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Chapter Thirty-One

Korik

Korik woke up warm and disoriented the next morning. After growing so used to sleeping out in the open—beside a dwindling campfire, bundled up in every blanket and cloak they had between them—he found that waking indoors with just two blankets and his kitten had him nearly overheated.

Faint morning sunlight streamed through the small glass-paned window high on the wall, but the view was meager. Without being able to see the sun, Korik had no idea what time it was. Had he woken with the sunrise on instinct? Or had the relief of finally sleeping somewhere safe allowed him to give in to his exhaustion, making him sleep until noon? The little kit was asleep beside him and hadn’t fussed over being hungry yet, so he suspected it was still early. That was fine. He had nothing to do, and if the kit was anything like Roz, they would both very much enjoy napping the day away.

When he sat up, though, the kit sprang to wakefulness and was soon ambling around the room, inspecting everything as Korik dressed. He listened intently at the door, but hearing nothing in the hallway, Korik picked up the kit and hurried outside with his head down. He didn’t stop until he reached a patch of grass, where he set the kit down to relieve himself. He really needed to decide on a name for the kitten—for both of them, as Myrla had asked.

Korik looked up at the sky now that he was safely in the yard. The sun was low on the horizon, though not as low as he was used to seeing when he first awoke. Sunrise had been about two hours ago, meaning he missed the bell for the morning meal. Still, there might be some warm food to be had if he hurried.

When the kit had finished his business, Korik bundled him back into his tunic with just the kit’s fluffy head popping out from the collar, then headed to the mess hall. He got plenty of stares as he walked. Luckily, there were no strange looks, and none of the elves spoke to him—save for a young elf woman in the food line, who told him in a lamenting tone that they were out of honeybread for the morning. He made it just in time to still receive a warm meal: a savory porridge with mushrooms and herbs, a soft sweetroll, two links of sausage, and a mug of coffee with milk that let off a constant haze of steam in the cool air.

It was the best breakfast that he could remember having since he’d left Drol Kuggradh. A month or more on hardtack, dried meats, and cheese wedges made him appreciate the simple, hearty meal as if it were a feast. The coffee had a touch of honey and what tasted like cinnamon, a stark contrast from the bitter liquid that he and Varen had brewed—more out of necessity than enjoyment in the brief time that they still had coffee grounds and a pot.

He gave both sausages to the kitten, who ate them gleefully. By the time he was done with his meal, the hot food was put away; but an assortment of fruits, breads, and cheeses remained available between mealtimes. The bread and cheese, while varied, were too much like the rations they’d been living on. Instead, Korik took a few apples with him when he left.

Satiated with the meal, the kitten was dozing in his tunic again, as Korik headed back for the barracks. He spotted Myrla in the yard with both Rocky and the other kitten; and when she caught sight of him, she waved him over so emphatically that he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“Good morning, healer,” she said politely as he approached. Now, she sounded much more like the regal elves Korik had come to expect, and less like the excited enthusiast he had encountered the day before. “I was just thinking of finding you. I’m going to start the kit on his training right away. Would you like to join in on the lessons while you and Commander Petkas are still here?”

Korik had his own ability to communicate with his kit. On the other hand, Myrla had raised Rocky from a cub, and he was very well-behaved now, so her instruction surely wouldn’t hurt. And at least if he was busy with her, he had a better excuse to avoid Varen.

“Yes,” he agreed simply, pulling the dozing kitten from his tunic. She laughed at how the kit blinked sleepily and shook himself, before realizing his brother had rejoined them and leaping toward him in play.

“Decided on names?” she asked, as they watched the two kittens wrestle excitedly.

“I think so,” Korik said after a moment, considering. He had been thinking of names since the prior evening, considering the kit’s memories when Korik had connected their minds. He was too young still to really answer what he and his brother called themselves—the way he had asked Autumn, the mare, what felt like so long ago. Still, he had strong imagery of a hazy morning when thinking of himself, and dappled sun on snow when thinking of his brother. The images seemed to suit their personalities so far, too.

“K’lir, for mine,” he explained, still looking down at the kits. “It is the orcish word for haze or mist. And for his brother... I was thinking something that means sun on the snow, or a winter sun, but... I’m not sure if there is anything in elvish that approximates. And the words in orcish would be a mouthful.”

“Hmm,” Myrla considered, her hands on her hips. “I like that. It does seem fitting. Rala en aique , sun-on-snow... We could shorten it to Rala. Or Ralai.”

Ralai - sunny , Korik thought. It would work. Though, he considered with some amusement, it would leave her with two fearsome apex predators with very unassuming names: Rocky and Sunny.

“K’lir and Ralai,” he repeated. “It suits them.”

Myrla smiled. “I think so too.”

Korik spent the morning in the yard with Myrla, watching as she went through her regular training routine with Rocky. In the afternoon he went with her to the mess hall for the lunch meal—noticing Varen in the mess hall at the same time and pointedly ignoring the weight of the elf’s gaze on him—then retreated to the barracks to sneak in an afternoon nap as he’d hoped.

K’lir had done very well at the initial training, and no longer seemed worried about having been separated from his brother. He curled up right beside Korik on the mattress and promptly fell asleep.

In the evening, a knock came at Korik’s door—dread made his stomach drop, but a different elf’s voice came from the hallway.

“Healer Korik, are you there?”

K’lir leapt up to attention at the sound, then watched uncertainly as Korik rose and answered the door. An elf scout stood in the hall, bowing his head slightly as Korik acknowledged him.

“Commander Petkas asked me to inform you that myself and another ranger will accompany you both back to Drol Kuggradh the day after tomorrow,” the scout said. “We plan to leave around sunrise. If you have any questions, you can direct them to the Commander, myself, or the quartermaster on duty.”

“I see,” Korik said. “What’s your name?”

The elf gave a start, but his expression quickly smoothed back over. “My apologies, healer. I’m Junior Scout Taneas. We’ll also be accompanied by Ranger Lyielle.”

Korik nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

The day after next. It wasn’t much of a reprieve, but at least the remainder of the journey would be an easier one—on a path, rather than through the wilderness, with time to prepare and two scouts to guide them. Better than being alone with Varen.

K’lir meowed at him as he sat back down beside the kit on the floor, and he gently scratched behind his ears. The kit purred, which made Korik smile. If nothing else, at least he got K’lir out of the whole ordeal.

And the invitation to join a mountain clan. Rhagir and her clan had been in his thoughts that morning; and the more Korik thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. Varen would be in Drol Kuggradh, presumably until he was assigned elsewhere, which could be years, maybe decades. Korik was often in and out of the elven compound there, so even with his best efforts, they might still encounter each other. The city felt too small for them to both coexist there comfortably.

Beyond all that, he wanted to travel more now that he’d had a taste of it. What was keeping him in Drol Kuggradh? He was the only healer, yes; but no one was forcing him to serve there, and another could take his place just as easily. He had no family, no real friends to speak of. He wondered if anyone had even realized he was gone—if anyone would really miss him if he left, or only miss the healer.

And he was keeping K’lir, who would someday be much bigger than he was now. Even as a kitten, he was nearly the size of Roz, but with a shorter tail, a fluffier coat, and much larger paws. It wouldn’t be long before he dwarfed her. An animal of that size would be uncomfortable in his small home, but would be well-suited to a life of travel in the mountains.

“What do you think?” Korik asked in a whisper to the kitten, who had begun grooming himself, but now paused with his ears perked up. K’lir tilted his head one way, then the other, as Korik spoke to him. “Should we leave it all behind? Should I pack everything up when we get home and leave for the mountains?”

K’lir looked at him for a long moment, his blue eyes big and unblinking. Then he meowed loudly, once, and resumed licking his paw and swiping it over his face.

Korik chuckled, scratching his ears again. That sounded like an affirmative if he had ever heard one.

His heart raced at the thought. It would be an adventure, one on his own terms, but it would take some planning. If he was lucky, a clan in Drol Kuggradh would be heading north; since healers were always wanted, he would travel with them, which would surely be safer than traveling such a long distance alone. It somehow felt like the first decision that he’d made for his own life entirely of his own volition. He had remained in Drol Kuggradh because his father took him there, and he’d taken over his father’s role when he passed away. When he left Drol Kuggradh, it was at the behest of Enriel and the elves; and even all this had been only because of King Ruven’s request. But if he went to the mountain clan, it would be for no reason other than that he wanted to.

He would change his own life. The thought was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

The next day passed in much the same way, and Korik was able to avoid being alone with Varen. The elf seemed to have given up on trying to talk with him, but his gaze still felt physically heavy when their paths crossed in the common areas. But Korik was with Myrla most of the time, working on training the kits, which kept him busy enough not to dwell on things.

Then he woke before first light the following morning and packed up his meager belongings in the borrowed room. It all fit neatly in his threadbare rucksack, which settled onto his back like an old friend. They would meet in the mess hall for breakfast, then set out.

K’lir yawned mightily as Korik gathered him up into his shirt, which had become the kit’s favored mode of transportation around the outpost. As they stepped out into the hall, the next door opened. Varen appeared, though he stopped short upon seeing Korik. They looked at each other for a moment. Varen’s mouth was slightly agape, as if he were trying to say something, but no words came.

Korik turned away, feeling heat rising in his face. He hated that despite everything, the elf was as beautiful as ever, making his heart skip a beat. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a braid—like how he had shown Korik those weeks ago in their cave during the storm. It felt like a different lifetime entirely.

“Good morning,” Varen’s voice finally came, sounding stiff. When Korik glanced in his direction again, the elf had turned away, busying himself with the straps of his own rucksack. But they would travel together a bit longer, Korik thought, so it would be best to at least be on speaking terms.

“Good morning,” he replied flatly, and he followed as Varen led the way to the mess hall. There they met their guides: the younger scout who had introduced himself to Korik earlier, and the ranger, who he was meeting for the first time.

Lyielle, the ranger, was the image of elvish stoicism. Her features were delicate, but had a decided severity to them; and though her tone was perfectly polite as she introduced herself, she did not smile as she spoke. Korik did not think her face changed expression at all in the time it took them to eat and head out to the southern gate.

Four horses waited for them near the gate. To his dismay, Korik saw that while the horse intended for him was likely the largest they had—a tall chestnut stallion—it was still an elven-bred horse. He doubted it would be a comfortable ride for either of them. But it couldn’t be helped, so he mounted the horse without complaint and followed as the others proceeded out the open gate.

They rode in silence. After a little while, Varen pulled ahead and spoke with Lyielle in low tones. They were both rangers, so they probably had more in common to talk about than anything Korik might have tried to bring up. The younger scout, Taneas, remained a few paces ahead of him. When he had first set out with Varen and Enriel, he was glad to be ignored. Now, he still didn’t want to speak to any of them, but some small part of him missed Varen’s incessant chatter. It was silly—pathetic, even—but he couldn’t deny that there was still that longing, despite everything.

It was going to be a long journey back to Drol Kuggradh.