“Don’t look so glum,” the elf murmured, leaning closer to him and pulling him from his thoughts. “Once we get this over with, we’ll be free to head back to Drol Kuggradh.”
He could tell it was meant to be encouraging, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
Once breakfast was done, he and Varen set out on foot, walking up the hill to the castle. Korik kept his pace slow, remaining a step or two behind Varen as they walked. Neither said anything as they traversed the city streets until the gate into the castle grounds came into view up ahead. Only then did Varen pause, looking over his shoulder at Korik.
“Just follow my lead,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know how to act around a king, don’t you? Just bow, and say ‘your majesty’, and you should be fine.”
Korik scowled, looking away. “I understand,” he muttered. He hadn’t felt eager to get back home before, when Varen had mentioned it, but now that the elf seemed back to his usual smug self, it was sounding more and more appealing.
They stopped again at the gate. Korik hung back a few steps as Varen showed their summons to the guard and gestured at him; then the gate opened, and they were allowed through. Beyond was a large courtyard with manicured gardens leading up to a balcony that overlooked the wide expanse. It was mostly empty now save for a few guards standing at intervals—or perhaps soldiers, not that Korik could tell if there was a difference—and a lone gardener inspecting a tree.
The soldier on the other side of the wall approached them.
“Commander,” he said, looking at Varen first, then glancing at Korik with a polite nod. “Healer. Please come with me. I will bring you to the king.”
“Lead the way,” Varen replied. They made their way through the courtyard, up the steps, and through the rest of the garden to the imposing doors of the castle. This close, Korik could barely wrap his head around the sheersizeof it. Even the castle tower that King Zorvut had built to house his family—by far the largest structure in Drol Kuggradh—was dwarfed compared to this. It sprawled out in all directions; its spires reached for the very clouds; even the doors were impossibly large, so tall that Korik didn’t need to duck at all to pass through. No elf could ever possibly be so tall, so what was the purpose? How many elves lived in this singular, massive building? Did one family—onepersonreally—truly need so much space just because they were royalty?
It all made him rather queasy to consider, so most of the castle passed by in a blur as the elf soldier led them through. Luckily, it seemed they would not meet the king in the throne room. Instead, the elf led them up a flight of stairs and through meandering hallways, finally stopping at an ornate door where another elf stood guard.
“Commander Varen Petkas and Healer Korik the Steadfast, here to see the king,” the soldier said to the new guard, who nodded and knocked once on the door before stepping through, closing it behind him.
Korik glanced between Varen and the soldier as they stood there in silence, wondering how long they would have to wait, but not daring to speak aloud. To his relief, they didn’t have to wait long. The door opened again only a moment later, and the elf standing guard gestured for them to enter. Varen stepped forward, Korik followed, and the door closed behind them.
The room within looked to be a personal library or study. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed to the brim with books and scrolls. Several shelves were topped with various statuettes, or vases with fresh flowers, drinking in the sunlight that streamed in from a window on the far wall. At the opposite end of the room was a wide, ornate table with a large map spread out atop it and surrounded by several plush chairs. Behind it stood the elven king.
He did not strike Korik as a particularly imposing figure at first. He seemed of average height and build for an elf, wearing a simple, but finely made wool robe. His hair was dark and long, and he wore it loose with no crown atop his head. But his expression was perfectly stoic, and his gaze was piercing—landing first on Varen, then on Korik.
Varen bowed deeply, his arms stiff at his sides as he bent at the waist until his body made a right angle. Korik bowed quickly after, looking down at his feet but glancing over at Varen out of the corner of his eye to gauge how long he should hold this posture.
“You may rise,” the king said. Varen waited a beat before rising, and Korik followed suit. King Ruven’s expression was still unreadable, but his voice was calm and even. He gestured at the chairs surrounding the table. “Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”
“Thank you, my king,” Varen replied, stepping closer to the table. Korik followed silently, sitting down beside him and shifting uncomfortably in the too-small chair.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” King Ruven said, sitting down across from them. “The reason for my summons is twofold. First, General Palleas told me what you reported, Commander Petkas. I would like to hear about this directly from the source. Tell me more about this orc raiding party you encountered.”
“Of course,” Varen replied smoothly, nodding. “On the seventh day of our trip from Drol Kuggradh, we were ambushed by four orcs on horseback. We were able to take down one, but our own horses were slain in the process. The remaining three kidnapped my sister, Enriel. We tracked them a few days to the northwest and found there was a camp of ten orcs in total, along with seven elves being held captive there. They were holding a High Sorcerer captive as well, by keeping him drugged with a paralytic so he couldn’t cast his magic. We snuck in under the cover of night, and Healer Korik was able to remove the toxin from High Sorcerer Alwyn, who was then able to help us slay the rest of the orcs in camp without any danger to the other elves. While I was looking through the remains of the camp, I found some evidence that this camp was a splinter of a larger encampment, likely the rebel tribes congregating in the west.”
“Was there any indication of where this larger group might be?” King Ruven asked.
“None that I could tell,” Varen replied. “We scoured the camp, but found no maps or other signs of where, exactly, they might be—other than that the camp might have come from the north.”
The king’s eyes landed on Korik again, who nervously looked down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“What do you make of this, Healer Korik?” he asked. “Where do you think this rebel camp might be hiding out?”
Korik was silent for a long moment, thinking over everything he had witnessed. “It is known the rebels loyal to Zesh have claimed much of the west as their own,” he finally replied, grateful that at least his voice wasn’t shaking. “There may be one very large camp, but I think it is more likely there are several camps—groups of only fifty or so, roaming the area, keeping in contact with messengers... If they were all in one host, it would be too easy to spot them in the plains.”
King Ruven nodded. One hand tapped at his chin thoughtfully as he looked down at the map on the table beneath them, which displayed all of Aefraya and the orc territories.
“This is valuable information,” he finally said. “I have also received a report from High Sorcerer Alwyn, corroborating this and providing some additional context that I believe King Zorvut will find critical to his success. Healer Korik, I admit I have some concern regarding this toxin used to incapacitate the sorcerer. Alwyn reported that neither he nor you knew what it was. Is this true?”
Korik nodded, still nervous. He was very curious as to what else Alwyn might have reported, but knew better than to ask. “Yes. I had never encountered anything like it. I have the toxin, but have made no headway in identifying its components.”
“Would you be willing to give it to me, for our library to study?” King Ruven asked.
He wanted to say no—he wanted to study it himself, his curiosity piqued—but he knew he was not in a position to deny a request from a king. Still, he risked a sidelong glance at Varen, who met his gaze from the corner of his eye. He pulled a slight face that even Korik could tell was meant to urge him to hand it over.
“I... Yes,” Korik replied, resigned. He had kept the vial in his pockets since he’d found it, sometimes looking at the viscous fluid as it streaked along the glass, but mostly just to keep it safe. Now he fished it out from the pocket of his coat and placed it on the table. King Ruven reached for it, holding it between two fingers as he peered at it for a moment, then set it back down on the desk in front of him.
