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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Korik

Varen was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day. After their encounter, they soaked separately until late in the afternoon, then came back together to set up camp a little ways away from the hot spring. He wondered if he had hurt Varen, but the elf refused his offer of healing and denied being in pain—but still, he was quiet and subdued. Korik resigned himself to not knowing; perhaps the elf was just tired, trying to relax while they were here.

After they’d eaten, Varen set his bedroll down beside Korik’s again, even though the ambient warmth of the hot springs meant that the night air wasn’t as cold as it had been higher up in the mountains. Not that Korik would complain. He had decided that if Varen did not want the same things Korik wanted, then he would just absorb as much as he could in the time they still had together, and try not to let his worry for the future sully the present. So he stared up at the stars as the elf slept near him, memorizing the sensation of knowing the elf’s body was so close, and the sound of his slow, even breaths.

Eventually, though, he too succumbed to sleep. When he woke—later than usual, as the sun had already risen—Varen had curled toward him in the night, and Korik’s arm was around him. When Varen began to stir, he pulled his arm away, and the elf awoke none the wiser. Still, he gave Korik the same sleepy smile before rolling over, breathing in deeply, and getting up.

“I haven’t slept that well in weeks,” Varen murmured, stretching. “Stopping here was a good call.”

They packed leisurely, all sense of urgency gone now that they had descended the mountain. The journey ahead, though not over by any means, was far less dangerous now they were in the valley. Still, once they were ready to go, Korik scouted ahead as usual, dipping his hands in the warm spring water as he spread his awareness out into the earth—a welcome contrast to the cold, hard ground he’d so often had to touch in the past days.

There was plenty of wildlife surrounding the hot springs, so he held the first bird he found—a snow finch just a few yards away from him and Varen—and flitted through the air. Snow blanketed the ground, so they would still need their snowshoes, but the way ahead had no obvious signs of danger. He saw some prints that clearly belonged to a bear, but it was heading south into the foothills, not east along their path of travel. Satisfied, he released the snow finch; it would find its way back easily enough, its instincts already pushing against him to return to where it knew it would be safest.

When he opened his eyes, Varen was not beside him as he usually was. For an instant, his stomach dropped in dread and worry. He’d been gone for not even half an hour—what could have happened? He heard footsteps crunching behind him and whirled around. Varen was on the opposite end of the hot springs, brows furrowed as he hurried toward Korik.

“We’ve got company,” he said as he approached, his voice a low whisper. “I thought I heard steps, but it was hard to tell over the sound of the water. I went to the edge of the pools, and I saw a clan of orcs coming this way. They definitely saw me. I didn’t—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Korik fought down the initial wave of panic from Varen’s words. This far north, the clans they would come across were very unlikely to be associated with the rebels in the southwest. They might be distrustful of an elf in their historic territory, but even here, the peace treaty between their nations was old news. While they might not be welcoming, he doubted they would be outright hostile, either.

“It’s alright,” Korik said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “We’re about to leave. Let’s just go.”

Varen chewed his bottom lip, glancing behind him. “You don’t think they’ll follow us?”

“They’re probably wanting to use the hot springs, same as us,” Korik said. “They won’t stop us.”

He could see the group of orcs through the trees now, a distance away, just as surely as they could see him. Korik pulled his rucksack onto his shoulders and motioned for Varen to follow. In the distance, he saw one orc turn to another, gesturing in their direction. The other raised their hands to their mouth: a sharp, long whistle pierced the cold air.

“Shit,” Varen hissed, reaching for his sword, but Korik grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” he said. The whistle was just a greeting used to acknowledge others over long distances, though he could not deny the nerves mounting in his own chest.

“Good morning, cousin,” a female voice called—the same orc who had whistled. “We mean no harm.”

“See?” Korik murmured, but he realized as he said it that he and Varen always spoke elvish to each other, so he had no idea if the elf understood. Varen was still tense, but at Korik’s words, he released his grip on the holt of his sword; only then did Korik release his hold on the elf’s upper arm. They both stood, motionless and uncertain, as the group of orcs tramped through the snow closer to them.

It was a small clan with only about twenty orcs, about five children and fifteen adults. They were all bundled up and wearing snowshoes; behind them, two mules pulled a sled that was piled with wood and other supplies. A mountain clan preparing for the worst of winter, Korik suspected. They might spend a month or more here, waiting for the coldest, cruelest weeks to pass in a place of relative safety. The adults were all armed, but none were reaching for their weapons. When they reached the opposite end of the springs, the one who had called to them—likely the clan’s leader—lifted her hands up in a show of nonaggression and walked around the perimeter of the pool toward them, stopping a few paces away.

“We weren’t expecting to see anyone here,” she said, now speaking normally instead of shouting. Her skin was a deep green with lighter freckles sprinkled across her face; a small gem was inlaid on one of her tusks, and her long black hair fell in two tight braids over each shoulder to nearly her waist. “But no need to leave in a hurry. We’ve room for another.” Her eyes flicked to Varen, but her expression remained cautiously curious, with no hint of hostility. “Or two.”

“We were just about to leave,” Korik said, shaking his head. “Just camping here for the night.”

“Only the two of you? It’s dangerous to be traveling this time of year with so few,” the woman said.

“Our destination is not far,” Korik replied. The woman eyed him with curiosity, then gestured at the elf.

“How much orcish does this one understand?” she asked. Varen tensed beside Korik, but he could tell from the guarded expression on his face that he wasn’t picking up more than a few words from her—on edge just from her pointing at him.

“Little,” Korik answered. “We come from Drol Kuggradh, where elvish is spoken more and more these days.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You’ve come very far, then, cousin.”

“A long tale,” he replied, still uncertain how much he should share.

“Are you accompanying him to the elven outpost, then?” she asked. “I can’t imagine anything else this far north the elves would be interested in.”

Korik glanced at Varen, who looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“Yes,” he answered simply, looking back at the woman.

For a moment, the three of them stood in silence. Korik watched her as she glanced between the two of them, then turned back to her clan, waiting on the opposite side of the spring.

“You’ll need better snowshoes, both of you,” she said, gesturing for the clan to approach. “Let’s trade.”

“What’s happening?” Varen asked sharply, frowning as the group drew closer.

“She’s offered to trade with us,” Korik said. “Be calm. We could use the supplies.”

Varen frowned, but nodded.

“I’m Rhagir, by the way,” the woman said, looking back at Korik. “Tell your elf friend there’s no need to be so standoffish. He looks like he’s ready to make a run for it any second.”

“I’m Korik,” he answered. “And... This is Varen.” The elf eyed him sharply, recognizing the exchange of names, but said nothing. “He’s harmless.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Rhagir laughed. “But I can’t blame him. Being outnumbered by this many orcs—his ancestors are weeping in their graves, surely.” She turned toward Korik. “You’re a druid, right? I can smell the magic on you.”

Korik blinked, taken aback. “Smell it?”

She laughed again. “Unfortunately, that’s the extent of my own magical ability. Not enough to be a druid myself, but enough to sense whoever has the gift.”

“I... I see,” Korik stammered. “Well. Yes. But I’m a healer in Drol Kuggradh, mostly.”

The rest of her clan had arrived now, and she turned to them.

“Dekir, bring me the extra snowshoes,” she called. A young boy in the group nodded, turning toward the sled being pulled by the mules. “And some of the salt pork, too, I think.”

“There’s no need, really,” Korik protested, but she shook her head.

“Snowshoes at the very least,” she said, gesturing to the worn out panels at his feet. “Those would be better as baskets. No offense, but I can tell you made them yourself.”

He winced, but nodded. “Yes. We were... unprepared.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a long moment. Beside him, Varen remained tense, but Korik could tell some of it was fading into curiosity as he watched the boy rummaging through their bundles of supplies on the sled.

“Are you safe?” Rhagir asked abruptly, though she said it in the same calm tone. Korik stared at her, blinking in surprise. “With him, I mean. Neither of you look like you’re prepared for a winter journey this far north. Is he forcing you to go with him or something?”

“No, no,” Korik stammered, flushing with embarrassment as he shook his head. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Are you sure? You’re welcome to join us,” Rhagir pressed. “Our clan would gladly accept a druid, especially if you’re a healer. Our druid passed of old age before the peace treaty, and Dekir has the gift, but no one to train him. And several of our clan succumbed to ash fever this spring. A healer would be sorely appreciated.”

“He’s my... friend,” Korik said, glancing at Varen, who looked at him in confusion. “We didn’t mean to end up here. It’s a long story, but we... got lost. We’re headed for the elven fort. I don’t need rescuing, but I would be happy to heal any of your clan should they need it.”

Rhagir stared at him for a long moment, clearly not believing his story. But then the boy, Dekir, approached with two bags, one large and one small. She took them with a sigh.

“If you insist,” she said, then opened the bag. “Let’s see. I’ve got a pair of snowshoes Dekir outgrew for your elf friend. And here’s two spares for you—try them on and see which set fits better.”

“What do they want for these?” Varen asked suspiciously, as Korik handed him the set of child’s snowshoes.

“They haven’t asked,” Korik replied. “But I’ve offered to heal any of their wounded or sick. They have no healer with them. That alone should make for an even trade.”

Varen nodded, looking at the snowshoes that were obviously of a far finer quality than the ones Korik had managed to cobble together during the snowstorm. Eying Rhagir uncertainly, he slowly sat down to pull off his makeshift snowshoes. The new ones fit him well: the shape and length of them were much more suitable and had straps made of actual thick fabric to tie more tightly around his feet. The ones Korik had made just had loops woven from strips of bark.

“I’m surprised they had any this small,” Varen said, and Korik nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to tell the elf that the pair he wore were meant for a child.

He tried on the snowshoes that Rhagir had given him. The first pair fit well enough, so he handed the extra set back over, which she took with the same pensive expression.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come with us?” she asked. “Dekir could really use a teacher. And the more the clan grows, the better it is for all of us. We’ve suffered losses lately. More will always be welcome.”

The orc boy looked to be ten years old, perhaps younger. He had remained beside Rhagir, watching Korik silently with big, hopeful eyes. Trial and error was a difficult teacher; a pang of guilt wracked Korik’s stomach at the thought of leaving one with the gift to their own devices. But he couldn’t leave Varen behind, and they had to get to the outpost in Solitude.

“I’m sure,” Korik replied, looking away from the boy. “Sorry. But I plan to return to Drol Kuggradh after this.”

Rhagir sighed, shrugging. “Alright, well. If you ever change your mind, you have a standing invitation to join up with us.”

Korik wanted to protest, but she seemed insistent, so he only responded, “I’ll keep it in mind. Thank you.”

Thankfully, she did not bring it up again. Instead, she called for any sick and injured in her clan to come to him; and he spent the next half-hour healing various injuries and ailments. Mostly, they were small injuries that were common enough from walking so long in the snow: a twisted ankle that still ached; skin that had split from the cold, dry air; the youngest child, not yet two years, had the beginnings of a respiratory illness that he was able to isolate and extract before it could develop beyond a stuffy nose. The girl glared at him after she coughed up the thick phlegm, but her mother thanked him generously, giving him an extra bag of grain from her own belongings.

When Korik was done with everyone who had approached him, Varen was sitting on a rock with their payment: in addition to the snowshoes they now wore, they had two bags of grain, a thick cut of salted pork, a banged-up pot, two knitted scarves, a pair of mittens that would only fit Korik, and a fur cloak sized for a child that Varen had already wrapped around his shoulders. The cloak had some damage—some fur singed off near the shoulders, and a long tear near the bottom—but with the little they had, it would be a welcome supplement. All in all, it seemed a very fair trade.

Varen appeared less on-edge now, too, though he’d been watching Korik closely the entire time.

“All done,” Korik said, turning to him. Varen grinned up at him.

“Seems like this worked out well for us, all things considered,” he said, and Korik nodded.

“Healer,” a voice came from behind him. Korik turned back to see Dekir standing there, wringing his hands nervously. “Do you really have to go?”

Korik sighed, trying to push down the guilt of not helping. “I do. I am sorry.”

“Is there anything you can teach me before you go?” he asked, though his eyes darted nervously over to Varen as he said it. Korik bit his lower lip, considering. There was nothing he could do with Varen around—he particularly didn’t want them to know that he had shared the secrets of druidic magic with an elf. He tried to recall the things that his father had told him when he was young: how he had instructed him when his efforts were clumsy with youth. It had all come so easily now for so long, it was hard to remember how he had gotten to the point of it being second nature.

“Don’t try to push into the earth,” Korik finally said. “Open yourself to its power instead. Invite it in, and it will be more welcoming to you.”

The boy looked unimpressed, his eyes turning down to the ground. “I see... Thank you for your wisdom.”

He scurried away through the snow before Korik could respond. Korik frowned as he watched Dekir go, wishing there was more he could say. But it would take more than just a few sentences to give the boy any meaningful information, so his request was an impossible one.

Before they could leave, Rhagir approached them again.

“Thanks for your help, Healer.” She offered her hand to Korik. They shook, and she added in a low tone, “I meant what I said about a standing invitation. You’ll always be welcome if you decide city life isn’t for you anymore.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Korik muttered. Rhagir glanced at Varen, who was hovering a few steps behind Korik, then waved at him with a stifled grin. Varen gave a start, grimaced, and returned the wave with some awkwardness.

“Safe travels,” she said, then turned to rejoin their clan.

“Safe travels,” Korik echoed. He and Varen stood there for a moment, then Korik helped him gather up the extra bags of their new belongings, and they set out.

“What was all that about?” Varen asked when they had put some distance between them and the springs. “I didn’t understand much of what she was saying. She was the clan leader, right?”

“Yes,” Korik replied, unsure of how much to tell. “They’re going to camp here for the worst of the winter, so we got here at a good time. Then she was offering to trade for healing. She said she could, er, tell I had some magic.”

“It seemed like she was asking you a lot of questions,” Varen remarked. Korik hesitated. Was it just idle conversation, or was Varen trying to press him for more information?

“The younger boy who brought us the snowshoes,” he finally said, partly deflecting. “She said he had the gift. Magic to become a druid. But they don’t have anyone left in the clan to teach him. So she was asking me if I would stay and teach him.”

He heard Varen sigh beside him, but couldn’t bring himself to look at the elf. “Poor boy. Must be difficult knowing you have the talent, but no teacher to help shape it.”

Korik nodded, trying to ignore the stab of guilt at his words. “Yes. I was sorry I couldn’t do more. He was frustrated, too.”

“Hopefully he can find someone,” Varen said. Korik didn’t respond.

Their new snowshoes worked much better than the handmade pairs Korik had cobbled together, so they made faster progress than expected. When the sun began to set, they found a good place to camp under the shelter of a cluster of trees. With the supplies they had received in the trade, they had an actual hot, hearty meal: a savory porridge with the pork and grain, plus a handful of greens that Korik had gathered.

Korik’s belly was full when they laid down to sleep, an experience he’d sorely missed. The sky was clear, letting the stars and moon fill his vision as he lay on his back. The air was cold and crisp in his nose; but their campfire was warm, and Varen beside him was warm, too. This time, when the elf shuffled closer to him for warmth, Korik let himself turn toward him. One arm draped over Varen’s smaller body, and he didn’t pull away.

His thoughts continually went back to Rhagir, Dekir, and the mountain clan. He had been so quick to turn them down; but maybe they could come to some arrangement, where he spent time with them when he wasn’t in Drol Kuggradh. He wanted to travel more now, and doing so in the safety of a clan was always preferable. It would be something to think about, but later.

Korik tried to push it from his mind and focus on the sensation of the elf beside him, rather than thoughts of the future. They were comfortable and safe. It was the most he could hope for, so he would enjoy it for now.