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Chapter Nineteen

Korik

He had to make another trip through the forest in search of the leaves of the tuarig tree, which had fever-reducing properties; but eventually Korik had enough medicinal herbs to relieve Varen’s symptoms, enough to hold him over until his own magic could clear the infection from within. When he arrived back at the camp, though, he found his problem was twofold: Varen’s fever had worsened, his face visibly flushed; and he realized he had no cauldron or kettle to brew his herbs in to make an effective tonic.

When he lightly touched Varen’s forehead, the elf felt warmer than he had before; but he barely stirred in response, which was worrying in itself. Korik hesitated, then pulled off the blanket Varen had curled up under, hoping the cool mountain air would help mitigate the rise in his temperature.

Then he turned to the campfire, worrying his upper lip between his teeth. He had enough water to boil the herbs, but no container to keep them in that would be large enough. Getting Varen to eat the herbs directly would probably be much more difficult, and the medicinal properties would be diminished.

Korik looked through his things once more, then through Varen’s, which were still set out around him. They each had a metal cup for warm drinks, but how could he fit all the herbs together? And how could he safely hold them over the fire? Maybe he could split the herbs between two cups, and put a slab of stone over the fire? Maybe he could nestle the cups in embers, though it would give him much less control over how quickly the mixture boiled...

It was far from ideal, but he would just have to make do. He used Varen’s knife to cut up the herbs and leaves into small pieces, splitting them between the two cups and filling each about halfway with water. Then he used a stick to pull a few embers from the fire, arranged them into neat circles, and carefully placed the metal cups within. The embers directly touched the metal and soon the liquid was boiling; he pushed them away a bit to bring it down to a simmer. But it cooled quickly, and he was constantly having to monitor the cups and the embers to keep the simmer going. Eventually, much of the liquid had evaporated, the herbs cooked down into greenish sludge. He pushed the dying embers back into the fire and waited for the syrupy liquid to cool.

While he waited, Korik checked on Varen again. The elf was still sleeping, but shifted restlessly often, searching for the blanket Korik had taken away. A thin sheen of sweat covered every inch of his exposed skin. Korik felt his forehead again; his fever was the same, but at least it hadn’t worsened.

Once the liquid had cooled and he could touch the cups without burning himself, Korik carefully pulled out as much of the solids as he could, pouring it into one cup slowly so the sediment remained at the bottom. Then he discarded those herbs and poured the mixture back into the now-clean cup just as slowly. A few flecks of plant matter still floated in the condensed mixture, but it was drinkable.

Now the question was whether he could get Varen to actually drink it. Korik eyed the elf, still sleeping fitfully. He hated having to rouse sleeping patients to take their medicine, but it was a necessary evil. And Varen had fallen asleep easily enough, so with any luck he could go right back to sleep without trouble.

“Varen,” Korik said. The elf did not respond. With his free hand, Korik gently shook his shoulder. “Varen, wake up.”

The elf’s eyes snapped open at his touch, looking around in confusion, before landing on Korik. He was disoriented and tired; though his fever was the same, Korik thought his overall condition was worse. He helped the elf sit up; as he did, his body trembled with the motion.

“Drink this,” he said, offering the cup to Varen, who looked at it in consternation for a moment before taking it. Even in his disoriented state, he looked suspiciously at the unpleasantly green concoction. “It will reduce pain and swelling, and help with your fever.”

“Looks like swamp water,” Varen rasped. Korik winced.

“True, but it’s not. Though I make no promises as to its taste,” he said. Despite his haggard appearance, Varen smirked and let out a small huff of a laugh. “Drink all of it. Best to get it down quickly, I think, and I have water for after.”

Varen took in a deep breath, then held the cup to his lips. At the first sip, his eyes widened, then narrowed as his nose wrinkled—the medicinal taste shaking off the last dregs of sleep. It might have been comical if Korik wasn’t so worried about him. But Varen was stubborn, and he drank the entire cup, though his eyes squeezed closed while the rest of his face twisted in disgust.

He let the cup drop from his hand. “Water,” he begged, but Korik was already holding the waterskin up to him. Varen took a drink, swished it around his mouth, and spat it out. Korik bit back a protest, thinking of how little water they had left; but then he took a few proper gulps and handed the waterskin back to Korik with a groan.

“Gods, that was horrific,” he muttered, laying back down. “I liked it better when you used magic to heal.”

Korik forced down a chuckle. “Me, too.”

Luckily, Varen settled back down with no more fuss. Before long, the elf’s eyes were closed, and his breathing sounded less shaky.

Korik left one more time to gather more of the herbs and leaves he’d found, on the off-chance Varen worsened in the night and needed more medicine—and even if not, it would be good to have extras in case of an emergency. When he got back to camp, the elf was still sleeping in the same position he’d been in when Korik left, so hopefully his sleep was more restful.

By now it was only mid-afternoon, and there were several hours of sunlight left. It felt like a waste not to continue foraging, but Korik was also wary of leaving Varen alone and helpless for too long—not to mention getting lost if he traveled too far from the camp. No, it would be safer to stay; they had enough rations for now.

Normally, they slept on opposite sides of the campfire, but Korik didn’t want to be too far from Varen in case he got worse. So he laid out his bedroll beside the sleeping elf, ignoring how awkward he felt to be so uncomfortably close to him. He had to be close for observation. If he was too far away, he might not notice a change until it was too late.

He spent most of the day worrying over their situation while tending to the fire; observing nearby birds and small creatures as they went about their lives; and looking over at Varen for any sign of his fever increasing or other distress. Luckily, the bitter medicine seemed to have done the trick, and the elf was sleeping much more calmly now.

Korik wasn’t tired by the time the sun started setting, but he knew he was mostly running on adrenaline. He could feel that a bit of magic had returned to him over the course of the day, but not enough to do anything substantial. The sooner he rested, the sooner his magic would be replenished enough to get Varen well again; then they could assess what they would do from there. But they had to survive first, and that meant getting through tonight, before worrying about the rest.

So he laid in his bedroll beside the sleeping elf and closed his eyes. He felt uncomfortably aware of Varen’s presence beside him: the sound of his breathing, and the soft rustle of his movements. But that was the entire reason he was so close, to be aware of him. It was just like any other patient, no matter how strange his body felt to be this close to Varen.

Sleep didn’t come easily, but it must have come for Korik, eventually. Nothing interrupted his sleep in the night, but when he woke, he saw Varen awake beside him. The elf’s face was pale and damp with sweat, but he managed a small smirk as Korik looked at him. He realized with a start their faces were only inches apart.

“Strange times, strange bedfellows, and all that, eh?” he said, his voice still raspy. Korik’s face flooded with heat, and he sat up quickly, embarrassed.

“I had to make sure you didn’t get worse in the night,” he muttered defensively, and Varen laughed again.

“Appreciate your kindness,” he said. Despite his teasing tone, he seemed unwilling to sit up on his own. Korik could feel his magic had replenished with rest, so with any luck they would be breaking camp and heading out within the hour.

“Let me see the wound,” Korik prompted him. Varen’s brow furrowed.

“You should check our surroundings first,” he said. “I’d rather know where we are, and how we can get out of here.”

Korik frowned. “It’s more important that you’re at full health and able to walk.”

“If you don’t have enough to do both, find out where we are first,” Varen insisted.

“The knowledge is meaningless without you,” Korik said. Varen’s eyes seemed to widen, and Korik felt his face flush again, realizing how... strong the phrasing he’d used was. “I mean... It’s like you said. We need each other to survive. So I need you walking. Or at least alive.”

Varen’s surprised expression had morphed into the same smug smirk as always. “Why, Korik,” he said. “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. I had no idea you felt that way.”

Korik huffed, trying to play off his mortification as annoyance. “You must be feeling better.”

Varen chuckled, but his smile became more of a grimace. He still hadn’t tried to sit up, so Korik was sure he was still in pain. How could Varen have thought Korik might ever entertain the idea of not healing him as soon as he could? He might have been a druid, but he was a healer first—his life in Drol Kuggradh had given him much more experience in the healing arts than anything else.

“Not as feverish, at least. Your horrible medicine did its job,” Varen murmured, wrinkling his nose with disgust. “But... There is still a lot of pain.”

“Let me see,” Korik prompted again. This time, Varen obeyed, gingerly pulling back the torn fabric of his trousers to reveal the wound. There was more redness than there had been last time Korik had looked it over, but the swelling was reduced. There was certainly a lingering infection, but he knew how to deal with that.

“This will only take a moment. It may hurt a bit, but it will be temporary,” Korik said softly, gingerly pressing his fingers to the bare skin around the wound and ignoring the way his stomach fluttered at touching Varen’s thigh. The elf hissed at the contact, tensing, but didn’t pull away.

He took his time now, letting his magic carefully seek out the pocket of infection that had been left behind, the tendrils of it reaching through muscle fibers and blood vessels. He gathered it all up into himself, filtering it out of the elf’s blood, until he was sure he had found everything. Then, as gingerly as he could, he made a small incision from within—Varen groaned in discomfort—and pulled out all the infection through it, blood and pus trickling out from the puncture until everything drained away. Finally, he went back and closed up the small wound that he’d made, then neatened up the original wound from the arrow that he’d healed too hastily.

When everything was as it should be, Korik pulled his hands away, and Varen let out a long sigh of relief.

“Feels better already,” he said, carefully stretching his leg.

“The symptoms of the infection may take a bit of time to subside, so keep resting until you feel well,” Korik said. “It should clear up within an hour, though. If you’re still feeling unwell after that, I can check you over again.”

“I’ll be fine,” Varen said, waving a dismissive hand. “Can you still figure out where we are?”

Korik sighed. “Yes. It may take some time. Rest while I look, alright?”

Varen muttered something under his breath, but he settled back into his bedroll without any further fuss. Korik stood and stretched, going through the morning routine that they had established in the earlier days of their journey. But he stoked the fire up a little from the embers, rather than burying it completely—unsure how long they might stay, or how cold it might remain.

Once he’d had a few bites of hard bread and cheese to sate his complaining stomach, Korik knelt back down and pressed his open palms to the earth, pushing past the layer of fallen leaves and pine needles to be in direct contact with the soil. He closed his eyes and expanded his awareness outward, his magic traveling through the cool layer of the earth in search of signs of life.

The first creature he snagged was a rabbit, hiding beneath the gnarled roots of a tree not far from where they’d made camp. Its vantage point was too low to tell Korik anything useful, so he released it and kept searching.

Eventually, he came across a snowy goshawk, preening itself high in a tree about a mile away. Its keen eyes and swift flight were well suited for Korik’s purposes. The goshawk screeched in alarm at his presence, but he calmed it quickly and sent it high into the air, trying to get a better sense of their surroundings.

That it was a snowy goshawk at all told him they were indeed far to the north, but his heart continued to sink the further up he flew, seeing just how high in the mountains they really were. He oriented the bird, as he saw the sun rising in the east, then turned it northward, heading up and over the mountains to find what lay beyond. If this was truly the Krag Gabriz range, then he would eventually see the coast to the north; and seeing how far the valley stretched before hitting the northern cliffs would give him a good idea as to where they were.

Korik could feel the bird’s growing unease about being so far from its territory. Birds of prey often had a stronger reaction to his presence and fought him more vigorously for control over their bodies. He did not like inhabiting predator creatures because of it. Prey animals often had instincts that would take them over, leaving much of their behavior out of their control; he suspected such creatures were not as alarmed to suddenly be passengers within their own little bodies. Predators were often more cunning, too—somehow more aware that he was something else , something separate from themselves, yet nonetheless still controlling them.

But he desperately needed to know where they were, and a bigger bird could cover longer distances than the little finches and buntings that were more plentiful. So he tried to calm the bird as much as he could, though it pained him to know he was distressing it.

Eventually, he crested the peak of the mountains and could see down into the valley below. It was a long descent, with many smaller peaks jutting up in between, but he followed the slope further and further.

And then he could just make it out—the glint of the ocean far in the distance. It was not close, but it wasn’t as far as he’d hoped, either. They were deep in orc territory still; he supposed it was all the same now, though he also wondered how much the remote clans here in the mountains cared about such things as peace treaties and annexations of land.

It would be a difficult path down the mountain, then they would still have a long way to go before they reached any civilization. He didn’t know exactly where the elven outpost Varen had mentioned was; but judging how far they were from the elven border, he wondered if they had any chance at all of making it there before succumbing to the elements.

Korik spent some time flying over the area, trying to find landmarks to plan out their course. What looked like a natural hot spring was nestled at the very base of the mountain, to the northeast of where they were, which would be an ideal location to aim for. He then made his way back to find themselves again, so that the goshawk was at least in familiar territory when he released it.

When he came back to himself, Varen was up and about, having already packed away all his things and in the process of shaking off his bedroll.

“Any luck?” he asked, glancing over at Korik, who grimaced. “Bad news, then?”

“Well...” Korik sighed, standing shakily. “We are definitely in the Krag Gabriz. I don’t know how far it is from the elven border, but it seems we are deep in orc territory. There’s a natural hot spring at the base of the mountain to the northeast. I think heading there will be our best bet, then head east for the fort you mentioned.”

“The hot springs,” Varen murmured, frowning. “I think I know what you’re talking about. If it’s the same place I’m thinking of, then we’re exactly where you say, and it’s at least a week from there to Solitude. And that’s if the weather is decent, which...”

He trailed off, glancing up at the sky. Clouds made the sunlight gray, but the air was temperate with a touch of morning chill. It would be the best they could hope for this time of year, though, and it was likely to only get worse the longer they were out.

“Do you think there’s anything closer?” Korik asked softly. He didn’t want to sound afraid, but it was hard to keep the nervous edge out of his voice. “Anything at all?”

“No,” Varen said brusquely, looking back down at the bedroll in his hands. “This is one of the most remote places I’ve ever been. Unless there’s an orc clan somewhere along the way that will let us shelter with them, I think we’re on our own til then.”

“And the teleportation stone? You can’t use it again?”

“Alwyn told me it had only one use,” Varen said, but he pulled the stone out of his bag anyway. It was a smooth stone about the size of the elf’s palm, but Korik could see a rune carved into it on one side. “It feels inert to me, but you’re much more skilled in that regard than I am. Take a look.”

Korik took the stone, turning it over and over in his hand. It was cool to the touch, and he couldn’t sense any magic within it. Considering the sheer amount of power it had used to get them there in the first place, he was sure that if there was any magic still within the stone, he would feel it. As Alwyn said, it was a single-use item.

“I don’t feel anything either,” Korik sighed, handing it back to him. “It’s possible we might come across an orc clan somewhere along the way, but... I doubt there are any on the mountain this time of year. And there’s no guarantee they’ll agree to help us.”

He didn’t add that while he could probably shelter with any clan they came across, it was Varen’s presence that would complicate things. Most orcs he knew had no qualms about the alliance between them and the elves, or the annexation of historic orc lands into Aefraya. After all, their way of life remained mostly unchanged, and it meant an end to the war so many of their number—their clanmembers, family, and friends—had been conscripted to fight in. The ones who had the strongest feelings had surely already gone west to join up with Zesh’s group of rebels.

But even the orcs who had no negative feelings about all the change of the past few years might still be distrustful of an elf amongst their number. In a remote clan like this, Korik imagined most of the orcs here had never met an elf before, where all sorts of superstitions and frightening stories about them had been told for generations. Even knowing they were just tall tales, it was hard to shake the distrust of them after a childhood of being told that an elf’s magic could siphon out your soul with a touch, or spoil your food forever with a curse.

So even if they did come across an orc clan, once they got off the mountain and down into the northern valleys, that would be no guarantee of their safety, nor promise of shelter. In all likelihood, though, Korik thought they would see no one, neither orc nor elf, until they arrived in Solitude.

Varen let out a long, slow sigh with his eyes closed, clearly as consumed by his thoughts as Korik with his own. When he opened them again, he looked up at Korik with a grim expression.

“Then we’d better get going,” he said simply.