Flying out a mile in every direction, he found no sign of any other camps. He did, however, find a footpath through some brush to the north that seemed to have been recently traversed—made wider by the trampling hooves of at least a small band of riders. Perhaps only a hunting trail, but he couldn’t rule it out as an indication of this camp’s previous movements.
He didn’t want to be caught unawares by any of the elves, so once he found the trail, he released his hold on the owl and returned to his own consciousness. Luckily, when he glanced about, it didn’t seem any of the elves had noticed anything amiss.
Korik was safe for now. He settled back into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. He still wasn’t tired, but he knew if he didn’t at least try to rest now, then he would regret it later in the day.
Somehow he managed to sleep, but it was a light rest. The first rays of the sun, peeking over the horizon against his eyelids, were enough to rouse him only a few hours later. When he opened his eyes, some of the other elves were also beginning to wake, packing away their bedrolls and gearing up the horses.
Varen and Alwyn still slept on either side of him. Korik hesitated. Both could surely use as much sleep as they could get; but he was sure that if he didn’t wake Varen right at sunrise, the elf would be very annoyed with him, which he didn’t want to deal with.
As gently as he could manage, he placed one hand on Varen’s shoulder and lightly shook him. The elf sat up quickly, the cloth covering his face falling down into his lap; his eyes were wide and alert for an instant, then catching sight of Korik, he relaxed.
“Right on time,” he yawned. “Check on Enriel, won’t you? I’ll start getting everyone up.”
Korik glanced down at Alwyn sleeping not far from him, then leaned closer to Varen. “I searched the area a bit while everyone was sleeping. I’m not sure if you saw it in your own scouting, but about a mile north, there was a footpath that seemed to have been recently traveled... So I think they might have split off from a group further to the north.”
Varen’s expression didn’t change; he only nodded, still busying himself with folding up the cloak that he’d been sleeping on.
“Good eye,” he said simply, before stumbling up to his feet. “Thank you.”
Korik hesitated, unsure of what else he expected. Varen was already walking away, so there was nothing to do but pack up his own belongings and check on Enriel. Varen’s orders had not become any less vexing, despite the trials of the last few days; but Enriel’s health had always been his priority, so off he went.
He found her near the horses, holding her paint gelding’s reins, while two other elves were filling the saddlebags. She caught sight of Korik and smiled; he was relieved to see that she was looking much better, now that she rested and knew her baby was well.
“Feeling better?” he asked quietly, standing beside her, and she nodded. He could feel the other elves looking at him—though whether it was with worry, or fear, or simple idle curiosity, he could not tell. He ignored them.
“Yes, thank you, Healer,” she replied. “Though I don’t think I’ll feel entirely safe until we’re back in Aefraya. Erm, that is—well, you know what I mean.”
“I understand,” he said. “Let me know if anything ails you while we’re traveling. It doesn’t look like they had a healer here, but I’m sure I could find enough supplies to make you something for any pain or nausea.”
Enriel smiled again; he could only meet her eyes for a few seconds before looking away uncomfortably again.
“Thank you, Korik,” she said again. “I’m well for now, but I’ll let you know.”
He nodded and stepped away now that their business was done. He did not see Varen when he glanced around; Alwyn was gone from where he’d been laying, too.
The way the elf prisoners had been positioned, it was hard to see most of the camp until he walked further away and up a hill, but from there he could observe the entire camp, small as it was. The guard had been sitting here at the top of the hill with a good view of both the camp and the prisoners, and Korik looked down at where his dead body was sprawled in the grass for a long moment.
In his time as a healer, he’d seen his fair share of gruesome injuries, some fatal and others less so. This was not like that. He had to admit that Alwyn’s method of disposal, brutal as it was, also had a certain efficiency and cleanliness. Korik wondered if the elf was secretly trained as an assassin, rather than a mage. The only wounds on the orc were the two narrow cuts on each side of his throat; anyone not practiced in medicine or anatomy could easily miss that the openings were positioned exactly where the two arteries would run up the length of the neck.
Anyone investigating the camp would likely note that all the orcs had been killed the same way, but Korik doubted the average scout could glean any other information—unless they were a druid or healer themselves, and a keen-eyed one at that. It would be best to leave the bodies where they were, he decided; it was not respectful of the dead, but then again, these orcs had not been respectful of the elves who had killed them, either. Though it was a shame that he hadn’t been able to use his newfound skill to manipulate the earth—he wondered how quickly he could dig a grave with his magic, but he quickly discarded the morbid train of thought.
Even though the elves had more than likely gathered anything useful from the camp, his curiosity about whatever substance the orcs had used to keep Alwyn incapacitated urged him to take a last look. He began with the guard: his weapons were gone, but he had a few things in his pockets that the elves had left behind. A handful of gold coins which Korik pocketed, and a folded-up slip of parchment. He unfolded it hoping to find some missive that might prove useful, but was dismayed to find instead a child’s drawing of five orcs in a line from tallest to smallest, labeled in a messy scrawl:Papa, Mama, Uncle Zekko, Dezka, Me.
It had been drawn in charcoal and was smudged nearly to the point of being indecipherable; the orc must have held onto it for a long time. Korik looked at it for a moment, wondering if the dead orc at his feet was the papa or the uncle, then folded it back up and placed it back in the orc’s pocket.
The orc also had a leather pouch looped through his belt that clinked when Korik pressed a hand to it; when he opened it, three glass vials were within. Two were empty. The third, he hoped, was the paralytic that had been used on Alwyn: a viscous greenish-yellow fluid that clung to the sides of the vial as Korik tilted it. The small cork keeping it closed had traces of wax on the top, indicating it had once been kept airtight, and Korik wondered how long it would take before the tincture would spoil. Hopefully, he could study it more while it was still functional.
If it was indeed the paralytic, that alone would have made his investigation worth the time; but Korik still walked down to the empty camp to look through the tents, bloody as they were. All weapons within had been pilfered already, save for some of the heavier ones, like mauls and greataxes, that would have been all but impossible for any of the elves to wield. The only blankets that remained were the ones covered in now-dried blood, so Korik left those behind, too.
Just as he’d suspected, though, none of the orc clothing seemed to have been taken. He’d had to leave behind most of his things in his saddlebags with Autumn, and the two outfits he’d been cycling through were now so dirty that it made him shudder to think about. The only clothes he found that would fit him in length were exceedingly baggy on his thin frame, but they were better than the soiled clothes he’d been wearing for days. He changed into them gratefully and shoved his dirty clothes into his rucksack, then packed a few more clean tunics and trousers into an empty rucksack he found in another tent.
When he arrived back down the hill at the big tree, the elves had gathered into a group, and he could see Varen looking around irritably. When his eyes landed on Korik, the elf scowled and opened his mouth—but then he stopped himself, looking Korik up and down quickly. Then he turned away, looking embarrassed.
Korik had no idea what caused the strange reaction in Varen, but didn’t get the chance to ask as the commander barked out, “Alright, that’s everyone. Let’s head out.”
With that, the group started walking in the direction that he and Varen had come from. Enriel rode atop her paint horse; the orc-bred horses bore two elves each, Alwyn among them; the rest were on foot, some in front of the horses and some behind. Korik took in a deep, steadying breath, then followed. It would be a long walk to Castle Aefraya.
Chapter Eight
