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Chapter Four

Varen

“We can’t just go running in there,” Korik argued from several paces behind him. The sun was low in the sky now, but Varen had no intention of stopping. Every muscle in his body ached with exertion, but the thought of resting when Enriel wasn’t safe made him feel sick.

The orc’s explanation of his druidic abilities had surprised him, but he kept the presence of mind to put them to some use, asking Korik every hour to locate the orcs and correct their course. The sky was just showing the colors of dusk when Korik stood to report that finally the orcs had slowed and were looking for a place to camp for the night.

When he had asked about Enriel, he said with hesitation that she had long since stopped her struggle, keeping still and silent on the back of her horse with her head bowed. That made him wish he hadn’t asked.

The thought of Enriel in danger was all-consuming, so they had to press on. But there were three remaining orcs, and he didn’t know if he could take down all three. Korik had been urging him to stop, to be smart about their plan, to not go in with weapons drawn. It was sensible, but how could he be sensible at a time like this?

“And what of the other elves?” Korik pressed, refusing to take the hint, despite how stubbornly Varen ignored him. “Are we going to save Enriel only to abandon whatever elves they’ve already captured?”

Varen flinched with guilt at that. He turned over his shoulder to glare at the orc, who seemed to wither under his gaze, then fall silent as he looked away uncomfortably.

As much as Varen hated to admit it, though, Korik had a point. If there were elf prisoners, he had a duty to all of them to free them from their captors. After a long moment, he slowed his pace and turned to face Korik fully.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, folding his arms across his chest. He had to do his best to think rationally, no matter how much panic threatened to overtake him. “We’ll need to follow them back to their larger camp, where they have the rest of the elves. We’ll never find them if we kill those three before they can lead us there.”

Korik’s mouth tightened in a grim line around his tusks—Varen was not very good at reading the orc’s expressions, but he suspected Korik doubted they even could kill all three orcs. But he at least kept it to himself, only saying, “That’s true. It’d be best to follow at a distance.”

Varen looked back in the direction they’d been traveling. It wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t abandoning his sister. It was a strategic regrouping. If they were taking prisoners, she would be okay for now.

Gods, forgive me , he thought miserably, scrubbing a hand through his blood-matted hair. Then he turned to Korik again, who had been watching him silently.

“Let’s find a place to make camp, then,” he sighed.

Korik had convinced him earlier to wait long enough for them to gather as many of their supplies as they could carry out of their horses’ saddlebags. So while they had to abandon the majority, they weren’t entirely depleted. The weather had been mild so far, too, so they could make do with just their bedrolls. It would hardly be the first time Varen slept under the stars.

He walked in a slow, meandering circle, finally settling on an open patch of grass with a large rock to provide some cover. They couldn’t risk a fire, being so close to the other orcs, so once their bedrolls were out, they sat there in silence for a long moment. Varen breathed in slowly and deeply, trying to steady himself as he sat with his head bowed and his eyes closed.

Enriel was strong. She was brave. She would be okay. He would find her.

When he finally lifted his head, he saw Korik watching him with a concerned expression. Despite his distress, habit kicked in. He smirked up at the orc, though it now felt more self-deprecating than anything else.

“I appreciate you talking some sense into me,” Varen sighed. Color rose in Korik’s face, as if embarrassed. “I can’t lie, I would still much rather be chasing those bastards down right now. But you’re right. We’re at a disadvantage like this. And I can’t only think of Enriel and her child. If there are other elves, I have an obligation...”

He trailed off, shaking his head. The whole situation still felt impossible to wrap his mind around. How had this all happened so quickly?

Varen felt the orc’s eyes still on him, but he didn’t reply. So instead, Varen reached for his backpack and pulled out his pack of rations, unwrapped a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth, tore off a piece, then wrapped it back up.

His stomach felt sick. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it. He looked over at Korik again. The orc had been quiet—that was nothing new—but Varen had always been a nervous talker, and his anxiety was at an all-time high.

“What do you think they’re doing with all these elves?” he asked quietly.

Korik blinked owlishly at him, surprised. Varen had his own thoughts about what these orc poachers wanted, of course, and he suspected Korik would have come to a similar conclusion. Still, it was possible that the orc could have better insight into the matter than him.

“I don’t know,” Korik finally answered, glancing away. He always looked away when he spoke; if Varen wasn’t so anxious, he might have found it endearing. “I would imagine their intention is to ransom them back to King Zorvut. Or perhaps back to Aefraya. Or they just want to sow discord.”

Varen regarded him silently for a moment longer, then let out a humorless chuckle. Honestly, that sounded quite tame compared to his worst fear.

“I can’t help but think it’s something much more nefarious than that,” he sighed, listlessly picking at the hunk of cheese in his hand. “But I hope you’re right. I hope there’s nothing more to it than a ransom.”

But something about all this wasn’t sitting right with him, even as he shoved the piece of cheese into his mouth and forced himself to eat. If these poachers were with the rebels gathering under Zesh, why were they targeting elves, presumably citizens of Aefraya? They couldn’t possibly hope to wage a war on two fronts: the combined might of the elven nation and the vast majority of clans that had sworn allegiance to Zorvut. But he didn’t see any way that these were completely unrelated, either—it seemed too large an operation from what Korik described.

“They must be allied with the rebel clans,” he said aloud. Korik gave a start, looking back over at him again. “They must know that trying to sell elven citizens back to their own country would be seen as an act of violence—of war.”

“I’m sure that’s what they want,” Korik agreed, though his voice was hesitant.

“Are you?” Varen asked sharply. Korik’s expression became confused. “Why not just make an outright attack, then? Why the subterfuge?”

Korik frowned. “I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me!” Varen burst out in frustration. “No one is forcing them to be part of the unification! So why go out of their way to snatch uninvolved elves off the roads, rather than take their quarrel to the kings directly?”

“I don’t know. I have no quarrel with the elves. I don’t know what they’re thinking,” Korik replied nervously.

The orc had leaned away from him as he spoke, brows furrowed, as if he were frightened of the elf. It was an absurd thought. Despite Korik’s lack of training as a fighter, he still had the physical advantage: he was taller, likely stronger, had the reach and build, not to mention the threat of his magic.

Korik glanced at him and added, “Perhaps they saw how King Zorvut defeated the warlord and are too frightened to attack him directly. Perhaps it is his brother at the helm of all this, and he knows he’s already been bested in combat, so he has to do something else.”

Varen sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mostly meant it as a rhetorical question. Sorry. I’m just angry.”

“Oh.”

They were both silent for a long moment, unsure of what else to say to each other. Varen’s stomach still roiled with worry, but he kept taking deep breaths to try to keep himself calm.

“Will you check on her again?” he asked softly, hating how vulnerable he sounded. “Just to make sure they haven’t gone any further?”

To his frustration, the orc shook his head. “I need to rest. I can’t do it again tonight. I’ll check in the morning.”

Varen knew that was entirely reasonable—that magic depleted with use just like any energy—but the refusal still felt like a slap in the face. He already felt like he was losing his mind, just waiting here when Enriel was in danger.

He stood up silently and stomped into the surrounding trees without saying anything more to Korik. There was a pond nearby. With his magic, he first siphoned clean water to refill his waterskin, then methodically scrubbed all the blood off his face and out of his hair. Being clean made him feel marginally better, but only just.

The time alone helped him cool off a bit, too. It wasn’t Korik’s fault that he couldn’t use any more of his magic, but it was maddening knowing that it was only the orc who could truly see Enriel and know where she was, if she were truly safe.

And what was to say Korik was telling him the truth? Varen’s throat tightened at the thought. Maybe he was secretly working with the rebel orcs, was feeding him false information, was lying about Enriel’s safety, or even the abilities he claimed he had—

No, that couldn’t be true. The orcs that had taken Enriel had shot Korik in the shoulder and killed both their horses. The prince had recommended Korik himself. Varen had no reason to not believe that the orc was telling the truth.

He had to trust Korik. He might truly drive himself mad with worry if he didn’t. Initially, he had only agreed to bring the healer along for Enriel’s peace of mind. The orc wasn’t a liability, Varen repeated to himself, but was perhaps the key to rescuing Enriel safely. It certainly would have been a far greater challenge if he were alone—the thought stung, but it was true. He had no choice but to trust Korik.

When Varen returned to the camp, Korik was still sitting up, seemingly keeping watch. Varen kept quiet, still ruminating and feeling equal parts exhausted and anxious, before settling into his bedroll and turning away. Sleep would be hard won, but he would need to be rested for whatever the morning would bring.