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.”
