“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 mehowyou 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.
