Page 12

Chapter Eleven

Varen

“Commander.”

Varen and Alwyn had traveled in silence so far, side by side up the wide road that led to the castle, where a guard allowed them both to pass. Varen had been content to part without a word; but it seemed the mage had other plans, calling for him as he dismounted his horse just inside the castle walls.

He waited, gesturing to Alwyn to continue. The smaller elf had dismounted his horse as well, which was being led off to the stables. He hesitated, then stuck his hand in a deep pocket of his robe. Varen tensed, ready to dodge or disarm; but when Alwyn pulled his hand back out, he held only a smooth, round rock that fit neatly in his palm. He offered it to Varen, hand open, and Varen could see it had a rune faintly etched on its face.

“Take this,” Alwyn said.

“What is it?” Varen asked, eying it suspiciously without reaching for it. The mage was silent for a moment before speaking again.

“I understand you trust the orc, but I know what I felt. I do not trust him,” he said. “If you are to travel with him any further, this may be of use to you, if my suspicions prove correct.”

“What is it?” Varen pressed, frowning.

“A teleportation rune,” Alwyn said, and all of Varen’s indignation was suddenly gone, replaced with shock. Teleportation, while possible, was widely known as one of the most difficult types of magic to accomplish. He knew that the mages of the Library had developed a means of long-distance teleportation that, so far, had not been replicated anywhere else in the world; he would never have expected it to function well enough that a mage could condense it down into a rune. Somehow, it only made him even more wary of Alwyn—just who was this man?

“How does it work?” Varen asked, still eying it with concern. His own magical abilities were middling; he was capable of all sorts of practical magic, but something as allegedly complicated and taxing as teleportation, though, he was sure he could not do.

“I have already inscribed it with the spell and the magic necessary to activate,” Alwyn explained. “You need only hold it in your bare hand, focus on the place you want to go, and feed it with some of your own magic to get it started. It will teleport you and anyone touching you. If you ever need to make a hasty escape, this is it. It will only work once, though, so use it judiciously.”

“When did you make this?”

For the first time, Alwyn smirked, glancing down at the stone in his hand. “We had a lot of free time out on the road, didn’t we? I had to spend the hours doing something.”

Mostly, Varen was concerned how the mage might have created something so powerful without anybody noticing; but he had already given up on learning anything about Alwyn once they parted ways. He had little knowledge of some of the more shadowy sects of mages in the crown's employ—only enough to say that they existed—and now he was more and more sure Alwyn was associated with one of them, somehow. Korik thought he might be an assassin from how readily he dispatched all the orcs in the camp with them, and Varen was starting to think that he might have been right.

Still, Alwyn was looking at him expectantly, so he took the stone. It was perfectly smooth in his hand, save for where the rune was etched in thin, precise lines.

“Thank you,” he said simply, pocketing it. “I appreciate your concern.”

Alwyn looked at him for a beat longer. This close, Varen could see he was quite young, barely an adult. He was getting up in years now, but he could still remember being full of the fire of youth—convinced he knew the world better than anyone else. He could hardly begrudge the other elf for feeling the same.

“This is where we part, then,” Alwyn finally sighed, turning away. “Best of luck on your journey home. Commander.”

“The same to you,” Varen replied, watching as Alwyn turned and headed for the castle.

He would probably end up going by the castle later anyway, but for now, he needed to check in at the barracks. With any luck, the general could meet with him sooner rather than later, and he’d make it to his aunt and uncle’s home with time to spare for supper.

The soldier standing guard in front of the barracks visibly startled as Varen approached.

“Commander Varen,” he greeted, catching himself as he stood stiffly at attention. “Welcome, sir.”

“Soldier,” he said, nodding. “Is General Palleas available?”

Half an hour later, the general bustled into his office where Varen had been waiting. Varen stood the moment the door opened, but the other man waved him back down.

“What’s happened, then?” General Palleas asked, sitting down across from him. The older elf’s hair was cropped short and losing its vibrance, now a dull grayish brown. Deep lines carved a path from his eyes down to his cheeks. He had been the general when Varen first became an officer, a fixture of the Aefrayan army. The man was ancient, even for an elf; and though he was somber, he seemed as spry as ever.

“Orc rebels, sir, only a few day’s ride from the border,” Varen replied. “They made the mistake of chasing us down and took my sister, but we tracked them to a camp, where we found seven more elves being held captive by them. There were thirteen orcs, and we found evidence of them being a small offshoot of a larger rebel force.”

Palleas was silent as Varen explained the whole affair, pale eyes affixed at the map on the desk between them, considering.

“We are aware of the rebels, but such kidnapping is... new. Brazen,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Show me where their camp was. Any idea where the greater force might be stationed?”

Varen marked on the map his best approximations of where they’d been accosted on the road, where the captive elves were being held, the direction Korik believed the larger camp to be, and the places where the other elves reported having been attacked as well.

“May I be frank with you?” Varen asked once he’d marked each location. Palleas was staring down thoughtfully at the map, and gestured for him to continue. “From what I can see, all this points toward the rebel forces making a move on Aefraya, not the new king. I suspect that if it is Zesh spearheading this, he’s afraid to challenge King Zorvut outright again. So they’re hoping that the power structure in Drol Kuggradh is still so new and untested that if they make a serious move on Aefraya, it will fall apart. I don’t know if they were capturing elves simply because they’re slavers, or if they had some other purpose. But either way, it seems this force has been moving south toward the capital, not east toward Drol Kuggradh.”

Palleas nodded silently, eyes still downcast at the map. Varen hesitated, unsure if he should add his suspicions about Alwyn.

“Have you heard from a High Sorcerer Alwyn?” he asked. “He was one who was captured.”

At that, Palleas’ eyebrows rose. “A High Sorcerer was captured?”

“I don’t know how they initially overpowered him, but they had him drugged with some paralytic when we found him,” Varen explained. “I don’t know what it was. Even the orc healer accompanying us didn’t recognize it.”

Palleas’ expression grew cool. “I do not know this Alwyn, but I will speak to the Mage Princeps on the matter.” He offered no other details, so Varen did not press, resigning himself to the fact that he might never learn what Alwyn had been doing alone in the wilderness before he was caught.

“This is valuable information, Commander,” General Palleas finally said, after several seconds of silence had passed between them. “I will pass this knowledge to the king, along with my commendation. It is possible he may seek an audience with you personally when I tell him of what has happened.”

Pride and fear swelled in Varen’s chest all at once. He had been in King Ruven’s presence many times before, of course, but always as part of a larger group. Though he had many one-on-one conversations now with Prince Taegan and King Zorvut, something about a private audience with King Ruven felt more intimidating still.

He only bowed his head, though, keeping his expression stoic. “Thank you, General. I will be in the city until at least tomorrow, perhaps the day after. I will keep an eye out for a missive.”

“Anything else to report?”

“No, sir.”

“I see. We’re glad to have you back, Commander. Dismissed.”

Varen stood, keeping his head bowed as Palleas got to his feet and stepped out from behind the desk. Varen waited a beat before following at a polite distance, heading back out of the castle grounds and into the city itself.

It had been nearly two years since he’d been at Castle Aefraya, and he was grateful for the chance to rest. Mostly, he was relieved they had all made it here in one piece. The hardest part was over; it was bittersweet, knowing his sister would not be coming with them, but at least it would be a straight shot back to Drol Kuggradh.

His heart squeezed at the thought of being alone with Korik on the road for another two weeks. Despite the orc’s standoffishness, Varen did genuinely like him. He had seemed to come out of his shell more initially, but had withdrawn back when they picked up the rest of the elves; maybe he would be more comfortable again when it was just the two of them.

Though he had been initially just as wary of the orc, his gratefulness for Korik’s presence had softened his heart considerably. Maybe they would never be friends, but he could at least look forward to a pleasant two weeks on the road before getting back to the doldrums of his daily life.

There was much to look forward to, the first of which was a home-cooked meal. His stomach grumbled, and he quickened his pace.

By the time Varen arrived, his uncle Beren had finished cooking dinner; Enriel, Korik, and his aunt Laena were all gathered in the sitting room waiting for his arrival. Enriel smiled as he stepped through the doorway. His aunt beamed, getting up from her seat, as his uncle called out a greeting from the kitchen; but his eyes lingered on Korik. The orc’s face had grown easier to read the longer they’d traveled together, and he could see the relief plain in his expression at his arrival, which made him stifle a smile.

“There you are!” Laena fussed, distracting him from the way his heart crept up into his throat when Korik’s eyes met his. “Gods, how long has it been now, Varen?”

“At least two years, auntie,” he chuckled, returning her embrace tightly. “That’s when I was sent out to Drol Kuggradh.”

“And you didn’t even come to say goodbye when you left,” she retorted. Even with her voice muffled against his shoulder, he could feel the teasing tone of her words, making him laugh again.

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? And I brought you Enriel—who we all know is your favorite—and a new friend, too. You’ve no need of me at all.”

“Oh, stop,” Enriel said, rolling her eyes.

“Now that you’re here, let’s have supper,” Laena said, ignoring him. They all headed over to the kitchen where Beren was setting out food; but Korik lingered behind, looking with apprehension in their direction.

Varen gestured for him to follow. “She means you, too, of course.”

Korik’s face darkened slightly, and he glanced away, embarrassed. “Of course,” he echoed faintly, standing up. Varen realized that all the chairs at the table were elf-sized—that had been an issue at the Trisfiel estate too. He had been in the largest comfy chair in the sitting room, but now...

“Why don’t I help you bring that chair over?” Varen offered, pausing.

“Oh, gods, I didn’t even think of that,” Laena said, turning back to face them. “Yes, please, why don’t you bring it over to the table? I want you to be comfortable, Healer.”

Korik looked marginally less uncomfortable at the suggestion, and he nodded gratefully. Varen helped him lift the chair, and they were able to easily pull it up to the long table where the food was set out.

Finally, when they were all settled around the table and had food on their plates, Laena gestured at him again.

“Enriel said you would tell us what took you so long,” she prompted. “So what happened?”

Varen winced, shooting a look at Enriel; but she was looking away with a perfectly innocent expression on her face, hiding her smirk behind a mug of tea. So he sighed, leaning back in his chair and turning to his aunt and uncle, and proceeded to regale them with the story of how they’d been ambushed by orc raiders, then chased after them and Enriel for days—a far less clinical retelling than the one he’d just given the general.

Laena and Beren looked rightly horrified, then relieved, then enthralled as Varen gave them the condensed version: how they had found the camp and other captured elves, scouted the area, and created an ambush of their own. He dutifully left out everything to do with Korik’s magical abilities, and he kept his description of Alwyn’s magic to a bare minimum—after all, they were supposed to be eating supper—but did his best to talk up how Korik had healed the mage, which allowed them to overpower the raiders and escape.

When the story was done, Laena looked at Korik with her eyes shining.

“Thank you again, Healer Korik,” she said, voice trembling. “I was already grateful for your protection, but this—this is far more than anything I would have expected. You saved so many lives.”

“I...” Korik stammered, glancing away with a blush rising in his face. “I was glad to help.”

Varen smiled over at the orc, who caught his eyes for only a moment, before looking away again, embarrassed. “We couldn’t have done it without him.”