did not know much about clothing, but she guessed that the Yerrins trafficked in only the best, which must have been why Annis’ interest alighted only on the shop’s most precious samples.