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Chapter Two

Korik

With each passing day, Korik regretted agreeing to take the journey more and more. While he had grown up in a roving band of orcs, he had remained in Drol Kuggradh for many years now—long enough that he worried such an expedition would be embarrassingly difficult and that he would just slow the elves down.

Even planning to leave for a full month was a significant inconvenience. Roz would have to stay behind, and she was, of course, only a cat as far as what she could do; so while she could fetch medicines and take payment, if anyone needed real medical attention, then they would have to seek out an elf medic.

While the elf presence in Drol Kuggradh had increased significantly, and everyone lived in relative harmony with each other, Korik knew there were plenty of orcs in the city who valued their pride above all else. They might have no qualms about living alongside elves, but would stubbornly refuse to go to them for assistance, even in a life or death matter. Maybe if they were lucky, a friendly clan would be camping outside the city walls with their own healer. If anyone became seriously ill during his absence—or, gods forbid, died—he knew it would weigh heavily on him, whether or not others blamed him.

Still, he’d told the pair he would accompany them; and he was equally certain that if something happened to Enriel or her baby while they were on the road, he would feel just as much guilt. So there was nothing to be done; he had to go with them.

He spent most of the week preparing as many herbs and medicines as he possibly could, so that Roz had plenty of stock to select from. When the shelves were overflowing, he then made sure the cat door beside the window worked. One hinge squealed loudly when she pushed the flap open, so he took it out to replace it. She watched him with idle annoyance as she lay in front of the door, tail twitching. When he was nearly done, she broke her silence.

“Don’t like customers ,” she grumbled, turning her head away from him. He sighed, glancing over at her. She’d been very cross with him when he’d explained the situation, and her mood had not improved much since then.

“I know you don’t,” he replied. “But it will only be for a little while. And they might give you treats.”

He could feel her interest stirring slightly at that; but her tail remained flicking in annoyance, and she didn’t turn to look at him.

Korik smirked as he added, “I know it’s a big responsibility. If you don’t think you can do it, I suppose I don’t have to put the bell out...”

Roz turned and hissed at him; he chuckled, shaking his head.

“ I can do it ,” she grumbled, getting to her feet and stretching, her ears pulled back. “ Annoying. That’s all. ”

He offered his hand; and despite the simmering irritation he felt from her, she stepped toward him and bumped her little head against his hand, allowing him to scratch her chin for a moment. Then she jumped up onto the windowsill and tested the cat door again—now fixed and silent.

“ Better ,” she thought, and she darted through it. Even as he chuckled, his chest ached as she disappeared from sight. For most magic-users, a familiar was only a tool: a piece of their magic placed outside their body. He wasn’t sure if other such orcs had a similar fondness for their familiars—part of him thought they must have, since familiars were truly pieces of their masters, after all—but he certainly had a soft spot for the little calico and would miss her while he was gone. At least she could take care of herself, which was one less thing he would have to worry about while he was away.

When he came back inside, Roz was pacing between the narrow shelves, her nose twitching, and her tail held up straight. She gave him an unimpressed glance as he watched her inspect the wares that he’d prepared.

“ Good enough ,” she thought, then jumped up onto the counter. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Good enough,” he agreed. He only had another day to prepare before they would leave. There was much still to do.

In the pre-dawn hours before their departure, Roz watched him gather his things; her eyes glowed in the darkness of his bedroom lit only by a candle. He could feel her jumble of emotions in the middle of his chest: worry, and frustration, and a small sadness at being left behind. He reached over and scratched behind her ears. She looked as apathetic as ever, but he could feel a little bit of her melancholy fade at his touch.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “It will be a bit of an adjustment, but it’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

It was a silly thing to say to a familiar—he was, essentially, saying it to himself. While she had some mannerisms of a cat, ultimately everything that she did and thought and felt was a reflection of his own inner world. Still, it comforted her, which comforted him. They would both be fine.

When he blew out the candle, he heard her get up and stretch.

“ Safe travels ,” she thought, hopping over to the window sill and peeking her head under the curtain so he could no longer see her. He chuckled, shaking his head, and closed the door behind him.

He double-checked that all the doors were securely locked, then made his way to the city gates, where he would meet Varen and Enriel. She had not come to visit him for an examination; but a different elf had come by his shop a few days prior with a scroll, where her medical details had been copied down in a careful, elegant script.

As he had thought, she was entering the sixth month of her pregnancy, which for elves was generally nine months—about the same as humans, and a bit shorter than orcs. There was no mention of a spouse in the paperwork, and Enriel had said nothing about the other parent, so Korik assumed they were not in the picture. Overall, she had no underlying health conditions, and Korik saw no cause to be concerned for her health as they made the trek to Aefraya, which was a relief.

When he passed through the town square, he could see the pair standing at the gates in the distance, along with three horses loaded up with supplies. Korik could immediately tell which one was for him, as two were the smaller elven breeds—one buckskin and one paint—while the last was much larger, a bay the size of other orc-bred horses. Each elf had a backpack of their own, though Varen’s looked considerably heavier.

They caught sight of him as he approached; Enriel gave a small wave, but Varen only stood there with his arms folded across his chest.

“Good morning,” Enriel said politely, as Korik joined them.

“Good morning,” he replied, glancing between them and the horses. Luckily, though the horse meant for him was larger, it was no warhorse. The animal had a placid expression, brown eyes blinking slowly, and its tail swishing idly as it stood there. Its saddlebags were full, but it barely seemed aware of the weight.

Korik held a hand out to the horse, and it snuffled his open palm, probing his fingers in search of a treat. When it found none, it let out a soft huff and turned its head away, making Korik stifle a chuckle.

“Is she to your liking?” Varen asked brusquely. Korik nodded, his mood already souring.

“Does she have a name?” he asked, placing a hand on the horse’s neck. Her black mane was neatly brushed, but plain.

Varen only shrugged. “I don’t think so. Call her what you like.”

Even Enriel seemed irritated at his reply. “They just bought this horse, Varen. Surely she had a name.”

Varen shot her a sharp look. “The horse doesn’t know the difference, Enriel. If he wants to give it a new name, fine.”

She started to say something in response, but Korik held up a placating hand. “It’s fine,” he said. “I was only curious.”

“See? Even he agrees with me,” Varen said, sounding smug. Korik did not agree with him, exactly, but he kept silent. Enriel rolled her eyes and moved toward the paint horse. The smug tone vanished from his voice as he followed her. “Let me help you up.”

“I don’t need help,” Enriel snapped, mounting the horse easily. Varen huffed in annoyance, but mounted his own horse without complaint.

Finally, he gave them each one last look. “No one’s forgetting anything?”

“Let’s go,” Enriel sighed, trotting ahead of them. Varen muttered something under his breath, but followed. Korik watched them for a beat, discomfort brewing in his stomach, then gently nudged the horse to follow after them.

He followed a few paces behind the siblings as they began their trek southward. Varen glanced back at him once, as if to make sure he was truly following, then seemed to ignore him, which was a relief. Korik had no qualms about following quietly; if they had expected him to make conversation, well, that would be a different issue entirely.

The sky had grown light, with pale blues and pinks that streaked the horizon. When they were out of sight of Drol Kuggradh, Korik placed a hand on the mare’s neck again, closed his eyes, and expanded his awareness outward into hers.

She snorted with shock; he felt her heart start to race as if it were his own. But he breathed in slowly and deeply, projecting calmness, and her surprise quickly faded. It was easy to let his awareness fall over the rest of her; the pace was comfortable, and her load wasn’t too heavy. She was not afraid of him, or of the elves, or the other horses.

“What are you called?” he asked her, but she didn’t seem to have an answer. Korik thought about how best to make her understand, then carefully probed her memories for things she liked. Apples and carrots and sugar cubes, of course; but he shuffled through as many memories as he could make sense of, trying to put together a better picture.

She had seen many landscapes and traveled far in her years, which was expected of an orc-bred horse; but the images that stuck out the most in her memories were visions of autumn foliage—reds and oranges and yellows that danced like fire, but didn’t hurt her eyes or burn to get too close, when the air was crisp and sweet in her nostrils.

“Autumn ,” he thought. “ Is that your name? Autumn?”

She let out a soft whicker, pleased at the assessment. She was called Autumn.

Korik gently extricated his consciousness from hers, gripping the reins a little tighter at the momentary disorientation as his vision pulled back into his higher vantage point. Autumn trotted along just the same, now unperturbed by the intrusion, which made Korik wonder if perhaps the clan where she was raised had their own druid, too.

Looking ahead at the elf siblings, they didn’t seem to have noticed him, which was a relief. Not that they would have been able to recognize what was happening if they had glanced back at him, at least from this distance. But orcs with magical ability were uncommon, and their traditions were well-kept secrets.

The elves could know of his healing, but the abilities of druids—to send their awareness miles away and communicate with, or even control, animals—were known only by other orcs. Even with the unification binding so many orc clans with Aefraya, and his own camaraderie with the elven prince, Korik had no intention of being the one to reveal the full extent of their capabilities to the elves. Some things, like this, were only for him and for his people.

The commander was just as insufferable on the road as he’d seemed when Korik met him.

By the end of the first day, it was clear Varen believed his authority as a commander extended to this journey, both over his sister and over Korik. He had no insight as to the dynamic between the two siblings’ positions, but Korik had no obligation to the elven army. He told Varen as much on that first night, when the commander had all but ordered him to go gather firewood.

“What, you want to make Enriel wander the woods instead?” Varen had replied indignantly.

“I don’t see why you couldn’t do it,” Korik protested, bristling. Varen rolled his eyes, pulling his horse along to tether it to a nearby tree.

“I’m clearly tending to the horses,” he snapped. “Will you please just go gather some firewood?”

This time, Korik was the one who rolled his eyes. But at least the elf had asked this time—even if it was obviously insincere—and it was true that they would need firewood, and he wouldn’t want Enriel to do it. Plus, it would give him a few minutes alone in the forest to take a look at their surroundings.

Forest was a generous term, he supposed, as he trudged away from the clearing Varen had chosen for their camp that night. There were trees, but none were especially tall or thick; and while some were in clusters, most were several feet apart or more. Most of the vegetation here was squat bushes and soft grasses. It would get rockier first as they left the immediate surroundings of Drol Kuggradh, then a dense forest would lie closer to Aefraya.

When Korik was out of sight of the camp, he knelt down on a patch of grass and pressed his palms against the soil. Magic welled in his chest, draining his consciousness through his open hands and into the earth below, spreading out rapidly in all directions. The first sign of life he sensed was a warren of rabbits below him, several tiny hearts beating rapidly—then an owl stirring into wakefulness at the intrusion. He lingered with the owl for a moment, but then he could sense what he was looking for—birds in flight, soaring above him.

Their awareness shuddered around him as he looked through their eyes—they were a group of crows, which tended to have more of a reaction to his presence than other birds—but he held on until he could clearly see the wide expanse surrounding them. The birds were headed west, but he could see much of the landscape from their height. He spotted the three horses that marked where Varen and Enriel were waiting, the road stretching north and south, boulders and clusters of craggy rocks further south, and—

Smoke from a different campfire rose up far to the northwest. He tugged at the crows’ awareness to pull them further in that direction to get another look. It was not surprising to see a camp of orcs, but he wanted a better view of this camp and how many it housed. From the distance of the smoke curling lazily into the horizon, he would guess that the other camp had to be at least three miles away from them—a considerable distance, but close enough that it was possible that the orcs were aware of their presence, too.

He kept the crows a reasonable distance away, moving in a wide circle that he hoped was inconspicuous. If the other orcs had no druid with them, they likely wouldn’t notice at all; but if there was one amongst them, they very well might detect the crows’ unnatural behavior and grow suspicious.

Luckily, the camp seemed small from what he could see—he counted four horses tethered to one of the larger trees near the campfire, and four orcish figures moving in the fading light. More likely a hunting party split off from another group, but he saw no sign of a larger camp anywhere nearby.

Satisfied they were nothing to worry about, Korik released his hold on the crows, coming back into his body crouched amongst the trees. When the dizziness of the transition faded, he looked around quickly, but it seemed no one had noticed him. This was the most dangerous part of his powers: he had no awareness of his own body when he was listening to the earth or observing through the eyes of animals. If either of the elves had come across him in such a state, he would be hard-pressed for a believable explanation.

But no one had found him, neither elf nor beast. Dusting his hands off, Korik arose and set to work finding enough firewood to last them through the night.

“So, Healer Korik,” Varen prompted him after they’d set out the next morning. “I feel like I hardly know you. Tell us a bit about yourself, why don’t you?”

Korik stifled a scowl at the elf peering over his shoulder. So far, Varen had seemed content to mostly ignore him, which Korik would have far preferred. Had he already grown bored of only bothering his sister?

“Like what?” Korik asked.

“How long have you lived in Drol Kuggradh? What made you decide to stay there? I’m always curious about why the orcs who live there decided to go against the grain.”

Korik shrugged uncomfortably. The question was awkwardly personal. “I don’t know. Almost twenty years now. I took over my father’s duties when he died.”

“Family business, eh?” Varen remarked, already sounding disinterested. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Korik only nodded. They were silent for a moment, then Varen glanced over his shoulder to look at Korik again.

“Well, what else?” the elf finally prompted. “Any interesting hobbies?”

There was nothing interesting about him, Korik thought. He tended his herb garden, read books when he could get ahold of them, and kept Roz entertained.

“No,” he replied, and Varen snorted.

“I see you’re the strong and silent type, then,” the elf laughed. Korik was not especially strong, he thought, so he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Gods, Varen, leave him alone,” Enriel sighed, finally interjecting. She looked over at Korik with an apologetic expression. “Just ignore him. I certainly do most of the time.”

“What? I’m trying to make conversation. Should I ignore our companion instead?” Varen snapped back.

“Yes,” Korik muttered under his breath, but he was too far away for Varen to hear. He would much prefer to be ignored and left alone unless he was needed.

The two siblings bickered for a while longer, and luckily, it seemed Korik was forgotten in their argument. It made him wonder if the arrogant elf was always like this, if he was just as annoying to his sister as he was to Korik. Elves in general were haughty, of course, but at least most of them were haughty in the silent, judging sort of way—not the brash, outspoken way Varen was. Just his luck that he would be stuck on the road for a month with the loudest elf he’d ever met.

Korik realized Enriel had slowed her horse so that they were side by side, bearing an apologetic expression.

“He’s not normally this bad, I swear,” she sighed, as she settled into place beside Korik. “Well, he’s annoying all the time, but I think he’s just on edge about making the trip. Don’t judge him too harshly.”

“I can still hear you,” Varen called irritably from over his shoulder.

“Good!” Enriel snapped, then turned to Korik again, speaking a little quieter. “Really, you can just ignore him. He’ll barely notice. He likes to hear himself talk.”

Despite himself, Korik smirked with a restrained laugh.

“I see,” he replied simply. Enriel seemed to take it as a good sign, since she smiled back at him. Their horses trotted alongside each other for a little while, but Enriel—to her credit—seemed to realize Korik preferred the quiet and solitude, and she gave him one last tight-lipped smile before pulling ahead to rejoin her brother.

Korik watched her leave, wondering how he would manage the journey back to Drol Kuggradh with Varen alone.

Despite Enriel’s advice, Korik found it difficult to outright ignore Varen as the days went on. If Korik remained completely silent when Varen addressed him, the elf seemed annoyed and would prattle on endlessly. If Korik at least gave an answer, even if it was only a word or two, then the elf would make some wry comment in response and move on. Once he’d gone through enough topics, he would grow bored of Korik and go back to rambling at Enriel.

Despite Korik’s short answers, and Enriel’s continual admonishments, Varen kept coming back to him, trying to strike up conversation again and again. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, the elf might be getting out of such an effort; but after a few days, Korik found it a little less grating. It helped pass the time. Sometimes, Varen could even make a remark that made Korik chuckle—though his self-satisfied expression would grow all the more insufferable afterward.

All in all, Korik was hopeful that they could make it back to Drol Kuggradh without having killed or abandoned each other. Probably.

By the seventh day, they had settled into a routine. Enriel usually woke first, rising at dawn to stoke whatever embers remained of the last night’s campfire and prepare a small meal—alternating between a pot of porridge sweetened with berries, or thick slabs of salted pork with hard bread. The sound of her moving around would wake Korik, and he would tend to the horses first, then help Enriel. Varen would only emerge from his tent when the food was ready, though he was always dressed with his hair braided or brushed neatly when he stepped out into the open air.

They would eat, then Varen would clear away the remnants of the fire; Enriel would wash the cooking equipment; and Korik would get the horses prepared, often sneaking away for a few minutes to search the area again if he had the time. For the first few days, the hunting party of orcs seemed to follow them; but once they’d gone into the rocky hills that marked the near-halfway point of their journey, Korik lost all sight of them. There was likely no worthwhile game here, he thought—he was just glad that they had backed off on their own. He’d been dreading the prospect of warning the two elves of an approaching orc party, not to mention having to come up with an adequate explanation of how he knew about their presence.

They would stop several times throughout the day to give Enriel the chance to stretch her legs—the longer they traveled, the more uncomfortable she seemed sitting on her horse for so long. Varen would keep an eye out for small game as they went, so they had fresh meat for their evening meal: rabbits or rock quail roasted over the campfire more often than not, and supplemented with foraged berries or greens and their rations of bread and cheese.

Now that Korik had gotten used to them, traveling wasn’t so bad. Still, they had a week to go, and the thought of spending a few days in Castle Aefraya filled him with a certain trepidation. After that, it would be another two weeks back home. It would be bearable; but the next time the prince tried to call in a favor, Korik would politely decline.

They were descending from the rocky hills into the more forested area that marked the border between Aefraya and the orc wildlands when Enriel spoke up.

“Can we take a quick break?” she asked. In the hills, Enriel had kept a careful eye out for large rocks for privacy to relieve herself, but now the trees were finally starting to get wide and dense enough to suffice.

“Go on, then,” Varen said, waving a hand. Korik stopped a few steps short of them, as Enriel carefully dismounted her horse, groaning and rubbing the small of her back. After she had stepped off the path toward a thick oak tree several yards away, Varen sighed and dismounted his own horse.

“Suppose I’d better do the same while I can,” he said, already unlacing his pants as he walked in the opposite direction his sister had gone. “Watch the horses. Will you?”

The question was added a beat too late, but he’d seemed to finally pick up on how Korik disliked being bossed around. Korik huffed, but nudged Autumn forward so he could grab hold of both horses by their reins. He did not think Varen had named his buckskin stallion, but he had occasionally heard Enriel calling her paint gelding Spot.

The horses’ ears pricked at some distant sound, and Autumn whickered uneasily beneath him. Korik frowned, turning to look back the way they came. Autumn had been a placid, easygoing horse so far, and nothing had really spooked her. Now, though, she seemed to have heard something making her uneasy, something Korik couldn’t hear.

His eyes lingered on the road behind them for a moment. They were descending the hills, and there wasn’t much visibility beyond a few hundred feet in either direction. Perhaps some predator prowled the woods nearby—the thought made him nervous enough that, despite how nearby the elves were, he risked a quick check of their surroundings, letting his awareness drain from his body and drop into the earth below.

Some birds were perched in the trees above, and small creatures were hiding in the foliage, but nothing that posed a threat. Still, he could feel Autumn’s distinct tension when his mind passed over hers, so he kept searching. His awareness spiraled outward, like a thousand tiny tendrils reaching out and out, until—

Horses . Four of them, galloping and breathing hard. Korik’s vision flitted between them, trying to get a better picture of what was happening.

Four horses, four orcs atop them—was this the hunting party he’d spotted before? Their surroundings looked familiar. Had they crossed paths again?

Korik’s heart nearly fell out of his chest when he saw it: the red brand of the Bonebreaker clan, flashing on the haunch of a horse ahead of him, when he looked through the eyes of the one bringing up the rear. He hadn’t quite recognized it at first with how the vision jolted and stuttered, but after a few seconds of looking at it, he was sure.

Only the rebel clans still bore the Bonebreaker brand, followers of Zesh, who had been the former warlord’s eldest son. Had King Zorvut not bested him in battle, Zesh would be the warlord now, so now the clans who refused to recognize the new king’s authority had gathered under him.

They were a hunting party, but not the kind Korik had expected. They had been tracking him and the elves all along, stalking their prey across the open plains until they found a better ambush spot—and Korik had let them do it.