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Chapter Seventeen

Varen

Varen kept his horse going as fast as it could manage for nearly an hour, before he finally felt that they had enough distance between them and the rebel camp to bring them down to a trot. He knew Korik could have sped on ahead if he really wanted to with his bigger horse; but when he looked back, the orc was just a few steps behind him, brow furrowed with worry. Surely he was aware of the danger they were still in, even more so than Varen, but he hadn’t tried to pull ahead at any point, nor sneak away from Varen when his back was turned. Maybe he just knew that whoever was watching them had seen them both, but it still brought Varen some tiny measure of comfort that even now Korik intended to keep his promise.

“I know we probably haven’t lost them,” Varen panted, his body aching from how hard he’d ran the horse. The creature was sweating and breathing hard beneath him. “But I don’t want to kill the horses. What do you think?”

Korik nervously looked behind him. “I haven’t seen anyone. But... There’s no telling.”

“I need the horses to not be exhausted if we have to run again,” Varen sighed. Korik’s expression darkened, and he knew he didn’t need to say that if they were truly to be chased down, they had no hope of escaping and would have to fight their way out.

“I’m following you,” Korik finally said, nervously patting his own horse’s neck. The bigger creature looked tired, but not nearly as much as Varen’s.

They kept going at a trot, and Varen took the opportunity to pull his enchanted parchment out from a saddlebag and hastily scrawl a missive. His handwriting was messy and shaky with movement compared to the neat, careful letters of each previous message.

Found primary rebel camp. No details, spotted every silhouette of a tree or a boulder appeared as the specter of a massive orc, riding an even bigger horse, armed to the teeth and ready to cut them down.

Korik kept looking to the sky, too, worry crossing his face every time a bird flew overhead. None seemed to track them, and most were close enough that even Varen could tell they were not the same bird following them; but he couldn’t keep down the suspicion that arose with every winged shadow that passed over them.

But what more could they do? There were some trees, sure, but nothing that would give them cover long enough to shake any pursuers off their trail. There were hills, but if they were being watched from above, hiding in valleys wouldn’t be of much help. The best they could hope for was to put enough distance between them and the orc camp that they either gave up on the chase, or decided against pursuing them at all.

That was not the case. Varen’s gaze snagged on a cluster of silhouettes moving in the distance, white-hot fear pulsing through him as the image registered. A group of three orcs on horseback, not pursuing from directly behind them, but further to the north. Swearing, Varen yanked on the reins of his horse, stopping so quickly that Korik nearly ran into him. But he ignored Korik’s startled, confused shout, turning to the south, eyes searching frantically—

Another group came into sight, confirming his fears. They were not pursuing them from behind, but had given them a wide berth only to close in as a pincer. Of course they would—they were so much faster than Varen’s elf-sized horse ever could be—he kicked himself for not considering it.

Korik must have noticed the same, swearing under his breath.

“Back the way we came,” Varen panted, pulling the reins to turn the horse around. “If we can get some distance, we can try slipping past to the—the north. So they can’t cut us off.”

Korik nodded and followed as Varen kicked his horse into a gallop; but he could see the grim expression that fell over the orc’s face. The chance of them losing their pursuers was slim to none. The best Varen could hope for was that they could find an advantageous position where they could kite the orcs from a distance and subdue them without having to resort to melee combat. What were the chances of that, though? Varen forced down the bleak thought, focusing on the uneven ground ahead of them.

He had his emergency exit, he thought—the little teleportation stone that Alwyn had given him suddenly felt heavy as lead in the pocket of his cloak. But that was a last resort. He didn’t know if it would bring Korik with him, and if he left the orc behind, it was as good as a death sentence. He was a healer, a druid—the poor man looked like he wouldn’t know what to do with a sword if one fell into his lap. If they had any other chance of getting away, they had to take it.

He could barely hear anything over the sound of hooves thundering across the earth, and his own breathing rushing in his ears; but two things cut through at almost the same time. The high-pitched whistle of an arrow ripping through the air, and—

“Varen!” Korik shouted, his warning coming too late. Varen ducked, but the arrow wasn’t meant for him. His horse screamed and bucked beneath him, and Varen felt the hot blood spraying from its haunch onto his thigh.

He swore, launching himself out of the saddle as the horse tumbled to the ground. He landed on all fours, but stumbled to his feet, forcing himself to run and ignoring the animal’s pained cries. It had been years since he’d felt sad for losing a horse—it happened too often to dwell on it—but remembering how Korik had grieved that damned mare had softened him, and now the ache of guilt swelled in his chest.

But it was quickly buried in the mounting panic that was overtaking everything else. He could see both bands of orcs approaching now, one closer than the other—could see the archer that’d loosed the arrow, nocking another. Korik pulled back on the reins of his horse beside him, reaching out to pull him up onto his own horse; but the battle was already lost.

“Korik,” Varen said, grabbing the orc’s hand, but remaining where he was. “We can’t outrun them.”

To his surprise, something like a snarl passed over Korik’s face. “We aren’t giving up,” he protested.

Varen shook his head. “No, but—listen to me. I have a teleportation stone, but I’ve never used one before. We have to be touching skin for it to bring you with me. I’m going to try to get us back to Drol Kuggradh—”

The whistle of another arrow interrupted him, and he ducked again, but he was too slow. Pain exploded in his leg, and he stifled a scream—if he hadn’t already been grabbing Korik’s hand, he would have collapsed. The arrow had pierced his thigh, which he knew could very well be a fatal blow. He had to act fast, even if Korik didn’t understand.

“Don’t let go of me,” he urged. With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his cloak, pulling out the teleportation stone with shaking fingers. Korik’s expression had morphed quickly from fright to concern to confusion, but they didn’t have time—he could hear the pounding of hooves now, even over the cries of his wounded horse.

Feed it with some of your own magic to get it started. That was what Alwyn had told him. He prayed to all the gods that the little assassin hadn’t tricked him, squeezed the stone tightly in his hand, and pushed his magic into it.

The moment his magic touched the rune, it was as if a siphon had opened up in his chest. He was vaguely aware of Korik hissing in surprise, or perhaps in pain, as the teleportation pulled all the magic he could give from his body, even pulling from Korik where their hands were clasped.

Then the teleportation took hold. The world wrenched hard around him, but his body was pinned tightly, unable to move—as if he’d suddenly been grasped in the fist of a giant and plucked away from the earth. He could barely breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think . Pain still radiated up and down his entire leg.

Alwyn had told him to focus, hadn’t he? Focus on where he needed to go. He tried to think of Drol Kuggradh, but his mind felt blurry around the edges. He was going to be sick.

With a terrible lurch, the spell ended, and Varen collapsed to the ground. He felt, more than saw, Korik fall beside him. He’d been on his horse, but the horse was now gone. The spell hadn’t been able to touch it. The ground beneath him was cold, and the air was crisp and still.

“Fuck,” he hissed out through gritted teeth, curling in on himself. This wasn’t Drol Kuggradh, and his leg was on fire with agony from where he’d stumbled.

“Varen,” Korik panted, kneeling beside him. “Lay still. Let me see.”

“I fucked it up,” Varen groaned. He tried to relax the tension in his body, keeping him curled up in pain. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know how far we are from Drol Kuggradh. I’m sorry.”

“Be quiet and focus ,” Korik snapped, and his tone was so jarring that Varen had no choice but to obey. “Let me see the wound. I’m a healer, you idiot. Let me help you.”

Varen tried to roll himself onto his back so Korik could better see the wound, but it sent fire shooting down the length of his leg and up into his side. He bit back a whimper and forced himself to move, his vision going white with the effort. He could distantly hear Korik saying something in a low tone, maybe trying to comfort him; but the whole world had condensed down to the bolt in his thigh, the arrowhead stabbing and tearing the muscle with every movement.

Then Korik’s hands were on him—no, only one hand, pressing hard just above where the bolt had entered him, the other hand grabbing it.

“No, no, no— ” Varen protested, realizing what was happening. Korik ignored him and pulled the bolt out in one forceful tug. Varen screamed, and blood sprayed as he writhed, instinctively trying to get away from the source of the agony. But the orc grabbed him, deceptively strong—then magic was rushing through him, cooling his burning nerves. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. The rent flesh was pressed back together, healing rapidly with Korik’s magic.

Varen stared down at his leg. Blood still darkened his trousers, but through the rip in the cloth, he saw what had once been a deep gash was now a glistening scab. The pain that had him incapacitated seconds earlier was now fading away entirely, though his heart was still pounding.

“Whatever that spell was tapped me,” Korik sighed, leaning back. His brow was damp with sweat and his hands were shaking. “I can’t heal it any further. Sorry.”

Varen shook his head, still processing. So much had happened in mere minutes, but he suspected the teleportation was behind his lingering disorientation.

“No, it’s—I mean, thank you,” he croaked. Now that the adrenaline was fading, he could feel that he too was covered in a sheen of sweat, rapidly cooling in the cold air. “You saved me. Thank you.”

Korik made a faint noise that might have been in agreement or discomfort, his lips pursing around his tusks as he stood. For how lanky and thin he was compared to other orcs, he had held Varen down surprisingly easily.

But that was the least of his concerns—and it looked as though Korik was thinking the same, as he turned in a slow circle, examining their surroundings.

“Where are we?” Korik asked softly, frowning as he looked up at the sky. Varen sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and finally took in the environment.

Wherever they were, it absolutely was not Drol Kuggradh. The ground beneath him was cold, hard dirt; but he could see a layer of brown pine needles had been pushed aside where he’d landed and thrashed about. They were surrounded by trees, mostly tall evergreens; but some had already lost most or all of their leaves. None of them matched the short and scrubby evergreens that he knew surrounded Drol Kuggradh.

The air felt cold and thin in his lungs, and the familiarity of it filled him with dread. It felt like mountain air. But if they had ended up on a mountain, they had more than just overshot Drol Kuggradh.

“I’m not sure,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and raspy. “But I... I think we ended up rather far from Drol Kuggradh. I think we’re on a mountain.”

Korik frowned, still looking around. “I think so too. I wish I had more magic now... I could find the local animals and learn more.”

They were both silent for a long moment. Korik was still looking around; and while his expression was terse, Varen thought the terrible gravity of their situation hadn’t fully dawned on the orc yet.

He started to push himself up to stand, but hissed as the movement sent a deep ache radiating through his leg. While it wasn’t nearly as bad as when he’d had an arrow in it, there was still clearly a healing wound there. Korik looked at him sharply, brows furrowed with worry.

“Just stay there,” he urged, kneeling beside him again. “Don’t stand yet.”

“Okay, okay,” Varen groaned. “I’m sorry. I guess we might as well set up camp here, then, if I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Korik turned his gaze upward one more time, yellow eyes scanning the sky with obvious worry. The surrounding trees were dense, though, and blotted out most of the sky above; and it was much more cloudy here than it had been over the plains. Varen wondered if Korik was worried about the other druid still trying to watch them from the eyes of birds, or if he was trying to find the sun.

He couldn't bring himself to ask—couldn’t bring himself to speak into existence that they were far, far more distant from the camp or Drol Kuggradh than either had expected.

Had Alwyn tricked him? Part of him wanted to blame the elf, who was conveniently not there to defend himself; but Varen couldn’t deny that he hadn’t exactly been focused when he’d activated the stone. It had worked, but he hadn’t been able to guide it well enough to get them where he wanted to go. And hadn’t Alwyn told him the rune had all the magic it would need? So why had it drained them both? Maybe Alwyn had planned for it to only use one person’s worth of magic, expecting him to use it to get away from Korik, not bring him along. Maybe that extra magic had sent them further from their destination. Or maybe that was all excuses, and the fault was his alone.

He tried to push the thoughts from his mind. Right now, they had to worry about making a fire and setting up camp, so they could survive the rest of the day—gods, it wasn’t even midday yet—and hopefully figure out more once they’d had the chance to recover.

“The horses are gone,” Korik said softly, pulling Varen from his thoughts. The orc had said it so quietly that Varen suspected he hadn’t meant for him to hear, but still he grimaced with guilt.

Then a sickening worry overtook him—his parchment he’d been using to communicate with Aefraya had been in his horse’s saddlebags, too. He hadn’t thought to keep it on his person. Now, at best, it was lost forever, and at worst, in the hands of the leader of the rebel group; either way, it meant he had no way of alerting anyone where they were or what had happened.

Varen closed his eyes, fighting against the panic that threatened to overtake him.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “The horses… Mine was a lost cause, and—I mean, I wasn’t sure how the spell would work, if it would take the horse. I’m sorry. I know you were fond of your horses.”

Something in Korik’s eyes hardened, which somehow only made Varen feel worse.

“You were right,” he replied. “It’s better not to name them.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to be right about something as horrible as that.