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Chapter Fifteen

Varen

As endearing as it was to have Korik stammering and flushing at half the things Varen said, it made him acutely aware of how prickly he had been with the orc in the past weeks of travel together.

In his defense, it had been a very stressful few weeks. And if he was being honest with himself, he always had a hard time keeping friends—Enriel often told him that he came across as rude and arrogant and abrasive. He was much improved from his youth, but he was also very good at his job and had no shame in behaving as such. But in his single-minded worry, first over saving his sister, then the other frightened elves so unexpectedly in his care, in retrospect, he had not always been entirely friendly with Korik.

At first, he didn’t intend to say anything about it, letting his better behavior speak for itself. But after Korik told him that he thought he would just slow Varen down, he had a hard time sleeping. He turned the conversation over in his mind again and again. He and Korik needed to be able to trust each other if they were to survive. The orc had promised not to leave him behind, but how good was that promise if he truly believed Varen was worse off in his company than he would be alone?

Some of it, he thought, was just in Korik’s nature: the orc had proved rather more timid than Varen would have expected. But some of it was probably his own doing, acting superior to Korik so often that the other man was starting to believe it was the truth. And even if he was more at home in the wilderness as a scout, it was also completely true that Korik’s abilities had allowed them to so easily track down Enriel—saving not only her, but all the elves that they had stumbled upon.

He continued to ruminate over it the next morning as they packed their belongings, buried the campfire, and rode their horses at a leisurely pace to the abandoned orc camp. Enriel had told him to be nicer to Korik before they left, which he had brushed off at the time, but now was thinking over more meticulously. He had certainly been in a better mood since they’d arrived in Castle Aefraya, but had he been so bad before that? Enriel surely seemed to think so, and she had proved time and again to have a better sense of that sort of thing than him.

Part of him bristled that his sister, so much younger than him, was irrefutably the wiser of them, at least when it came to people. But that too was some of his arrogance coming through again, wasn’t it?

Thinking of Enriel and her baby made his chest ache with worry all over again, though it was a less dire concern now. He hoped her journey home went smoothly, and that her child was delivered without complication. Yet another part of him already missed her; even though they often butted heads, her presence in Drol Kuggradh had been a source of joy and camaraderie in what was otherwise an isolating and often difficult assignment.

Korik was the only companion he had now, and he certainly had less patience for Varen’s character flaws than his sister did. And so, much as he hated having to do it, he knew an apology was in order.

“Korik,” he said, turning to the orc beside him. Korik tilted his head down to look at him—yellow eyes flickering first to meet his gaze, then dropping slightly to look at his nose, then his lips, then his nose again. He had tracked the movement so often on the other man’s face that it was becoming a rather endearing quirk. “I’ve been thinking it over, and... I think I owe you an apology.”

Korik’s eyes blinked once slowly, his expression unchanging. “Why?”

He stifled a laugh, shaking his head. “Well, I realized I’ve been a bit of an ass to you. I know I’m not always the easiest to get along with, and I was... worse than usual when we were working together. I was rude to you when you were trying to help. And just... generally being difficult. It’s no excuse, but I was so worried about Enriel it was hard to think of anything else, and I took that worry out on you. So, I’m sorry.”

Varen had to look away, back down at his horse, thinking of how out of his mind with fear he had been when Enriel had been taken. He had never felt a panic like that before, and for so long—that whole first day was a blur in his memory. All he could remember was how desperately he needed to find her, how everything else felt so distant, even his own hunger, exhaustion, or pain. He had shouted at Korik, had been furious at him; yet the orc had still done his best to help, to reassure him, and to calm him down.

He hated to think of what might have happened if Enriel had been taken, and Korik was not there to help him. They very well might have both died then, and the child with her. He had been so dismissive of Enriel’s wish to have a healer with them as they traveled, thinking it frivolous—now he was thankful beyond words Enriel had insisted, and Korik had agreed.

Korik had been silent for a long moment; but when Varen looked back up at him, he had a rather pensive expression on his face. When Varen had first come to Drol Kuggradh, he had found it difficult to read the expressions of the orcs he interacted with—unsure how to interpret the way their tusks made their lips pull at the edges.

He had a better sense of it now, and he was understanding Korik more in particular. Now, he could tell the other man was confused—he supposed that his admission did come out of nowhere—but reflective.

“I understand,” Korik finally replied. “I was worried for her, too. It’s understandable.”

“Yes, but it was still wrong of me,” Varen said. “I’m sorry I treated you that way. We need to be able to trust each other if we’re going to succeed in our mission, and I fear I may have sabotaged that already. I’ll do my best to be nicer from now on.”

To his surprise, Korik let out a small snort of a laugh.

“Nice?” he chuckled, but Varen could tell from the smirk curling around his tusks that the remark was in jest. Varen laughed—he could, at least, laugh at his own bad behavior. That had to count for something, didn’t it? Enriel would be proud of him.

“As unbelievable as it might seem, I will try,” he chuckled. When he looked over at Korik again, the orc’s expression had softened, but he glanced away quickly when Varen met his eyes, making Varen’s stomach flip-flop with mirth. Who would have thought he’d ever meet a shy orc?

They continued in silence for a moment, only the sound of the grass and dirt beneath their horses’ hooves between them. Finally, Varen added,

“I suppose you have been more forthcoming about your own abilities than I have about mine, too, which I am also sorry for. Enriel tells me that I often come across as, well, an arrogant bastard. I will admit I have perhaps had a lot of confidence in myself without much chance to prove to you what exactly I can do. So if you have any questions, ask away.”

Korik didn’t respond for a long moment, long enough that the warm amusement in Varen’s chest cooled into something more like worry—had he overstepped somehow? Was he just talking about himself again? He hadn’t meant to, but...

“The king vouched for you,” Korik finally said. “And I saw how silently you moved. When we were tracking the camp, and even before, when you jumped into the tree. And fighting the orcs when we were chased. But King Ruven said you were among the best rangers of the elven army, and that alone would be enough to prove your skill, I think.”

Varen grinned. “Well, I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Korik rolled his eyes, but still looked amused. “Did you really track a dragon?”

“Yes!” Varen insisted, laughing. “No one ever believed me, but I swear it really happened. I didn’t try to fight it, of course.”

Korik shook his head in disbelief, but didn’t press him any further. Part of Varen wanted Korik to ask more questions, so that he could brag about his skill; but he supposed Korik had said his piece and had no further thoughts on the matter. And he really was trying to come off as less of a pompous ass, so he kept his mouth shut.

Luckily, they arrived at the abandoned campsite before much longer. Varen recognized the tall tree in the distance and pulled his horse to a slower pace.

“Let’s tie off the horses here,” he said, turning to Korik. “Then we’ll approach slowly, checking the perimeter of the camp before going in. Sounds good?”

Korik hesitated. “Do you want me to check first?”

Varen considered it. Korik’s abilities were extremely useful, of course; but like all magic, it was tiring to use repeatedly. His own magical ability was average, and he could tell Korik’s well of magic was significantly deeper than his own; but all the same, he didn’t want to deplete it.

“I think we’re alright for now,” Varen finally replied. “Save it, in case something happens.”

Korik nodded, dismounting his horse. They tied them to a nearby tree with plenty of room to graze, then Varen led the way closer to the camp.

As he channeled his magic into silencing his footsteps, he paused, looking back at Korik.

“Do you know how to do this?” he asked, casting the spell. Korik’s eyes watched carefully; then he felt a tendril of magic cautiously reach out, as if studying the way it created a soft bubble around his feet, capturing all sound within.

“Like this?” Korik asked, repeating the motion. Varen gestured for him to test it, and Korik took a few steps. They were silent; he hesitated, then stomped on the ground. Still silent.

“Perfect,” Varen agreed. The small, pleased smile that flashed across Korik’s face for just a moment made his chest feel tight. Before all this, he could not have imagined thinking the tall, gangly orc was cute ; but there was just something so damned endearing about him.

But that was the last thing he should be focusing on, so he tamped down the feeling and focused on the task at hand. With both their steps silenced, observing the camp undetected wouldn’t take too long.

Just as Korik had described, the camp had been completely torn down, and the orc bodies were buried in a mass grave about a hundred feet away in the woods. In his inspection of the camp, Varen found no indication that there was anyone still here, keeping watch or spying on them. Whoever had cleared the camp had been careful to disguise their steps, though, as Varen found the game trail Korik had mentioned, but no footsteps marred it.

Still, there were no signs of activity in any other direction, so the game trail was still their best option. Varen made one more pass around the abandoned campsite, using his magic to make his eyesight sharper—Korik tried to copy the spell, but had a harder time with it. This time he could see tiny details like the crushed leaves that had been brushed aside, and flecks of dirt that didn’t match the soil beneath their feet, but had been tracked from somewhere further away. The original party had come from the north, he was sure, and those that had cleaned up the camp had returned the same way.

It seemed their path was laid out before them. The camp had nothing more to offer them now.

In the evening, Varen again kept watch for a bit after Korik laid down to sleep. When he was sure the orc was no longer awake, he reached for his saddlebags, pulling out a small, folded-up piece of parchment.

General Palleas’ assistant had given him the parchment as he’d been gathering their supplies from the quartermaster. It was enchanted, the assistant had explained; the library had precious few as it was a new experiment, but a piece was being given to him due to the importance of his mission. Its twin was in the office of the general: anything he wrote on his piece would appear on the other, and vice versa.

He had not used it yet, but now he had information to report. It was the size of a standard letter, so he would have to keep his handwriting small and his message concise. With a charcoal pencil, he wrote out his missive, keeping it to a single line.

Original orc camp destroyed, bodies buried. Pursuing signs of movement in the north.

Nothing seemed to visually happen on the paper, no signal that it had worked. Varen looked at it for a moment, shrugged, and folded it back up before laying down to rest.

In the morning, he checked it again to find a single word had been added, not in a separate line but right next to his own words—the most efficient use of the limited space.

Received.