Page 4

Chapter Three

Korik

Korik pulled his awareness away from the approaching orcs quickly, shaking his head rapidly to dispel the dizziness. The orcs were coming at them full speed, so they had only minutes, if that.

“Commander!” he barked. “Enriel!”

“Gods, what are you yelling for?” he heard Varen call back. Korik hesitated, unsure of how to explain what he’d seen, or how he saw it.

“I think we’re being followed,” he said, trying not to shout, despite the hammering of his heart in his chest. A beat of silence passed, then Varen came striding out from the cover of the trees, hurriedly lacing his trousers.

“Followed? What do you mean?” he snapped, first looking at Korik, then swiveling his head to each side as if trying to spot some intruder.

“I...” Korik stammered. “I hear horses approaching. And the other day I noticed a campfire in the distance—I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Varen growled, frowning as he approached Korik. Korik flinched, stammering something unintelligible; but Varen rushed right past him to look further up the way they came. “Shh! Let me listen.”

Korik clamped his mouth shut, face burning. They both stood motionless and silent for a beat, then Varen marched toward one of the taller trees off the path. He whispered something under his breath, then leapt into the air to land silently in its branches. Korik watched him in surprise; he’d never seen the commander utilize any sort of magic in their week of traveling together, though he supposed it shouldn’t be so much of a shock. Most elves had at least some magical prowess.

Varen was motionless in the tree for a moment, looking out into the distance. After a few seconds, he leapt back down, still landing silently in the dirt below. A strange calmness had replaced the irritated, angry expression that had just been on his face.

“Enriel!” Varen repeated, his voice an urgent hiss, not quite a shout. But Enriel was already jogging back up to the path, looking worried.

“I heard you,” she said, mounting her horse in one rapid movement. “Let’s go!”

She kicked at the paint horse’s side, and it broke into a run as Varen mounted his own horse.

“We need to get as much distance as possible between us and them,” Varen said curtly, barely turning his head over his shoulder to address Korik. “Don’t stop until I say so. Now!”

Korik gulped, nodding, and dug his heels into Autumn’s sides. The mare whinnied in protest, but began to run; as Varen and his horse darted past, she broke into a gallop. She was a larger, orc-bred horse, so her stride was longer than the others, but she was clearly not bred for speed. Stocky and strong, even at full speed she barely kept pace with the elves’ horses, whose legs were churning much faster.

Enriel led several paces ahead of them, hunched low over her horse. Varen was close enough that Korik could still see flashes of his grim expression as he continually scanned their surroundings, his black hair whipping behind him. He held a longbow in one hand—Korik hadn’t even noticed him drawing it.

In a flash, Varen snarled, shouting something unintelligible, and leaned back to draw an arrow. Korik’s head whipped toward where he was looking, the arrow whistling as it shot through the air—an orc had come crashing through the trees up ahead, cutting them off from Enriel. The orc’s horse screamed as the arrow sliced its ear, but it was a glancing blow that didn’t stop the charge. Varen’s horse reared up before they crashed into each other. He swore, nearly dropping his bow as he struggled to stay mounted. Korik wrenched back on the reins, eyes darting between the stumbling commander and the massive orc blocking their way.

“Get the girl!” he bellowed in orcish, rounding on Korik and Varen with a thick crossbow pointed at them. “I’ve got these two.”

His gaze snagged on Korik, and he grimaced, the expression pulled tight around his tusks.

“Stay out of this while you have the chance, cousin,” he growled, and before Varen could draw another arrow, he fired the crossbow at his buckskin stallion. The bolt thudded into the horse’s neck, a gurgling cry escaping it as blood gushed forth.

Varen swore again and leapt off the dying horse. Korik froze, indecision and fright holding him motionless. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was no fighter, no warrior—what was he supposed to do? What could he do?

“Enriel!” Varen shouted, drawing the sword at his hip. With a roar, he swiped it at the larger orc still on his horse. He darted away, but on the backswing Varen lunged forward and slashed through the horse’s hind legs, causing it to scream and buck.

Korik flinched, looking away—he was going to be sick.

“Enriel!” Varen shouted again, but there was no response. The other orc had leapt from his horse, snarling at Varen, who relentlessly closed the gap between them, sword flashing.

Enriel . He was here to make sure she was well. That much he could do. Gritting his teeth, Korik kicked Autumn's sides again, urging her forward. As they galloped past, Varen’s eyes landed on him for only a brief moment. Grim determination had made his expression hard; but he gave an almost imperceptible nod when their eyes met, as if he somehow knew what Korik’s intention was without words.

The orc scowled at him as he fled, but was too preoccupied with Varen harrying him with his blade to do anything but dodge and try to reload his crossbow.

A shrill cry came from up ahead. He could hear Varen shouting again behind him, but he didn’t dare turn back. Enriel had not stopped, but was now surrounded by three more orcs, each on horseback.

“Enriel!” he exclaimed, urging Autumn forward; the poor horse was going as fast as she could, but it wouldn't be enough.

“Get away from me!” Enriel cried, her bow drawn. She was swiveling back and forth atop her horse, threatening each orc as they tried to get close enough to grab her without being shot.

Korik stood in his stirrups and threw his hand forward: flame burst from his open palm, shooting in a line toward the closest orc, who roared in shock and pain. Autumn squealed in fright beneath him, too, her pace stumbling. It pained him, but he kept the pressure on her sides until she cantered forward again.

The orc he’d burned was swearing and shouting, trying to put out the flames licking up his clothing. Another orc watched him dumbly, clearly startled to see fire coming from nowhere; but the third seemed to ignore him entirely. His sole focus was Enriel.

Korik shoved through the two clustered together to reach Enriel. But the third orc was already descending on her, his larger horse catching up to her all too quickly. His long arm reached out, closing the gap between them; she fired an arrow, but he ducked his head to dodge it. His arm encircled her body, as Korik got just within reach—he tried to grab her, but the orc wrenched her off her horse.

“Korik!” she screamed, eyes wild, reaching for him. Their fingers just brushed; but the other orc was stronger, his horse faster, and Korik couldn’t get a grip. He felt her fingers slip away as the other horse broke into a gallop.

“No!” he exclaimed, sending fire from his hand again; but he was afraid it would hit her, so it only spluttered against the horse’s legs. It bucked and kicked, but didn’t slow enough for him to catch up.

Something from behind hit him in the shoulder, sharp and piercing. With a cry, he realized he’d been shot with an arrow. He rounded on the two orcs chasing after him; the singed one had shot him, looking enraged, while the other was already veering off the path to catch up with the one who had taken Enriel.

Agony exploded through his shoulder as he tried to raise his hand again to defend himself. Magic sparked between his fingers, but the pain stopped him from raising his hand high enough to send it toward the other orc again. The orc wasn’t stopping—despite the meager flames, his horse barely flinched as it crashed right into Autumn. The horse bucked and screamed, entirely off-balance; and despite the pain radiating through his arm, Korik leapt from the horse and tumbled away from where she fell heavily on her side.

“I told you to stay out of this!” the orc snarled at him. With a sickening thud, he pointed his crossbow at Autumn and shot her, the bolt driving all the way through her skull. She fell still instantly.

Korik squeezed his eyes shut, turning away, sure he was going to be next. How had it come to this? Not even ten minutes ago, they’d been walking along as usual, and now—

“You’re lucky it’s only the four of us,” the orc continued, his voice becoming more distant. “The rebellion is only growing, cousin. Next time, join us, or it might be you with a crossbow bolt to the head.”

Korik’s eyes opened to the orc galloping off the way the others had gone: the way they’d taken Enriel. He stumbled to his feet, unable to look down at the dead horse, then looked back the way he’d come. Where was Varen? Was he even still alive?

As if sensing his thoughts, a ragged shout came through the trees— “ Enriel! ”

Varen stumbled into view. Korik couldn’t see where he’d been hurt, but blood stained the front of his shirt and was smeared across half his face and hair. The elf had an almost manic expression as he caught sight of Korik.

“Where is she?” he exclaimed, rushing toward him. Korik gestured in the direction the orcs had gone.

“They—they took her,” he panted. “Grabbed her right off her horse. I tried to catch up, but they—they killed Autumn.”

Varen glanced down at the horse for only an instant, as if only just noticing her body.

“Come on, then,” he finally replied, stepping over her. “We have to follow.”

“Follow?” Korik repeated incredulously, but Varen was already running down the dirt path. Korik hesitated—they would never catch up on foot—but it would be worse to be separated. So, with a pained groan, he wrenched the nearest saddlebag off of Autumn’s body and darted after Varen.

Varen was clearly the better runner between the two, but Korik’s stride was nearly twice as long. When he eventually caught up, he called out,

“At least let me heal you first. You’ll be useless injured.”

Varen growled something in response, but it seemed to convince him. His pace slowed, then he stumbled to a stop, breathing hard.

“Quickly, then,” he said, gesturing for Korik to come closer. Korik hesitated. He hadn’t entirely expected Varen to agree so readily; but after a beat, he placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder and let his magic flow through the point of contact.

He found the ragged wound easily, startled at the gash in the junction between his shoulder and neck. It would have been a mortal wound had it gone much deeper or higher up his neck. Varen groaned as Korik carefully explored the extent of the damage and knit the torn tissue back together. It was quick and not his cleanest work, but it would at least stop the bleeding and minimize the pain. There was another, more superficial cut high on his forehead, just along his hairline, which must have been the source of the blood on his face.

As Korik healed the elf—and then himself, when Varen pointed out the bleeding wound in his shoulder he’d forgotten in the chaos—his mind raced. They would never catch up on foot, and he knew Varen knew it too, but was too consumed with worry for his sister to act rationally. If he could somehow convince Varen that he could track the orcs and find Enriel without needing to waste their energy sprinting after horses...

But he would have to tell Varen about his abilities as a druid. The elf would never believe him otherwise. Some deep sense of tradition and habit and pride as an orc made him hesitate; but another voice, the healer within him, asked if keeping this secret was worth the life of Enriel and her child. He had sworn to do what he could for them—to do everything he could for them. He had no idea why the orcs had taken her, but it was surely nothing good.

“Listen to me,” he said, maintaining his grip on Varen’s shoulder. “You know we aren’t going to catch up to them.”

Rage flashed in Varen’s eyes; but before he could open his mouth to protest, Korik forced himself to keep speaking. “But I can track them. I can find where they’ve gone or even their camp. We can follow from afar and make a plan to get her out of there. They must be taking her to a camp. As long as we can track them, we don’t need to try to chase them down like this. It’s futile.”

“You know where their camp is?” Varen asked, confusion tempering his anger. Korik worried his lower lip, his tusks digging into his skin at the movement. If he said it now, he could never take it back.

“No,” he replied. “But I can find it.”

Varen scoffed. “So can I. If we keep following them.”

“No, it’s different,” Korik protested. “But I... I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” Varen spat, wrenching his shoulder away from Korik’s hand. His expression softened, though, as if he’d braced himself for agonizing pain and found none. But the expression quickly vanished. “Come on. We’re losing them the longer we stand here.”

“We’ve already lost them!” Korik protested again, only to look away uncomfortably as Varen’s face twisted in anger again. “You have to trust me. I can find them. We need to be thinking rationally—we have to make a plan. We’re never going to catch them on foot.”

“I don’t trust you!” Varen exclaimed, shaking his head. “Why? Why should I trust you? Explain yourself. Otherwise you’re just saying nothing, and no, I won’t trust that. She’s my sister. I have to save her. I won’t just let them run off with her!”

His voice wavered at the end, and he whirled around in a huff. Korik’s heart squeezed painfully. Despite the flurry of emotion roiling in his chest, he reached out and grabbed Varen’s wrist before the elf could get any further away.

“Just listen to me, gods damn it,” he growled, unable to stop the frustration from tinging his voice. “We aren’t letting them take her. If you would just give me a moment, I can find exactly where they’re going.”

Varen stared at him with a wide-eyed, inscrutable expression. They were both completely still. Then Varen yanked his hand away, making Korik’s face burn with embarrassment; but the elf didn’t try to run off again.

“How?” he finally snapped. He was still panting, blood smeared across his face, hazel eyes glistening as though on the verge of tears. “Tell me how you can find her.”

“I can... I have—That is, all druids can...” Korik stammered, now unable to find the words.

This knowledge wasn’t for the elves, he told himself. Hells, only druids were supposed to know the extent of what they could do; even other orcs had only rumors and stories. But what other choice did he have?

“With my magic,” he finished weakly. “I can feel through the earth and look through animals. I can watch where they’re going through their horses, or... track them with birds.”

Varen was silent, staring at him with his brows furrowed for several long seconds. Korik’s heart was pounding in his chest, sending worry and regret and fear rushing through his veins with every beat. He couldn’t take it back now.

“You’re a healer,” Varen finally said. Korik stared at him blankly. “But you’re... So you’re both? A druid?”

“There is significant overlap, yes,” Korik replied, unsure of what else to say. Varen sighed, scrubbing a bloody hand over his face.

“We don’t have time for this,” he groaned. “Okay. Yes. Whatever magic you have to find them, to track them, please just do it.”

Korik’s face still felt red hot with shame. He’d allowed himself to be vulnerable, and Varen didn’t seem to even recognize the enormity of it—nor care. But he had to find Enriel. He had to figure out where the orcs were taking her.

“I will,” he said, clearing his throat self-consciously as he slowly knelt in the grass. “I, ah... I won’t be able to see or hear you while I’m doing this. If there is any danger... Just push me, I suppose. That should do it.”

Varen nodded, still staring at him blankly. He wondered if the elf was in shock. It was, he thought, one of the only times he’d seen Varen without that smug grin on his face. He liked the elf better when he was swaggering and arrogant. Korik dug his fingers into the cool grass below, and let his magic flow down through his body into the waiting earth. He felt himself slip away: first into the calming darkness of the ground below, then expanding outward rapidly, searching, seeking. He was looking for the horses, or perhaps a group of birds again to get an aerial view. A jumble of other creatures were between him and them, though—dozens of mice hiding nervously in the grass or beneath the dirt, a family of foxes who had dashed away at the sound of hooves approaching, rabbits, squirrels, a badger roused from sleep, and then—

The horses! He could feel the deep thrum of their hearts pumping blood through their bodies, legs churning as the ground flew by beneath them. It took a moment for Korik to orient himself to its vision. The first horse he found carried the orc who he’d set on fire, still nervous from the flames, and its rear legs stinging with a burn. He could see two more orcs ahead of them, plus an extra horse—Enriel’s paint mare, frightened and tiring, but forced to keep up. One orc had already tied its reins to his own bigger horse.

Then, ahead of both of them, was the orc who had grabbed Enriel. They must have been an experienced group of poachers; it had been mere minutes since Korik had witnessed the orc snatch Enriel off her horse, and they’d already gotten her hands tied behind her back, and a cloth wrapped tightly over her mouth. Her face was red and streaked with tears, and even through the cloth muffling her, Korik could still hear her screaming and cursing. She was kicking desperately as the orc struggled to tie her ankles together; but even on horseback, he was able to overpower her, lashing her restraints through the buckles of his horse’s saddle.

Like she was the carcass of an animal they hunted down. Even though his body was distant, Korik could feel his stomach churn with disgust and worry.

Forcing himself to focus, he did his best to keep the horse calm while rifling through its memories—trying to piece together where they were going, or what their intentions might be. He watched several other similar attacks play out, mostly on elves alone on the road, a few in small groups. He saw the elves, wrists bound, tied together, forced to follow after the orcs on foot. He saw the horse join up with a larger group, then break off with the same other three, again and again. Though they went to different places when the group was small, the scenery always became familiar again as they rejoined the big group.

So they were some kind of smaller raiding party working with a larger group—a group of rebels, he was sure, maybe even their primary camp. He had no idea why they were kidnapping elves, but it couldn’t have been good. At best, they might ransom them to King Zorvut, or even King Ruven in Aefraya—at worst, well... Korik did not want to think of a worst-case scenario.

For now, they were headed northwest. Their pace was less frantic—still too fast for him and Varen to catch up on foot, but slow enough that Korik was confident he could track the group closely.

“When will you reach your group ?” Korik gently asked the horse, trying not to startle it. It seemed mostly puzzled at the intrusion, too focused on the pain in its leg.

“A few sleeps ,” was the best Korik could discern the answer. Animals rarely had coherent thoughts in response to his presence, but horses were usually understandable with some effort. While they did not communicate the same way, they were intelligent enough that Korik could make sense of their thoughts. So it seemed likely the hunting party was several days out from their group; though now that they were no longer tracking Korik and the elves, they would most likely travel faster.

Their best bet would be to intercept the orcs before they rejoined the larger group, Korik thought, but that seemed all but impossible without horses of their own. And Varen…

Varen. He would go mad knowing the danger his sister was in. Worry settled in his gut as Korik pulled his awareness away from the horses, bringing himself back to the patch of grass where he knelt.

“Well?” Varen demanded, the moment Korik could focus his vision again. He sighed and stood up, brushing off his knees.

“They’re heading northwest,” he said in a carefully calm tone. “They have a camp a few days away. It seems like there’s a larger group they’re planning to go back to, as well. There are other elves being kept at their camp. Enriel is alive and seems uninjured. They’re already at least a mile away, if not more.”

Varen’s expression remained completely blank as he stared at Korik for several long, uncomfortable seconds. Whatever he was thinking, Korik couldn’t begin to guess. Finally, the elf’s eyes closed. He seemed to collect himself with a deep breath and a slow, measured exhale.

“Alright,” he finally said, hazel eyes meeting Korik’s once again. “We’d better start walking.”