Page 21

Chapter Twenty

Varen

How were they going to survive this?

The question echoed in Varen’s mind over and over again as they trudged their way north through the mountains. If they had any hope of making it to Solitude alive, they would need to get down the mountain as fast as possible, before the weather had the chance to turn on them. If it snowed, it would be a struggle to keep warm—they each had an extra change of clothes and a cloak with them, but it was far from the heavy snow gear that would keep them truly safe and dry against the elements. Magic would help, of course; but it was a finite resource, so it was a double-edged sword.

He wondered if using the teleportation stone was a mistake, if they would have stood a better chance of survival facing the orcs that had chased them down, rather than fleeing to this gods-forsaken mountain. If he ever saw Alwyn again, he decided, he would wring the scrawny little mage’s neck.

Korik had remained quiet as they walked. The orc was always quiet, but this seemed different. He was quiet like when they were chasing after Enriel, Varen thought—tense and worried, like a coiled spring just waiting to snap. He recognized it and felt the same.

Pine needles crunched beneath their feet with every step of their meandering journey. Hiking across a mountainside was miserable work; he was grateful Korik had been able to view the mountain from above to get a better idea of the path of least resistance. The sense of urgency in his chest was maddening, considering how long a journey stretched ahead and how slowly they had to go.

The small part of him that had hoped his familiarity with the Krag Gabriz mountains might help keep them alive was gradually dwindling down to nothing. He had spent a month alone in these mountains, surviving as one of his final training exercises, but it had been an entirely different area of the mountain range. Not to mention it had been—how long? Seventy, maybe eighty years? While he had only built upon the skills that he’d used back then, the memory of anything specific had faded long ago. What he remembered of those days in the mountains differed completely from this , the higher peaks in the colder territories.

Plus, he’d been equipped with all the necessities he would need when he’d set out back then. After all, these excursions were planned well ahead of time; he had never been thrust into the wilderness with so little to start. If it had been any other season—hells, even just a few weeks earlier—he would have felt much more confident in their ability to rough it with what they had, at least until they reached the base of the mountain. Now, he could feel the cruel chill in the air that he recognized as the bite of an impending storm; maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon enough. What then? What use would his extra clothes and cloak and sword and arrows be then?

Korik had woven together several small panels of branches while he’d been out cold last night, but Varen was unsure how useful they would be. If it snowed, they would be helpful in keeping the bulk of it off any sort of tent or shelter they set up; but if a true blizzard hit them, he didn’t think they would hold up for long. If they had a few more, bigger and made of sturdier materials...

“Wait,” Korik said, pulling him from his thoughts. The orc had stopped beside a tree, looking up into its branches. Varen followed his gaze and saw a few paltry clusters of fruit. Korik was tall enough that he only had to reach up to pull down the laden branch; the fruit looked like hard, small apples, which easily separated from the branch when Korik tugged at them with his other hand.

“They’re edible?” Varen asked, eyeing them with uncertainty. Korik nodded, absently handing him the small apples as he reached up into the tree again.

“Wild apples. Yes,” he said, then grimaced. “They don’t taste good, frankly. But they’re edible. The inner bark is edible, too, though even more bitter.”

“Here,” Varen said, giving him the knife that he kept in his belt. Korik cut off a few branches that had a few lingering clusters of tiny apples still on them, likely the very last dregs of the season; some had clearly been pecked at by birds or burrowed through by worms, but he wouldn’t turn down anything that would bolster their food reserves.

Once Korik had cut down every branch with any remaining fruit, they continued on their way. Varen put all the little apples wrapped in their own piece of cloth, worrying about bugs getting into the rest of their rations if they were loose, while Korik peeled off the outer bark of the branches.

When the first branch was clean, he sliced off a strip of the inner bark, cut it in half, and offered a piece to Varen. He took it, but waited until Korik put his own piece in his mouth. The orc winced as he chewed on the soft, woody material.

“It tastes bad,” he affirmed, and Varen laughed before biting down on the bark. A bitter, medicinal taste flooded his mouth, as if he had licked a glob of sap right off the branch. The woody texture was unpleasant: soft and mealy, yet requiring long minutes of chewing before Varen could bring himself to swallow.

“You’re right,” he agreed, his voice coming out choked. Korik laughed humorlessly, taking another bite.

They continued mostly in silence for the rest of the day. Occasionally, Korik would stop again so they could gather edible plants, and Varen kept an eye out for any game that he could hunt, but was unsuccessful. His leg was mostly feeling better with Korik’s healing, but was tender to the touch. By sunset, it was aching again with every step, so they were looking for a safe place to shelter.

Korik spotted what looked like a cave. When they investigated, it appeared to be an abandoned den, possibly for a bear or a wolf. Korik worried that whatever creature had made it might come back for it, but Varen doubted it. There were no fresh tracks leading in or out; and if a bear were using it to hibernate, they’d have woken it by now.

It was probably going to be the best shelter they could find, and with the panels Korik had woven together, it would be well-protected against the elements. So with another hour of sunlight left, Korik started a fire, and Varen walked a wide perimeter around the den to see if he would have any better luck hunting. He only found squirrels, though, and ensnared them with magic to kill them cleanly with his knife rather than potentially lose an arrow trying to shoot the little creatures in the trees. He managed to get three before the light was starting to well and truly fade, so he headed back.

The fire was crackling away just in front of the entrance to the den. Korik was crouched down to set up his bedroll within when Varen arrived.

“Shame we don’t have any cooking utensils,” Varen sighed, as he took a seat in front of the fire and prepared to skin the animals. “Squirrel is better in stew than on its own.”

When their modest dinner was ready, twilight had faded into night, leaving only the campfire to illuminate them. Varen handed two of the roasted squirrels to Korik.

“You take the extra,” Korik protested, but Varen shook his head.

“You’re bigger than me. You need more food,” he said. Korik frowned, but couldn’t seem to find the words to protest, so he begrudgingly took both.

Their dinner consisted of the three roasted squirrels, a few of the hard apples, and a handful of small tubers that Korik had dug up and baked in the embers of the fire, which tasted rather like a potato with a harder texture. All in all, it was one of the poorer meals Varen had eaten, but he’d certainly had worse while out in the wilds. Still, the memory of his uncle’s excellent cooking just a few short weeks ago sent pangs of longing through his stomach. Even a pinch of salt would have made everything a little more palatable.

“Good night,” he muttered despondently, as he retired back to his bedroll. Several long seconds of silence passed before Korik answered softly,

“Good night.”

Sleep came easily, considering how exhausted he was, and he woke to the light of sunrise filtering through the trees. Some of their branches had a slight dusting of frost.

Varen sat up in alarm, his head immediately on a swivel to inspect their surroundings. No snow was falling, but some must have fallen in the night. A few patches of faint white remained on the ground, though they were rapidly melting in the morning sun.

Had there been frost or snow in the morning yesterday? He’d been so unwell that he hadn’t noticed. Korik was still asleep a few feet away from him; he wondered if the orc had seen any snow the previous morning. It didn’t exactly bode well either way. They could travel through a sprinkle of snow like this, of course, but there was no guarantee it would stop once it started.

Varen crawled out of bed and got the fire going once again out of habit, though he realized once he’d stoked the flames back up that they had no pot in which to prepare coffee or porridge. Instead, he roasted a handful of the small, hard apples Korik had picked yesterday, hoping they might be a little more palatable once baked. His mind drifted to wishes of cinnamon and sugar for their breakfast, then to meats and pastries and better days with better meals.

Korik stirred awake now that the fire was going, blinking blearily at Varen for a moment before sitting up.

“Good morning,” Varen said, putting on as chipper of a tone as he could manage. “You didn’t happen to notice any frost or snow on the ground yesterday morning, did you?”

Korik stared, then looked around with increasing concern. He would take that as a no, then. The thin layer of frost on the branches that he’d noticed had melted into nothing, but a few faint patches lingered on the ground.

Korik sighed. “No. This is new. We’re a bit higher in elevation, so maybe that’s why.”

“Hopefully,” Varen agreed with a sigh. “Would you mind taking a look around to see if it’s still snowing anywhere else? Or if it looks like a storm is coming in?”

“I can try,” Korik agreed.

Varen watched as the orc sat back down and placed his hands on the ground before closing his eyes. He could faintly sense the wash of magic pass over him, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Part of him wondered what it must have felt like, stretching his awareness so far outside of himself—it was entirely different from any use of magic that he had ever been taught.

Korik was still and silent. His head turned slightly up, his lips slightly parted, and his long, dark hair cascaded along the side of his face to his shoulder. Varen looked at him for a long while. He was so unlike any other orc Varen had met. Not just in his appearance, long and lanky with wiry muscle, but in his mannerisms and behavior.

He had worked with his fair share of orcs in the time he’d spent in Drol Kuggradh, many of them warriors and leaders in their own right. They were often loud and imposing and pushy , which was saying a lot coming from Varen, who knew his own vices well enough. Korik was a silent observer in comparison, absorbing everything, but only adding his thoughts when he deemed it necessary. But he was perceptive and intelligent, and the way he saw things was so very different—both from Varen, and from his experience with most orcs.

And to think he hadn’t wanted a healer with them at all when Enriel had first asked him to accompany her back to Aefraya. Now, if he had to pick anyone to be lost in the wilderness with, Korik was certainly one of the highest on his list.

He had come to expect this part of Korik’s abilities to take a while, so eventually he pulled himself out of his strangely affectionate thoughts and busied himself with putting together some semblance of a morning meal. The waterskin they shared was nearly empty, and they’d had little luck finding fresh water to fill it, so he used his own magic to pull the moisture from the nearby frost into the container. It was tedious work, but he had done it a thousand times before and it was easier than pulling water from the air or from deep within the earth, so he supposed they were lucky in that regard, if nothing else.

After nearly an hour, the waterskin was full and the camp was tidy; but Korik was still sitting motionless right where Varen had left him. He looked at the orc with growing concern, wondering if he should try to shake him out of it, like how he had when they had to flee. Ultimately, he decided against it: maybe he had found something important, or was investigating the route they would take today.

Varen sat down across from him and busied himself with whittling some sticks he’d found, sharpening them into points to more easily roast things over the fire. It was simple work and didn’t take long, but he’d gone through two sticks and was on the third when Korik finally stirred, his eyes opening and blinking rapidly.

“What did you find?” Varen asked. Korik’s eyes landed on him, but he still blinked hard a few times before he seemed to really focus. His expression remained grim, which was disheartening.

“A storm coming in,” he said, frowning. “I could see snow falling, and the clouds starting to form. Didn’t want to get too close, but I think it’ll hit here by nightfall, maybe early tomorrow at the latest. I don’t know how long it might last.”

“Shit,” Varen sighed, leaning back. He closed his eyes, trying to think rationally despite the panic swelling in his chest. All things considered, the little cave they’d found wasn’t a bad place to weather out a storm. If they went out, they might find somewhere better, or they might not. Their time would be better spent fortifying what they already had here and gathering supplies to wait it out. Or should they try to get as far down the mountain as they could to hopefully avoid the worst of the storm, or get far enough away it might break apart into harmless snowfall by the time it reached them?

“We should stay here,” Korik said, though his voice wavered as he said it.

“I was thinking the same,” Varen agreed, forcing himself to sound more sure than Korik had. He stood, abandoning his whittling. “We need to gather up as much food as we can, then. Those wood panels you wove, do we have enough to fully cover the entrance of the den?”

Korik turned and looked back at the little cave, assessing. “Not quite. But I can make another or two to make sure. And… I never got to use the trick I learned, making the wall of dirt. I could do that to seal it up, too.”

“Focus on insulating the den as much as you can,” Varen said. “I’ll see if I can hunt anything or forage. I filled the waterskin, too—once the snow starts falling we should be alright in that regard, I think.”

“I’ll look for more stones to keep the inside warm,” Korik said, still looking at the cave. “Don’t worry about foraging, I think. We’re not likely to find much now, and it’s too early for most of the winter berries to be ripe.”

“Maybe more of those apples,” Varen chuckled humorlessly. He was already standing and preparing his things; he’d been ready to break camp, but now he emptied out his bag of all but the necessities that he would need for hunting.

“Varen,” Korik said. Varen froze, looking over at the orc. A pained expression was on his face. The orc was worried about him, Varen realized, and the thought made his stomach flutter pathetically. “Be careful. Come back at the first sign of snow. Don’t get caught too far.”

Varen wanted to smirk and boast that he would never be caught unaware—that he was the ranger in command, after all, and knew what he was doing. But he was trying to be gentler with Korik, who was showing him genuine vulnerability.

“I’ll be careful. I promise,” Varen replied softly. Korik’s face darkened, and he glanced away—probably expected a haughty response, Varen thought, and was caught off-guard that his care was noted and appreciated. He didn’t know what to make of the ache that stirred in his chest at Korik’s reaction.

“Good,” was all Korik murmured in return. Varen finished gathering his things and headed out with no further comment. They had no time to spare.