Page 7

Chapter Six

Korik

When Varen returned, silent and unseen until he was right beside Korik, the orc was still practicing his newfound skill. He heard a faint laugh from behind him and turned around to find the elf smirking at him, arms folded across his chest.

“Not too bored while you were waiting for me, then?” he said. Korik looked away, flushing with embarrassment, and didn’t respond. After a beat, Varen sighed and sat down cross-legged in the grass, still eying Korik with an unreadable expression.

“Well?” Korik finally prompted him. “Did your visit help you make a plan?”

Varen laughed again. He hadn’t been in such high spirits since before Enriel was taken, which seemed like a good sign.

“I think so,” he said. “I managed to speak to Enriel for a moment before I headed back, which was very helpful, too.”

Alarm leapt up Korik’s throat. “You got that close?”

But Varen waved a dismissive hand. “I was very careful. No one saw me. Their one guard is rather lax. Enriel learned a little bit about the other elves there. None have been at this camp longer than a week. One of them speaks orcish and has overheard them talking about leaving to rejoin a larger camp soon, but they’re not sure how soon. Most of the elves are merchants and traders, but three of them were guards for a trade caravan, so they have decent fighting prowess. They think one is a mage as he’s been kept drugged somehow by a shaman with the group—do you know anything about that?”

The influx of new information made Korik’s pulse quicken with stress; but he latched on to Varen’s question and closed his eyes, sorting through his mental encyclopedia of herbs and medicines, trying to think of any concoctions that might have the effect of suppressing magic. To his knowledge, there was nothing that could accomplish something so specific.

“Drugged how?” Korik finally asked, and Varen shrugged.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him, and I only risked a moment to speak to her,” he replied.

“They may just be keeping him too disoriented to use magic,” Korik offered, unsure of what else could prevent anyone from using their magic. “They could be keeping him docile or incapacitated entirely.”

“Do you think that’s something you could fix? Another mage would be very useful.”

Korik thought it over. He had helped with his fair share of warriors and workers—orcs and elves alike, now—who had come to him to sober up quickly before reporting for duty, usually from alcohol, but occasionally from other substances. In those instances, it had been a matter of finding the toxin within the body and removing it, or else speeding up the body’s natural processes to have it filtered through the liver or kidneys. It was hard to say without knowing exactly what the mage was being dosed with, but if nothing else, he could attempt the latter.

“Most likely, yes,” he offered. “It may not be immediate, but with most things, I could at least help clear the system sooner.”

Varen rubbed his chin thoughtfully, still looking at Korik. His expression made Korik feel flushed again, this time not with embarrassment, but something else. Korik pushed the feeling away and waited for Varen to respond.

“Alright,” the elf finally said. “I think I’ve got the beginnings of a plan. We need to do this tonight, though.”

Korik winced. While time was certainly of the essence, he knew neither of them had rested well in days. Varen must have shared his thought, though, as he added quickly,

“We’ll wait until it’s the middle of the night. I feel fine, but it’ll give you the chance to get at least a bit of sleep. We need your magic, as much of it as you can give, so I need you as rested as you can be.”

“What’s your plan?” Korik asked, unconvinced.

“We sneak around to the far side of the camp where there’s no guard,” Varen replied. “You see what you can do about the mage, while I free and arm the elves who can fight. We dispatch the guard, hopefully without arousing suspicion, then take out as many orcs as we can while they sleep, so we can flee without fear of being followed again.”

This time Korik managed to stop himself from flinching. He had no connection to any of the orcs at the camp, yet hearing Varen speak of killing them so easily, as if it were of no consequence... He didn’t like the way it made his stomach churn. But what else could be done?

“I see,” he finally replied.

“Any thoughts?” Varen prompted. He hadn’t looked away from Korik this whole time.

Korik considered the question. Varen probably did want his input on the plan, but he could also tell the elf was probing for his reaction, as if trying to see whether Korik would outright say he had reservations about killing other orcs.

He didn’t want to kill the orcs—he didn’t want to kill anyone . His whole life had been spent doing the opposite: training to heal, to preserve and prolong life, not to take it. He didn’t want to give Varen any reason to distrust him, but couldn’t bring himself to meekly acquiesce to his plan, either.

“I...” he started, not knowing what to say, then looked away. He didn’t know how the elf was going to react, but so far, Varen had been unsympathetic; he was sure that wouldn’t change now, so he braced himself for the inevitable derision. “I’ve never... killed someone before. I don’t know if I... how helpful I will be.”

For an uncomfortable moment, Varen didn’t respond. Korik couldn’t bring himself to look at the elf’s face, unsure of how he would react. Finally, though, he heard Varen sigh.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “It’s nasty business, no matter how you frame it. I’m sorry you’ve been put in this position. But I need to trust that you can defend yourself, and all of us, if it comes down to it. Do you think you can at least do that?”

It was a kinder reaction than Korik had expected. Varen could have just as easily dismissed Korik as useless, or even berated him for his apparent weakness. Instead, his empathy was a welcome surprise, though it only made Korik more painfully aware of how dire their situation was.

“Yes,” Korik replied, glancing over at the elf as he nodded. “I can do that, at least.”

“Good,” Varen said curtly, his tone all business again. “Get some rest. I’ll be fine to keep watch. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Korik nodded, though the thought of sleeping right now felt absurd. His nerves were far too tightly wound with worry for him to rest; but maybe he could trick himself into a nap if he closed his eyes and stayed still for long enough. Without protest, he shuffled over to his bedroll and laid down, looking up at the pale lavender sky above, the first hints of the stars appearing in the twilight.

A small, warm hand on his shoulder pulled Korik into wakefulness. His eyes snapped open, body tensing. Everything was dark, but then his eyes landed on Varen kneeling beside him, the light of the moon just enough to make out the shape of his raven hair and hazel eyes blinking in surprise.

“You sleep lighter than I thought,” the elf said quietly, pulling his hand away from Korik. “It’s time. Let’s pack up.”

Korik could feel the lingering handprint on his shoulder, faintly buzzing where Varen had made contact with his skin, as if the limb had fallen asleep. When was the last time he had been touched so casually by anyone?

“Right,” he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his shoulder to dispel the sensation. But Varen was already standing up, going to attend to his own things. Korik took a long drink of water from his waterskin, then started packing his bedroll back up.

Within minutes, they were walking with Varen a few steps ahead of Korik; but after a moment, he slowed his pace so they could walk side by side.

“I still think our best option is for you to do whatever you can to get this mage up and functional,” he said quietly. “But maybe first—I saw the little walls you were making out of stone. Depending on where the guard is, and how much he’s paying attention, maybe you could provide us some cover in the dark? That way, if he happens to take a look, he won’t immediately see what we’re doing.”

“I can try,” Korik replied uncertainly. “It will depend on the positioning, as you said.”

“Hmm,” came Varen’s noncommittal sound in response.

They walked in silence again until the faint glow of the low campfires became visible in the distance. Varen had led them further north than the route Korik had traveled, so that they would approach the elves directly. But this also meant they wouldn’t have a good view of the guard if he were on the other side of the large tree where the captives were being kept. Korik could always try to spy again through another creature, but at this late hour, he was hesitant to try it unless absolutely necessary.

Eventually, Varen motioned for him to stop. They both crouched down in the grass, peering beyond where the surrounding trees began to clear.

“We’re almost there,” Varen whispered. “I’m going to go see where the guard is. Don’t move.”

Korik’s heart stuttered with alarm. “You want me to stay here?”

“Yes. No offense, but I can move much more quietly,” Varen replied, not even looking back at him. Korik bit his lip—he couldn’t exactly argue with that, but it was still difficult to tamp down his anxiety at being left alone in the dark, so close to the orc camp. With nothing else to do, Korik crouched further down in the grass and strained his eyes to see through the darkness, to little avail.

He didn’t have to wait long, to his relief. After a few minutes, he saw Varen creeping back toward him, darting between the cover of the trees.

“All clear,” he said softly, just above a whisper. “We’re lucky. We got the lazy guard tonight. He may as well be asleep. Just be as quiet as you can, alright? Follow me.”

Korik nodded and followed. He stepped carefully through the grass, trying to follow Varen’s steps exactly to make sure he didn’t accidentally step on any twigs or rocks that might betray their location. Within moments, he could see the dim glow of the distant campfire, and before it, the large tree where the elves were being held. Most of them were sitting up against the broad tree trunk or clustered around it; some appeared to sleep, but Enriel must have been keeping watch for them. She was huddled against the trunk behind her, but Korik could see her eyes moving in the dark, constantly searching the woods.

Varen held out his hand again to stop Korik before they got any closer; then the elf raised both hands to his mouth and made a low, quiet bird call. It sounded almost like an owl, but not any that Korik was familiar with. Varen must have arranged the signal with the elves beforehand, he thought, because there was an immediate flurry of motion. Some who had appeared to be sleeping sat up and turned in the direction of their guard to keep watch; Enriel and a few others instead turned toward him and Varen.

As they drew closer, Korik could see Enriel’s eyes were glistening with tears, but her voice remained a whisper as she spoke.

“We’re all in position,” she whispered, addressing Varen. “They have the mage over on the far side of the tree.” She glanced at Korik, giving him a small, shaky smile.

“You go see about the mage,” Varen whispered to him. “I’ll start dealing with the rest of the chains and ropes.”

Korik nodded and turned in the direction Enriel had gestured. The elves who had been beside Enriel were looking at him with apprehension, but he ignored them—he couldn’t blame them for being distrustful. Keeping his gaze carefully straight ahead, Korik walked around to the other side of the tree, where he could see another elf laying on the ground in a makeshift bedroll, two others kneeling beside him. They looked up as he approached, but remained silent until Korik knelt down beside him.

“Do you know anything about what he’s been given?” Korik asked in a whisper. One elf shook his head; the other wrung her hands uncertainly before answering.

“It’s something they keep in a small bottle,” she said. “I haven’t seen them prepare more of it, and they don’t need to use very much... They give it to him twice a day, around sunrise and sunset. He starts to stir a bit just before they give him more, like it starts wearing off, but... That’s all I know.”

Korik nodded, examining the elf. The mage was a male with short-cropped hair that looked to be blond, but it was difficult to tell in the dark. His clothing was rumpled and dirty; and now that Korik was closer, he suspected the makeshift bedroll was a robe that the elf had been wearing when he was captured. His eyes were closed, and his body was all but motionless; the breaths he took were shallow and quick, but with several seconds between each. It didn’t look like anything familiar to Korik.

Whatever he was being given, Korik was unfamiliar with it. Gingerly, he placed one hand on the elf’s bare arm and let his magic seep through the skin.

The first thing Korik felt was the other elf’s awareness of him, clinging to him with surprising desperation.

“I’m here to help ,” Korik tried to project, though he was taken entirely by surprise. “ What have they done to you ?”

There were a few flashes of thought and sensation in response; but Korik got the sense that the mage, while aware of Korik’s presence, wasn’t entirely cognizant of what was happening. Instead, Korik simply tried to project calmness and peace, the way he would when treating any anxious patient. It seemed to help, and the elf’s heart rate slowed to a more normal pace.

He felt through the elf’s body with a practiced, clinical quickness, noting the spasmodic motion of the lungs and the rigidity of the muscles. Whatever the orcs were giving him, Korik guessed it was some sort of paralytic; without being able to move, there was no risk of the mage using his abilities. It didn’t feel like anything Korik had ever encountered before, though—not that he’d encountered many paralytics in his time, but they had their occasional use. This didn’t seem like the kind that would be used for medical purposes, but something more sinister. The elf was conscious, or at least partly so; Korik could feel the flashes of his indistinct thoughts, but they were disordered. There might have been some sort of hallucinogenic property to whatever this was.

“Well?” the female elf whispered, startling Korik—he’d nearly forgotten about the other two elves who were keeping watch over the mage. Korik bit back a sigh and placed both of his hands on the elf now.

“I don’t know exactly what this is,” he murmured. “But I will try to filter it from his system. Give me a moment.”

He had no idea how long it might take, but he began the process of seeking out foreign contaminants in the blood and drawing them out—the way he would with poisons. It was painstaking, tedious work; and the added pressure of knowing how little time they had made him feel even more stressed. But he did his best to ignore the gaze of the other two elves on him as they watched, focusing on the task at hand.

Korik could feel the toxin in the blood now that he knew what to look for. It felt almost oily as his magic brushed against it, creating an unpleasant sensation; still, he carefully sent his magic first through the elf’s arteries, then veins, then back through the whole circulatory system again, gathering up as much of the toxin as he could. He didn’t know if he could safely purge the contaminant through the liver or the kidneys all at once. Instead, with each pass through the elf’s system, he gathered more and more of the toxin in the elf’s left hand, where there was plenty of blood flow but the skin was thin and malleable.

Carefully, he opened the skin along the back of the elf’s hand, creating a cut only about an inch long. The toxin spilled out in a gush, followed by a trickle of blood; he heard one of the elves stifle a gasp, but no one tried to interrupt him—he didn’t dare look up to see how much of an audience he had gathered. His attention was already divided enough as he stemmed the bleeding from the elf’s hand while continuing his search, gathering up more remnants of the toxin.

Already, though, he could feel the elf’s consciousness coming into sharper focus as the paralytic’s effect lessened. The elf shuddered under his hands, but he urged him to remain still and patient. The mage obeyed, and Korik wondered how much he understood of what was being done to him.

It took a few more passes through his system, and more of the toxin being expelled through the small wound, before Korik thought it would be enough to get the mage up and functioning. He was sweating with exertion now, but made sure to fully close the wound he’d opened on the elf’s hand first—he didn’t want to leave any reason for the elves to distrust his work, not to mention that even a small wound might inhibit the mage’s focus while casting.

“I think that should be it,” he whispered, realizing he had no idea how long it had taken. “If you can hear me, try to be quiet. We don’t want the guard to notice us. My name is Korik. I’m a healer. We’re here to help you get out.”

With that, he pulled his hands away from the elf, whose eyes immediately snapped open. He stared at Korik with apprehension for a moment, then looked around—Korik followed his gaze and realized several other elves had joined them, including Varen and Enriel—maybe all of them. Hopefully, it was dark enough to disguise the embarrassed flush that rose in his face.

The mage stifled a groan as he tried to sit up; Korik helped him prop himself up, but remained silent as the elf scrubbed at his eyes and shook his head.

Varen knelt beside him, but only addressed the other elf. “I’m Commander Varen Petkas. Can you tell me your name?”

The mage blinked rapidly and swallowed hard. When he spoke, his voice came out in a raspy whisper. “I’m Alwyn. A High Sorcerer. From the royal library. Sir.”

Next to him, Varen became very tense; but when Korik glanced over at him, the elf had a barely suppressed smile. “Perfect. A High Sorcerer is exactly what we need. Can you stand? We were hoping to sneak everyone away, but if we can wipe out the camp and keep them from following at all, that would be ideal.”

Korik looked away, hoping no one would see what felt like obvious conflict on his face. Alwyn took a moment before responding; even now, his breathing sounded labored.

“Yes,” he finally said, nodding. “Commander. Help me stand.”

“Help me, Korik,” Varen said, shaking him from his thoughts. Quickly, Korik nodded and moved to the other side of the elf; together, they helped the shaky mage to his feet. Another elf crouched to pick up the robe he’d been laying on. Even in the dark, and smudged with grass and dirt, Korik could see it was finely made. He was unsure what it meant that this elf was a High Sorcerer, but apparently it was something high-ranking or powerful—it made him wonder how this elf had been captured in the first place.

When Alwyn was steady on his feet, to his surprise, he looked at Korik first. “Thank you.”

Korik nodded, unsure of how to reply. But luckily Alwyn continued, “I see you are a healer. Do you know any offensive magic?”

“No,” Korik answered, shaking his head. “Nothing like that.”

Alwyn nodded, turning his gaze away. “Then perhaps you could lend me some of your magic instead. I’m not at full strength, but I’d like to take this camp out as fast as possible.”

“Help him,” Varen said, and Korik could not stop the huff of irritation that escaped his mouth in response. He ignored Varen and instead spoke to Alwyn again.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing, really,” Alwyn replied. “I just need to touch you, like what you did to me. And don’t block me when I siphon some magic from you.”

Korik was aware of this practice, but had never done it himself. He could remember once or twice when he was young, his father had siphoned some of his magic to heal a particularly grievous wound—the sensation was uncomfortable, but bearable. With a grimace, Korik held out his hand.

“Do what you must,” he said, still not looking at Varen. He wanted to help—he did not need the overbearing elf telling him to do so. Alwyn nodded, grasping his wrist. Despite the stark difference of their heights, Korik’s wrist was thin enough that the elf could nearly get his fingers all the way around.

“Be ready to run,” Alwyn said, turning to look at Varen. “I think I can get them all. But just in case.”

Varen nodded, stepping away. Korik’s heart beat harder against his ribs, wondering what exactly Alwyn was going to do. He wasn’t sure what made him more frightened: the thought of having to run from an enraged camp of warriors and kidnappers, or the thought that whatever the mage was planning really could kill each of the orcs in their tents.

Alwyn glanced sidelong at Korik with a conflicted expression. “Do you know any of them?”

Korik shook his head. “No. They attacked me and the commander on the road, along with his sister. I don’t know who they are beyond that.”

“That’s good, at least,” the elf sighed, turning away. “Still. I don’t know how much you’ll feel. But it might be unpleasant for you. Brace yourself.”

Korik felt his stomach churn; but he didn’t have time to answer before he felt a wrenching sensation where Alwyn’s hand pressed against his wrist. He did his best not to resist, but it felt like all his blood was rushing to that point of contact, being drained away along with his life. He knew it was not so, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to allow the connection to remain, but all his instincts were screaming to pull away.

Part of him had hoped he would not feel what Alwyn was doing with the flow of magic that he was borrowing from Korik, but he had some strange, distant awareness of it. It was seeking the bodies of the orcs—not quite seeing them, but sensing them as distinct forms of heat and blood and varying sources of their own magic. The tendrils of Alwyn’s magic latched on to the closest—the guard, slumped lazily on a stool—and in a flash was ripping through him. It felt eerily similar to what he had just done to Alwyn, only with none of the caution. It was intended to harm, to rip, to open .

The guard let out the faint beginning of a cry, before Alwyn’s magic burst out of each carotid artery, slashing through the flesh the way Korik had opened the wound on Alwyn’s hand. Yet it was more , the magic kept going, seeking, hunting—

Nausea churned in Korik’s gut. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to focus on anything but the sensation of Alwyn using his magic to do this. The sensation became far more muted, but how could he focus on anything else? One by one, he heard the distant alarmed shouts and cries of pain cut off suddenly, as their lifeblood burst from the confines of their bodies and drained away.

It happened so quickly, so efficiently. He sensed one last orc stumbling up from his cot, startled awake by the noise; but Alwyn’s magic had already found him and was tearing through his throat before he could even grab his weapon. Korik had never imagined something like this would be possible. Could all elves do this? Or was Alwyn some grim, terrifying prodigy?

The elf released his hold on Korik’s wrist, only to slump back again, panting for breath. His hand had quickly grown clammy where it held onto Korik, leaving his wrist damp with sweat. It was a slight comfort, Korik thought as he grabbed the smaller man to keep him on his feet, that it was no easy feat for him to decimate an entire camp of orcs.

“There,” Alwyn panted. “It is done. We’re safe.”