Page 13

Chapter Twelve

Korik

Sleep was surprisingly elusive to Korik that night. Varen and Enriel were sharing the only guest bedroom. Nothing was large enough for Korik, so he was set up in the sitting room with all sorts of cushions and blankets laid out for him, once again creating something more like a nest than a bed. It was comfortable, though, and he should have been sleeping; but instead he found himself worrying about what would happen next.

Would Enriel be safe in her journey ahead? Who would go with her? Would there be a proficient elven healer waiting for her at her destination?

And Varen—his heart squeezed strangely in his chest when he thought of Varen, and of the soft smile he’d had during dinner. Where had he gone? What had he reported to the elven army? How soon would they need to leave? And why did Korik’s chest feel so constricted when his thoughts drifted back to that smile—not the arrogant smirk he so often wore, but what seemed like a true, genuine smile?

He liked being around Varen more than he thought he could, he realized. The elf was still annoyingly cocky and often full of himself, but had also proven himself to be a loyal ally. Korik had entrusted him with a secret out of necessity, and Varen had faithfully kept it to himself.

Were they friends? Korik was unsure if they could even call themselves that, but the tightness in his chest didn’t feel quite like friendship, either. But whatever the feeling, he and Varen only had a few weeks together. He was sure it would fade once they got back to their normal lives in Drol Kuggradh.

When he finally managed to sleep, it wasn’t long before the sound of cooking in the kitchen roused him again. Morning sun filtered in through the drawn curtains, leaving lines of light across his pile of pillows and blankets. In the other room, he could hear Laena stoking the fire in the oven as she prepared to make breakfast.

At least Laena and her husband had been kind, he thought as he lay staring up at the ceiling for a while longer. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, going to the elven capital for the first time; but he hadn’t seemed to stick out too much. If anything, the elves looked at him with more curiosity about his height than surprise at seeing an orc; those sorts of stares, at least, he’d been familiar with all his life. But Laena and Beren had been nothing but kind and accommodating to him. Part of him had anticipated needing to fend for himself once they arrived at Castle Aefraya, and he was relieved that it had not come to that.

It was no use trying to sleep now that the sun was up, and food was being prepared. Korik sat up, rubbing his eyes, and gathered all the pillows and blankets into a neat pile, then went to help Laena finish preparing the meal. She tried to wave him away, but when it became clear that he was looking for some way to help, she set him to work peeling potatoes.

They all gathered around the table again for breakfast when a sharp knock sounded at the door. Laena and Beren exchanged startled, puzzled expressions. Varen stood quickly, though, and went for the door.

“Probably for me,” he sighed, gesturing for the others to remain. Korik watched as Varen answered the door. He couldn’t get a good view of the elf who had knocked; Varen stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

“Awfully early for business,” Beren sighed, shaking his head. Korik glanced at Enriel, who only shrugged. She seemed unperturbed.

Varen was only gone a moment, stepping back into the house with an unrolled parchment in one hand.

“We’ve been summoned,” he said, eyes landing on Korik again. There was a slight edge in his voice now, but Korik didn’t know what it meant. “The both of us. The king wants to speak with us.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Beren let out a low whistle. “Summoned by the king himself,” he murmured, shaking his head. “And to think we used to worry about you, Varen.”

“I still worry about him. A summons from the king won’t fix him,” Enriel laughed, and the tension in Laena’s face dissipated.

Varen spluttered. “ Fix me? Fix what?”

But the other elves laughed, and even Varen seemed unoffended by her words. Were all elves so casual in their homes, with their families? Korik had only ever seen their careful formality, their faces always gracefully stoic. Here, there was none of that. Or were all siblings so playfully cruel? He could remember other children in the clan saying things like this to him when he was young, but he remembered none of the teasing lilt in their voices to soothe the sting.

Varen noticed his silence, and to his surprise, the elf’s expression softened.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said in a lower tone, speaking directly to Korik. “I’m sure he just wants to hear about the orc rebels from me, and about his son and granddaughter from you.”

It seemed likely. Korik had seen the elven king briefly, when he had come to Drol Kuggradh—both for the birth of his granddaughter, which Korik had assisted with, and the official unification and coronation of King Zorvut, which Korik had mostly avoided. Though they had never spoken, if Varen had reported that he’d come to Castle Aefraya with the healer who had helped deliver the princess, the king surely would have been told.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Korik agreed, realizing the others had been waiting for him to respond.

The elves talked amongst themselves about what it would be like to have a personal audience with the king over the rest of breakfast; Korik only half-listened, finishing his meal in silence. Was that really all the king would want to talk to him about? He had been around King Zorvut and Prince Taegan, of course; but the rapport he’d built with them and their daughter was... not casual , but certainly far less formal than he would imagine having with King Ruven. How was he supposed to act? Hopefully he and Varen would be together the whole time, and he would just imitate however Varen behaved.

“Don’t look so glum,” the elf murmured, leaning closer to him and pulling him from his thoughts. “Once we get this over with, we’ll be free to head back to Drol Kuggradh.”

He could tell it was meant to be encouraging, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

Once breakfast was done, he and Varen set out on foot, walking up the hill to the castle. Korik kept his pace slow, remaining a step or two behind Varen as they walked. Neither said anything as they traversed the city streets until the gate into the castle grounds came into view up ahead. Only then did Varen pause, looking over his shoulder at Korik.

“Just follow my lead,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know how to act around a king, don’t you? Just bow, and say ‘your majesty’, and you should be fine.”

Korik scowled, looking away. “I understand,” he muttered. He hadn’t felt eager to get back home before, when Varen had mentioned it, but now that the elf seemed back to his usual smug self, it was sounding more and more appealing.

They stopped again at the gate. Korik hung back a few steps as Varen showed their summons to the guard and gestured at him; then the gate opened, and they were allowed through. Beyond was a large courtyard with manicured gardens leading up to a balcony that overlooked the wide expanse. It was mostly empty now save for a few guards standing at intervals—or perhaps soldiers, not that Korik could tell if there was a difference—and a lone gardener inspecting a tree.

The soldier on the other side of the wall approached them.

“Commander,” he said, looking at Varen first, then glancing at Korik with a polite nod. “Healer. Please come with me. I will bring you to the king.”

“Lead the way,” Varen replied. They made their way through the courtyard, up the steps, and through the rest of the garden to the imposing doors of the castle. This close, Korik could barely wrap his head around the sheer size of it. Even the castle tower that King Zorvut had built to house his family—by far the largest structure in Drol Kuggradh—was dwarfed compared to this. It sprawled out in all directions; its spires reached for the very clouds; even the doors were impossibly large, so tall that Korik didn’t need to duck at all to pass through. No elf could ever possibly be so tall, so what was the purpose? How many elves lived in this singular, massive building? Did one family—one person really—truly need so much space just because they were royalty?

It all made him rather queasy to consider, so most of the castle passed by in a blur as the elf soldier led them through. Luckily, it seemed they would not meet the king in the throne room. Instead, the elf led them up a flight of stairs and through meandering hallways, finally stopping at an ornate door where another elf stood guard.

“Commander Varen Petkas and Healer Korik the Steadfast, here to see the king,” the soldier said to the new guard, who nodded and knocked once on the door before stepping through, closing it behind him.

Korik glanced between Varen and the soldier as they stood there in silence, wondering how long they would have to wait, but not daring to speak aloud. To his relief, they didn’t have to wait long. The door opened again only a moment later, and the elf standing guard gestured for them to enter. Varen stepped forward, Korik followed, and the door closed behind them.

The room within looked to be a personal library or study. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed to the brim with books and scrolls. Several shelves were topped with various statuettes, or vases with fresh flowers, drinking in the sunlight that streamed in from a window on the far wall. At the opposite end of the room was a wide, ornate table with a large map spread out atop it and surrounded by several plush chairs. Behind it stood the elven king.

He did not strike Korik as a particularly imposing figure at first. He seemed of average height and build for an elf, wearing a simple, but finely made wool robe. His hair was dark and long, and he wore it loose with no crown atop his head. But his expression was perfectly stoic, and his gaze was piercing—landing first on Varen, then on Korik.

Varen bowed deeply, his arms stiff at his sides as he bent at the waist until his body made a right angle. Korik bowed quickly after, looking down at his feet but glancing over at Varen out of the corner of his eye to gauge how long he should hold this posture.

“You may rise,” the king said. Varen waited a beat before rising, and Korik followed suit. King Ruven’s expression was still unreadable, but his voice was calm and even. He gestured at the chairs surrounding the table. “Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”

“Thank you, my king,” Varen replied, stepping closer to the table. Korik followed silently, sitting down beside him and shifting uncomfortably in the too-small chair.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” King Ruven said, sitting down across from them. “The reason for my summons is twofold. First, General Palleas told me what you reported, Commander Petkas. I would like to hear about this directly from the source. Tell me more about this orc raiding party you encountered.”

“Of course,” Varen replied smoothly, nodding. “On the seventh day of our trip from Drol Kuggradh, we were ambushed by four orcs on horseback. We were able to take down one, but our own horses were slain in the process. The remaining three kidnapped my sister, Enriel. We tracked them a few days to the northwest and found there was a camp of ten orcs in total, along with seven elves being held captive there. They were holding a High Sorcerer captive as well, by keeping him drugged with a paralytic so he couldn’t cast his magic. We snuck in under the cover of night, and Healer Korik was able to remove the toxin from High Sorcerer Alwyn, who was then able to help us slay the rest of the orcs in camp without any danger to the other elves. While I was looking through the remains of the camp, I found some evidence that this camp was a splinter of a larger encampment, likely the rebel tribes congregating in the west.”

“Was there any indication of where this larger group might be?” King Ruven asked.

“None that I could tell,” Varen replied. “We scoured the camp, but found no maps or other signs of where, exactly, they might be—other than that the camp might have come from the north.”

The king’s eyes landed on Korik again, who nervously looked down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

“What do you make of this, Healer Korik?” he asked. “Where do you think this rebel camp might be hiding out?”

Korik was silent for a long moment, thinking over everything he had witnessed. “It is known the rebels loyal to Zesh have claimed much of the west as their own,” he finally replied, grateful that at least his voice wasn’t shaking. “There may be one very large camp, but I think it is more likely there are several camps—groups of only fifty or so, roaming the area, keeping in contact with messengers... If they were all in one host, it would be too easy to spot them in the plains.”

King Ruven nodded. One hand tapped at his chin thoughtfully as he looked down at the map on the table beneath them, which displayed all of Aefraya and the orc territories.

“This is valuable information,” he finally said. “I have also received a report from High Sorcerer Alwyn, corroborating this and providing some additional context that I believe King Zorvut will find critical to his success. Healer Korik, I admit I have some concern regarding this toxin used to incapacitate the sorcerer. Alwyn reported that neither he nor you knew what it was. Is this true?”

Korik nodded, still nervous. He was very curious as to what else Alwyn might have reported, but knew better than to ask. “Yes. I had never encountered anything like it. I have the toxin, but have made no headway in identifying its components.”

“Would you be willing to give it to me, for our library to study?” King Ruven asked.

He wanted to say no—he wanted to study it himself, his curiosity piqued—but he knew he was not in a position to deny a request from a king. Still, he risked a sidelong glance at Varen, who met his gaze from the corner of his eye. He pulled a slight face that even Korik could tell was meant to urge him to hand it over.

“I... Yes,” Korik replied, resigned. He had kept the vial in his pockets since he’d found it, sometimes looking at the viscous fluid as it streaked along the glass, but mostly just to keep it safe. Now he fished it out from the pocket of his coat and placed it on the table. King Ruven reached for it, holding it between two fingers as he peered at it for a moment, then set it back down on the desk in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said, looking back over at Korik. “I would also like to ask questions of a more personal matter, Healer Korik. How are Prince Taegan and the young princess?”

Korik blinked, surprised at the sudden change in topic; but the king now had a small smile on his regal features.

“They are well,” he replied slowly, then added, “Your Majesty. Princess Nahara is... tall for her age already. She is shy when I meet with her, but is beginning to speak. Last I spoke to them, Prince Taegan was concerned she was not eating enough. She is... particular in her preferences. But she grows as expected.”

The king’s eyes had softened considerably, despite Korik’s stilted speech. “I am glad to hear it. My son writes to me often, but it is not the same as being there. I hope that once tensions have eased, I will be able to travel to see them again.”

Korik nodded, unsure of how to reply. Varen added, “We hope for the same, Your Majesty.”

King Ruven’s soft expression faded quickly, back to business once more. “I must ask you to do something for me. The both of you.”

Korik’s heart sank, and he could feel Varen tense beside him—though whether it was in excitement, or a similar anxiety, he could not tell. Neither responded, so the king continued,

“We need to know more about the location and activities of these rebels. If they are taking citizens of Aefraya to be prisoners of war, this is a far more urgent matter than we have initially believed. Commander Petkas, at this time you have more knowledge of this camp than anyone else at my disposal. Your former position as a head ranger also puts points in your favor. I ask you to track down this rebel camp and report as much information as you can—to both Castle Aefraya, and to King Zorvut and my son in Drol Kuggradh—so we may work together to eliminate this threat.”

“I will, Your Majesty,” Varen replied quickly, his head dipping into a deep bow.

Then the king’s eyes landed on Korik again, and he felt his heart sinking. “Healer Korik, I understand you are neither soldier nor scout, and this is not your field of expertise. But I would still ask you to assist Commander Petkas in this matter. Your knowledge proved invaluable in the last encounter; to me, it seems you are our best chance at tracking down more information regarding these rebels. While I have all confidence in the commander’s ability to see this through, I believe his chances of success would be significantly improved with your help.”

Korik bowed his head, if only to hide his increasing distress. The request came from a king; how could he refuse, no matter how much he wanted to? It reminded him of his conversation with King Zorvut when the princess was born—it felt so long ago, yet was coming back to haunt him now.

He thought of Roz waiting for him back at home, looking after the shop. He’d told her to expect him back in a month. That timeline had already been pushed back—how much longer would it be before he saw her again? Was he missed by his patients and the citizens of Drol Kuggradh? Had anyone even noticed he was gone?

And he would have to continue to travel with Varen for an indeterminate length of time. The realization sent a strange mix of emotion racing through his chest.

“You would, of course, be provided with all necessary supplies and compensated upon your return,” King Ruven added, after a few beats of silence had passed.

“I...” Korik stammered. He did not want to agree, but neither did he want to refuse a king. “I don’t know that I am the right choice for such a thing. I fear I would only slow Varen down—er, that is, Commander Petkas. If he is as skilled as you say. I would only hinder him.”

He could not bring himself to lift his head to look at either elf for their reaction. For a moment, neither of them spoke; then the king’s voice came again, still sounding unphased and neutral.

“What do you think, Commander Petkas?” he asked. “Would Healer Korik be a hindrance to you?”

Varen was silent for a long moment, too—longer than Korik would have expected. He didn’t know whether to feel disappointed Varen did not immediately agree, or strangely flattered that he seemed to be seriously considering it. Varen annoyed him, sure; but in the moment, he realized he could not say with any certainty what the elf really thought about him.

“I found Healer Korik’s presence to be critical in the events of the past weeks,” Varen finally replied, his voice soft, without any of the grating edge of arrogance to his tone now. “I do not think I could have freed my sister or the other elves as easily as I did without his help. If at all. His magical ability far surpasses my own.”

Korik’s heart leapt into his throat, terror seizing him that Varen might betray his confidence after all, and to the elven king no less—but then Varen fell silent, and King Ruven made a soft hum of consideration. Still, Korik kept his head turned down, too afraid to look at either of them.

“If Commander Petkas vouches for you, Healer Korik, I am sure you are the right choice, though I can admire your humility,” the king said. “Will you go with him?”

It seemed he had no other option. Korik closed his eyes and took in a deep, steadying breath. Roz would just have to wait a little longer. She was self-sufficient. He would sorely miss his home, his shop, his calico cat—but it would all be waiting for him whenever he returned.

“Yes,” he replied, risking a glance first at the king, then at Varen. “I will help him.”

King Ruven’s expression was as neutral as ever. Varen had a small smile that Korik swore morphed into his annoyingly smug smirk the moment their eyes met, which made him instantly regret agreeing. But he’d already said it, and now it was too late.

“I thank you, Healer, for the noble service you are providing to myself and to all our people,” the king said, his voice taking on a more sincere tone. “I know we have asked much of you already, and I regret having to ask more of you. Name your price, and it will be given to you.”

“I—” Korik stammered, utterly taken aback. There had been so many twists and turns to the conversation, it felt like he could barely keep up. So he answered honestly, “I don’t know. There is little I want for.”

At that, a smile stretched across the king’s face. “Take some time to consider it, then, and when this is said and done, you need only ask. I am sure that either myself, or my son, will ensure you receive whatever it is you desire.”

“Thank you,” Korik said faintly. This was all too much.

“Commander, please speak with the quartermaster for any equipment you or Healer Korik might need,” King Ruven said, now addressing Varen again. “While I will not give you a specific time frame in this, I think we can agree that the sooner the better, hm?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Varen said, bowing his head.

“You may go,” Ruven said, waving one hand in dismissal. Varen stood quickly and bowed again; Korik did the same, then followed him back out of the room. The soldier who had escorted them was gone, but the same elf was standing guard. This one only nodded at him and Varen, watching stoically as they departed.

Korik remained silent as they made their way back out of the castle, so caught up in his own thoughts he almost didn’t notice that Varen been uncharacteristically quiet, too. It wasn’t until they had passed back through the massive castle doors, walking back through the grounds, that the elf spoke. His voice sounded a little strained.

“I wasn’t expecting him to ask you to accompany me,” he said, not looking at Korik. “I… can imagine that isn’t exactly what you wanted. Sorry.”

Korik didn’t know how to respond. It was true that he just wanted to go home and be done with all this, but he hadn’t expected Varen to apologize. After a beat, he shrugged.

“Can’t say no to a king,” he sighed, shaking his head.

Varen let out a small huff of a laugh. “That’s the truth.”

When they reached the courtyard that led to the city gate, Varen stopped. Korik paused to look over at him.

“I’m going to speak to the quartermaster, so you can go on ahead. Do you know how to get back to the house?”

The walk had been straightforward, and Korik was sure he could find his way back. Still, he was already a ball of nerves, and the thought of walking alone through the streets of Aefraya made him feel more nervous.

“Yes,” he said, pushing down the thought. “I’ll see you there, then.”

Varen’s expression softened. “Try to break the news gently to Enriel. I don’t want her to worry about me. Either of us.”

Korik nodded, but he had no idea what that meant. He didn’t get the chance to ask, though, as Varen turned and walked toward the barracks, leaving Korik alone in the courtyard. He watched the elf for a moment longer, then turned to the gates and left the castle grounds.