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Chapter Sixteen

Korik

On the second day after leaving behind the abandoned camp, Korik spotted campfires in the distance. The rebel camp had been nearer than they’d thought.

He’d been scouting for miles ahead each day, morning and night. The first day went uneventfully; but when he peered through the eyes of a rock dove that had been guarding its nest in the early hours of the next morning, he thought he saw the faint, blurry hint of smoke along the distant horizon.

Korik froze for a moment, leaving the dove hovering, then urged it forward to get a better idea of where exactly the camp was. Part of him wanted to release his hold on the bird immediately to tell Varen that he’d found the camp, but he knew that gathering as much information as he could first would be paramount.

The camp came into detail as he drew closer. What had started as a faint haze of smoke became two separate cooking fires, one on each end of a camp that was nestled between two rocky hills. It was larger than Korik had expected, but as he got nearer, he could tell that it was too small to be the primary rebel force. They were a camp on the move, and if he and Varen were careful, they could follow at a distance until, hopefully, the smaller group led them to the larger threat.

It was exactly what King Ruven had asked of them. With any luck, they would only be out here a few more days, then could go their separate ways: Varen to report what they found, and Korik to return to his home, finally.

Through the dove’s eyes, he counted over twenty tents. From so high up, it was hard to tell the size, but he doubted they were sleeping more than two to a tent. He guessed there were somewhere between twenty and forty orcs in the camp, a sizable number. Part of him wondered what exactly they were doing out here; he saw no sign of captives, but the horses he could spot tied to trees looked formidable. They were tall and broad, like warhorses; and Korik thought that perhaps they were gathering forces for some kind of attack, which made his heart sink into his chest.

He only saw a few orcs tending to the cooking fires in this early hour with hardly any other activity he could observe, so at least they didn’t seem to move with urgency.

He considered drawing closer, but if the group had their own druid—or even just knew the signs to spot the presence of a druid, which was far more likely—they would surely suspect a lone dove observing them, then fleeing. The last thing he wanted was to warn them of his presence, so he remained high in the sky at a safe distance before finally releasing his hold on the animal.

When he came back into himself, he shook his head to clear his vision, the world spinning uncomfortably around him.

“You were gone for a while,” he heard Varen’s voice coming from above him. “What did you see?”

Korik stumbled to his feet.

“I found the camp,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Even without looking, he could feel Varen tense up.

“How far?” he asked.

“Maybe fifteen miles at the most. It’s hard to tell from the air,” Korik answered. “Somewhere between twenty and forty orcs. I only saw them because of the smoke from their cooking fires. The camp is mostly hidden against a hill. It looks like they’re on the move, heading north or northwest, like we thought.”

Varen had started packing his things haphazardly as Korik spoke. “Shit, that’s more than I expected. They must have been here even more recently than we thought. I bet a smaller group came and is catching up with the big group now. They’re going to be moving slowly with that many, so we should be able to catch up without too much trouble.”

Korik wanted to protest: a group that size would certainly have scouts of their own, or even another druid that could spy on them just as easily as he was watching the camp. Varen was speaking in a rush now—mostly to himself, but fast enough that Korik couldn’t find a place to interject.

“Varen,” he finally interrupted. The elf paused, looking up at him in surprise. “Er... I couldn’t see any of the orcs in the camp, except for some preparing food. But I would expect they have scouts of their own. Or maybe even another druid. We should be cautious.”

Varen smirked, and somehow Korik was both annoyed and charmed at the same time. “Don’t worry. We’ll be perfectly careful. Just follow my lead, and if I tell you to do something, do it and question me later. Alright?”

That could imply all sorts of things; but Korik only nodded silently, unwilling to press the elf now. He had to trust Varen knew the risks as well as he did—the tricks Varen had shown him to be more stealthy had certainly helped, too. Maybe he was overthinking things.

They set out as the morning sun rose behind the cover of thick, fluffy clouds and bathed the landscape with a pale, cool light. The air was cold against Korik’s skin; not uncomfortably so, but he knew it would have more and more of a bite to it in the coming days. Winter was well and truly beginning now. It made him wonder if this sort of mission was really wise to be attempting, when the days would only grow darker and colder.

He had vague memories of spending the winters of his youth bundled up tightly, tramping through snow or being dragged on a sled, and struggling to sleep with the light of nearby fires that flickered against his closed eyelids, but being too cold for him to move further away. The wandering clans would often hunker down for the worst of the winter in the same place each year, if at all possible; but sometimes an unexpected storm would stop them in an inopportune place. He could remember spending days on end in the same tent, too, as a blizzard raged outside.

He did not miss any of that. As much as he had enjoyed being out in the wilderness so far—and even that was questionable at times—he had grown more than accustomed to city life and was eager to return to it before the snows began to fall.

When they had traveled a few miles, Varen paused and asked Korik to check again, to see if the camp had moved or was lingering where they were. Korik sent his awareness out until he found a little bird perched nearby: a lark that resisted him at first, but then set off into the air. Flying was quicker than the journey on foot, of course, but it was a rather arduous trip for such a small creature. Still, he could see the signs of the camp in the distance, and it did not look like they were any closer to setting out for the day than when Korik had first spied it.

Korik released the lark and reported what he saw to Varen.

“Let’s get a little closer and check again to see if they end up traveling today,” Varen sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “Maybe someone’s injured, or they’re just taking a rest day. It would be great if we could figure out for sure...”

From the way he trailed off, Korik could tell what the elf wanted of him, but he shook his head quickly.

“If they have their own druid, it would be too dangerous to spy right in their camp,” he said. “They would notice the presence of any animal, would tell easily it wasn’t behaving naturally... And I’m sure they monitor their own horses often, if they have a druid of their own. Horses are smart enough to remember if a druid finds them. It’s too much of a risk.”

“Alright, alright,” Varen sighed. He didn’t sound entirely disappointed, though, as if he had expected Korik’s answer. “We’ll be careful. With any luck, they’ll still be heading out today, and we won’t have to follow them for long.”

They continued on their way, traveling through rocky hills at the same slow, cautious pace. When there were clusters of trees—after seeing the forests in Aefraya, Korik could hardly call the trees here a forest—they would travel under the cover of their branches; but mostly they were largely out in the open, which made Korik nervous. But Varen seemed unconcerned. He was certainly less chatty than he had been before they’d found the camp, and often Korik could see a glimmer of magic flash across his eyes as he examined their surroundings.

By the afternoon they had traveled as close as Varen said he would risk, near enough that Korik could just make out the occasional distant hint of smoke on the horizon now. It seemed the camp would not be traveling today.

“No fire for us when we’re this close,” Varen sighed. “Thank the gods for magic, at least. Help me gather up some stones to keep warm.”

“Stones?” Korik asked, frowning. Varen laughed, but it was less teasing and more surprised.

“Have you never warmed up some stones to put in your sleeping bag?” he asked. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Having a fire is always nicer. But warm stones will do in these circumstances. And the nights aren’t too terribly cold yet, so we should only need a few each.”

Korik chuckled at the thought of putting rocks in his bedroll, but he supposed the idea was a good one in a pinch. It would be like a hot waterskin placed between his bedsheets in the coldest months, though much less comfortable.

They gathered up a handful of stones. Varen selected ones that were just a bit larger than the palm of his hand, mostly flat and smooth; and Korik watched as Varen squeezed the stone in his hand, filling it with his magic until it warmed to the touch. It would be an hour or two before they would sleep, but they still placed the heated stones in their bedrolls to start warming them now. Their supper was just bread and dried meat—another thing Korik wouldn’t miss when he returned home. Imagining fresh vegetables from the garden, or even just some garlic and onions from the root cellar, nearly made him tear up with longing.

Varen must have noticed his glum expression. He raised an eyebrow before asking,

“What’s on your mind?”

He didn’t exactly want to say to Varen that he just wanted to go home and be done with all this; and some small part of him did sort of like being out here in the wilderness, relishing in the adventure of it all. So he only replied,

“Just wishing for a hot meal.”

Varen smirked. “You and me both. With any luck, it’ll only be a few days of following them, and then once we break off, we can have a fire going all night. Sounds good?”

Korik managed a tiny smile in response. It was a minor comfort, but Varen offering it to him at all made his stomach squeeze, and not with hunger. “Sounds good.”

Korik had feared that if the orc camp remained where it was for any longer, they would almost certainly be discovered. Luckily, the following morning, he spied a flurry of activity in the camp through the eyes of another rock dove. They were preparing to leave.

Once the camp got going, it was relatively simple to track them. Their pace was unhurried, and there were telltale signs of where they had passed through—so many hooves and feet tamping down the dirt or crushing grass underfoot created a pathway through the rocky hills that even Korik could follow without difficulty.

They trailed far behind the camp for a day, then two. Korik watched them from the skies when he could, but now it only told them how quickly the camp was moving and in which direction. The path they left behind was easy enough to follow that Korik was sure Varen would have had no problems keeping up with them without his help. It was Varen who could tell when they needed to linger further back in case of scouts, or when it was safer to draw nearer based on factors Korik would have never considered—things like the surrounding landscape, or the weather, or the time of day.

On the third day, Korik was peering ahead at the camp through a barn owl that had placidly accepted his presence in the faint light of sunrise. He spotted more smoke on the horizon, further out beyond the camp. His heart leapt up into his throat—was this the greater rebel force?

He flew past the orcs that they were following to try to gather any information about the larger camp. The more he could tell Varen, the more he would be satisfied with watching from afar, and the quicker they could start heading back—maybe even today. A rush of emotion surged through his chest at the thought, surprising him with a tinge of sadness that lurked beneath the relief and anticipation of going home.

But he would have to unpack his feelings about it all later. Now he just wanted to get an estimate of how many orcs were up ahead, maybe even spot their leader, or else determine if this was yet another offshoot of an even larger group. The landscape below rushed by in a blur as he raced silently through the sky. Distantly, he could feel the owl was uneasy being out in the open, as the slivers of sunrise lightened the horizon; but he pushed the animal’s instinct down, calming its thoughts and pressing on.

By the time he could start making out distinct shapes of tents and campfires, he had no doubts that this was the primary seat of the rebel stronghold. The camp was sprawling: it spread out across a rocky valley with muddy paths beginning to form in the most trafficked areas, and tall bonfires along with small personal campfires scattered about. One large central tent had to be where the leader Zesh slept, or at least met with the orc leadership, like a makeshift a war room. It was early enough that there was very little activity; but a few fires had been stoked to start preparing breakfast, and many of the smaller campfires still had embers glowing like distant, warm stars.

He was considering whether he should try to draw closer to the big tent, when he sensed... something outside of the owl's body. He was being shaken or grabbed—the real him, not the animal. Startled, he released his hold on the owl and came back into his own body in a rush, the world spinning around him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking firmly, yet urgently; and he was vaguely aware of Varen’s voice in a low, measured tone in his ear. It took several seconds before the disorientation faded enough that he could understand.

“Are you back with me?” he finally picked out. He nodded and immediately wished he hadn’t, as a wave of nausea washed over him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to push the vertigo away and focus on the elf’s carefully calm voice. “I think another druid is watching us. Don’t look now, but there’s a big bastard of a raven in a tree behind me. He’s been there for a few minutes. I thought it might have been you at first, but then it never came closer. It hasn’t gone away, though, and I’m sure it’s watching us.”

Despite Varen telling him not to look, Korik carefully got to his feet so he could see over the shorter elf, letting his eyes scan the opposite treeline in a way he hoped was natural. But his vision instantly locked on to the raven Varen had described; it did seem very large, and old as well. Its thinning feathers pushed every which way in the wind, giving it a bedraggled appearance; but its head was motionless, and its beady eyes were unusually sharp. Korik barely glanced over it as he looked out at the landscape, but the feeling of being watched remained. He looked back down at Varen, who was standing casually and looking in the other direction, arms folded across his chest.

“I think you’re right,” Korik said, willing his voice to remain low and calm, even as panic began to rise in his chest. “I saw the rebel camp. Half a day away at most. I’m sure they have a druid. They know we’re here.”

A pained expression crossed Varen’s face. He clearly wanted to interrogate Korik further about the camp, but it was clear that now was not the time. He turned to the horses without another word, untying them from the tree. Korik grabbed his rucksack and bedroll from where he’d propped them against a rock—thankful Varen had insisted that the first thing they did each morning was pack away their things to be ready to leave in a hurry. It had been annoying all the other mornings, but now it meant they could be gone from this place in a matter of seconds, and nothing would be left behind.

“Come here,” Varen said, a little louder so Korik would hear, but still in a perfectly calm tone. Korik approached, at first reaching for his horse, but Varen gestured for him to come closer. “Block its line of sight of me with your body.”

Korik hesitated, then took another step closer, so his form fully covered the elf. It was far too close for comfort. Silently, Varen pulled his bow out and notched an arrow in one fluid motion, still bent as if he were inspecting his horse’s hooves. This close, Korik could hear that his breathing was coming in long, slow beats—in sharp contrast to the staccato of his own anxious breaths.

“On three, duck as low as you can. Drop to the ground if you have to. I’ll need to be quick. Understand?” Varen murmured, still not looking at him. From this angle, Korik couldn’t even see his eyes, shadowed as they were by his long eyelashes and the dark curtain of his hair.

“I understand,” Korik whispered, fear spiking in his chest.

“One. Two. Three,” Varen counted. Korik threw himself to the ground. Varen pulled his drawn bow up, the arrow whistling through the air in the same instant. A rapid, heavy flutter of wings—a violent thud—the screech of the bird cut short with a wet gurgle.

Korik scrambled back up to his feet, somehow still shocked at the sight of the dying raven, now pinned by its throat to the tree it had been perched on. Such a feat should have bordered on impossible, yet Varen had moved methodically and fluidly, as if he had practiced such a shot every day of his life.

“That should buy us some time,” he said, mounting his horse. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Korik asked as he mounted his own horse, startling himself at the ragged worry in his voice. Varen shrugged, already trotting ahead.

“Away,” he said. “Toward Drol Kuggradh. Korik, I need you to remember every detail you saw of that camp until we get the chance to write it all down, okay?”

“I will,” Korik answered, but Varen was already pulling ahead. He nudged his horse’s ribs to catch up, and soon they were both galloping through the rocky hills, cutting through the meandering route they had taken before to make a direct path to the east.