Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (34 page)

“What’s that you are whispering, Albern?” said Mag sharply.

“Nothing, Mag. But my friends need rest and food, mayhap for a while. Let me pay for them, eh?”

Mag caught his eye, and her smile dampened. When she looked at Loren and the rest of them, her eyes looked sad. “Aye, I can do that. Stay as long as you need, loves. You are most welcome here.”

“We shall find ourselves a table,” said Albern. “But you must come and share an ale, if given a moment.”

“As soon as that man of mine finishes his piss,” grumbled Mag. “I will be there in a minute, loves.”

Albern led them away, weaving through the tables, careful not to jostle the patrons. Annis stepped close behind him. “Albern, what was that business with you two? I felt like you spoke words none of us could hear.”

“Just a minute.” At last Albern found an empty table, and they all fell into chairs around it. Xain tucked himself against the wall, leaning back and picking at his sleeves. Loren studied the wizard with worry, but he gave her a weak yet reassuring smile when he caught her staring.
 

“Mags and I have seen some things,” he said softly. “Friends dying. Battles lost. Cities sacked, and kings hung. The kinds of things that keep you up at night. When we hung up our swords, I chose Strapa, and she chose Northwood. But we have stayed close, and know each others’ minds. I have never paid for another’s custom, and she caught the meaning in the words. She will not trouble you for coin, and grant your privacy, should you want it.”

“She must let us pay,” Loren insisted, leaning forward. “I wish to be no burden on anyone’s purse.”

“Look around,” said Albern, with a wry smile. “Do you think Mag lacks for custom?”

It was true, Loren realized as she scanned the room. There was hardly a seat empty. And each person at every table had their hands wrapped around a mug, most with empties scattered before them. Business was booming, and it was barely afternoon.

“Half of them come here for her,” said Albern. “It was no jest when I said Mag is the best fighter you have ever seen. Men cross Selvan to see her. Then stay for the ale.”

Loren had gone stone still in her seat, her eyes lighting upon a face across the room. Albern’s voice was an indistinct buzz.

“Loren?” said Gem, following her gaze with concern. “What is it? Danger?”

“No … ” said Loren, her voice weak, like a dream.
 

She rose from her chair, then walked, slowly at first, but ever faster the surer she grew.
 

Loren knew that face as if it were her own.

“Chet!”

He looked from a tankard of ale, his face confused. Loren reached up and lowered her hood. His eyes filled with surprise, and a smile crashed upon him like a wave on the shore

“Loren?” He shot to his feet. “Is it really you?”

Then they were laughing, arms wrapping each other tight. He picked her up off the ground and she buried her face in his shoulder, still laughing and laughing until it turned into tears, the first droplets of joy she had shed in time beyond memory.
 

Loren turned to find Xain and the others standing behind her, looking confused but no longer alarmed. Introductions were made, and somewhere in the middle of it all Mag presented them all with a platter of mugs.

“Now you know them, and they know you,” said Loren. “But Chet, what on earth are you doing here? You are leagues from home — weeks of travel, unless you took a boat.”

“That I certainly did not,” said Chet with a chuckle. “Nasty things. But I … Loren, I am here looking for you.”

“Looking for
me?
” She blinked. “Why would you be … and of all places, why would you be looking for me here?”

Chet’s joy finally dampened, and his smile fell. He looked at the others, then back to her. “Because … because of how you left. Because of what happened.”

Fearing the worst, Loren covered her mouth. Her stomach lurched. “No. Your father. Tell me he’s all right, tell me—”

“Da’s fine,” said Chet quickly. “A knock on the head, it was nothing. I’m speaking of … ”

Again he looked at the others. Loren’s brow furrowed. “Speak, Chet. They are my friends. More than that, by now.”

He looked at Loren askance. “Friends enough to speak of … ” Chet froze, his mouth hanging open. “Sky above. You do not know.”

“Know
what,
Chet?” Loren could feel a panic at the back of her mind, clawing its way to the front and threatening to overwhelm her.

“Not here.” Chet turned and spoke to the party, placing his hands on the table. “I beg your pardon, all of you. But these words are not mine to tell. I must speak with Loren, alone, and if she tells you afterward, so be it. But I cannot.”

“Loren?” said Albern.

She nodded, but said nothing.
 

Chet rose and held out his hand. She did not need it, but accepted it with a thin smile nonetheless, relishing the feeling of her hand in his. Then he took her outside the inn and into the streets.

“I have been here for a few days,” he said, mumbling, as though uncomfortable. “There is a nice waterway not too far. Come, let me show you.”
 

“Say what you must. It will not be easier to hear beside a dike.”

“Just come.” Again, he took her hand.

Loren followed Chet, and soon they had reached the waterway. It was beautiful, as he had said, though Loren would have appreciated it more were she not so afraid. The grass was green, and the water lapped at the waterway with a quiet murmur. He sat on the edge, eyes fixed to his lap. Loren sat across the way.

Chet reached out to hold her hands. “It really is so wonderful to see you, Loren,” he said quietly. “I set out to find you, but it was only ever half a fool’s hope. I was nearly starved by the time I got here, and never knew when I would be able to leave, for I had little coin. But now it matters not. I have found you, as I always meant to.”

“I am glad to see you, too, Chet. But tell me. Why have you come looking for me?”

He glanced over his shoulder, then back at the ground. He picked at his nails, then nibbled on them with his teeth.

“Stop that,” said Loren, snatching his hand. “If you cannot tell me what you must, then tell me of home. You said your father is well? And your mother?”

His face filled with sorrow, and Loren swallowed hard.
 

“She … she died. Tis why I finally left. I would have come sooner, I swear it, but—”

“You have nothing to explain. You were with her, as you should have been.”

“I was. Though I have often thought of coming to find you. After … after what happened with your father.”

“Oh?” Loren’s heart went icy. “Did he make some kind of trouble after I left? He and mother were furious, no doubt. I cannot imagine they made it pleasant for anybody else.”

Chet studied the ground again. Then, with a cold clarity, Loren knew what he had to say. And still she waited for him to tell her. Finally, after a long while, he met her eyes.

“He never came back, Loren. Your father is dead. They found him in the woods, not far south of the village. He bled to death from an arrow in his leg. They … they knew not who did it.”
 

He looked away. Loren thought she heard the question in his voice. And she, of course, knew the answer. Chet would know that Loren had stolen a bow from his home, along with many arrows. And he knew she had fled with that bow, on the day her father had been shot. Chet knew that Loren had killed her father.

But Loren could think of only one thing.
 

He is dead. He is dead, and I killed him. I killed him.

She tried to find her feet, but her arms gave way. Chet took her arm and helped her to stand. Loren looked out over Northwood but saw nothing.

I killed him. I killed my father.

All of her talk. Every time she had withheld her hand. The times she had despised Damaris for killing so easily, and had looked down on Jordel for killing at all.
 

And she had killed her first man before leaving the Birchwood.

I killed my father. I did it.

My father is dead.

Something broke inside her. As if in the distance, at the back of her mind, Loren heard Jordel’s voice, speaking to her on the Westerly Road, weeks and weeks ago.

I have met boys whose fathers were taken with drink or horrid memories of war, or simply with black hearts. Yet when these boys told me of the day their fathers died, they wept hot and bitter tears. Few hold only hatred for home and family, no matter how justified.

Loren fell against Chet, seizing the front of his tunic. She had no more tears — she had spent them on Jordel’s death. But grief had blinded her, so that she could not take an unaided step, and leaned her head hard against Chet’s shoulder as he helped her back to the inn.

My father is dead.

KEEP READING

You’ve finished
Darkfire,
the third book in the Nightblade Epic. Your next book is
Shadeborn.

What will Jordel’s death mean for Loren and the company? What dark truth does Xain have to tell her? Where will the Shades strike next?

Find out:

GarrettBRobinson.com/shadeborn

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DVD EXTRAS FOR BOOKS

Ever come to the end of a book and wish it wasn’t over?

That’s how I feel all the time.

I’ve created behind-the-scenes content for you to enjoy. You’ll get to hear about the creation process of the book, and watch the video diary of its creation from beginning to end.
 

(It’s worth checking back on the page from time to time—I plan to update it periodically.)

It’s like DVD extras for books. Interested? Click here:

GarrettBRobinson.com/mystic-extras

CONNECT ONLINE

FACEBOOK

Want to hang out with other fans of the Underrealm books? There’s a Facebook group where you can do just that. Join the Nine Lands group on Facebook and share your favorite moments and fan theories from the books. I also post regular behind-the-scenes content, including information about the world you can’t find anywhere else. Visit the link to be taken to the Facebook group:

GarrettBRobinson.com/nine-lands

YOUTUBE

Catch up with me daily (when I’m not directing a film or having a baby). You can watch my daily YouTube channel where I talk about art, science, life, my books, and the world.

But not cats.

Never cats.

GarrettBRobinson.com/yt

OTHER BOOKS BY GARRETT ROBINSON

FIND ALL OF GARRETT’S BOOKS AT:

GarrettBRobinson.com/Books

The Nightblade Epic

NIGHTBLADE

MYSTIC

DARKFIRE

A Witty, Piercing Look at Independent Art

REBEL YELL

The Realm Keepers Series—Epic Fantasy from Another World

VOLUME ONE: MIDREALM

VOLUME TWO: WYRMSPIRE

Try it for free!

REALM KEEPERS: EPISODE ONE

The Contemporary Sci-Fi Mystery

TOUCH: TRILOGY

The International Assassin Thriller

HIT GIRLS

The Hilariously Gory Horror Series

NON ZOMBIE

NON ZOMBIE II

The Ridiculously Fun Fairy Tale Adventure

THE NINJABREAD MAN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Garrett Robinson
was born and raised in Los Angeles. The son of an author/painter father and a violinist/singer mother, no one was surprised when he grew up to be an artist.

After blooding himself in the independent film industry, he self-published his first book in 2012 and swiftly followed it with a stream of others, publishing more than two million words by 2014. Within months he topped numerous Amazon bestseller lists. Now he spends his time writing books and directing films.