“I think it would be worth it to go back to the camp to see if it’s been cleared,” Varen said, looking toward the west. “Even if it’s not, we can follow that game trail you found.”
The thought made Korik nervous. “Would that be safe?”
Varen shot him a smirk over his shoulder, which turned his nerves into annoyance. “We’d observe from a distance first, of course. I’m a professional at this, remember?”
Korik huffed, looking away, but had no reply to that. So they continued northward, but broke off from the road sooner than Korik expected, now heading northwest.
Varen had not asked him to use his magic to guide them so far; but now that they were out of Aefraya, Korik was sure it was only a matter of time. Even if Varen didn’t ask, though, he would use it of his own accord if he needed to; being able to get eyes on what was ahead of them before they were close enough to be in danger would be critical in their mission.
He had checked on both horses each morning to make sure they were rested, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for their names the way he had with Autumn. Varen hadn’t given any of the horses he’d been riding names, and now Korik could begrudgingly understand why. There was no guarantee of their safety in all this; and even if the horses survived their journey all the way back to Drol Kuggradh, they would likely part ways after that. Autumn being slain and left behind had pained him once they’d gotten far enough from the danger for him to process it all. Somehow it felt like the sting might have been lessened if he hadn’t had that connection with the mare—hadn’t seen how she enjoyed apples and called herself after the crisp breeze that accompanied the change of seasons.
No, it was better not to be attached. He wouldn’t name this horse. He had so few attachments anyway, one less wouldn’t make a difference.
And he would be the same with Varen, he told himself. They would finish this job, get back to Drol Kuggradh, and be done with it. He hated that the thought of that made his stomach churn, too much like his guilt over the dead horses. It was all just so jumbled up in his mind, and he had barely had a moment of peace and alone time to sort through all his thoughts and feelings. That was all.
The landscape was becoming more familiar as they traveled back toward the camp that they had extinguished just a few weeks prior. The miles went by quickly on their horses compared to making the trek on foot; so when Varen said they would arrive at the camp the next day, Korik was unsurprised.
“If you’re willing,” Varen said awkwardly, sounding uncomfortable for perhaps the first time Korik could recall. “You could get an aerial view of the camp first to make sure it’s safe for us to get any closer. And maybe check again in the morning. If it’s alright with you.”
This time, Korik took some small pleasure in looking at Varen for a long moment, silent and stoic, until the elf looked away with a flustered expression. Korik hid a smile, turning away to unpack his bedroll.
“Yes, I can do that,” he said, amused at how Varen huffed in irritation.
Once they were set up with their tents, and Varen had started a small fire to roast the rabbits that he’d caught along the way, Korik sat down to observe. He settled into the same familiar cross-legged position with his arms at his sides so his hands could touch the earth. He glanced over at Varen, who watched him carefully; heat rose in Korik’s face, and he looked away before closing his eyes to focus.
His magic extended out of him, pooling in the earth, before reaching outwards in search of life. He rushed past mice and voles and a fox curled up tight in a den; when he found a raven in a tree, he latched onto it. Its feathers ruffled at the intrusion, but he calmed its thoughts and sent it leaping up into the sky.
The raven had been in a tall pine, high enough that he could just see their campfire in the distance, and two vague shapes that must have been Varen standing watch and his own sitting body. Looking at himself like that always made him feel rather uncomfortable, so he twisted the bird north and flew in the direction of the orc camp.
They were about a mile south, so it wouldn’t be a long flight; still, he didn’t see it in the distance like he had expected. He doubled back and flew in a wide circle—worried that he had gone the wrong direction—but then he caught sight of the big tree where the elves had been tied up. The tree was there, but as he flew closer, he could immediately tell that the camp was entirely gone.
That wasn’t exactly a surprise, but could be cause for concern. He sent the raven into the branches of the tree to listen for any signs of activity; when none came, he dropped low and crested the hill to get a better view.
When he and Varen had rescued them, the elves had looted much in the way of supplies, but left behind most everything else, all unusable for them. The tents had all been standing when they had left; now, the only trace of them that remained were dark blood stains still marring the dirt, and an ashen pit where the camp’s central bonfire had been.
Korik sent the raven down to the ashes, pecking around for a moment to look more natural on the off-chance there were any observers nearby. The raven’s awareness heightened at the scent of blood, and he could detect more of it further away. From the drag marks leading into the trees, he was sure that it had been another band of orcs who had come across the slaughtered camp and buried the dead, taking everything they could find.
Beneath Korik’s hold on it, the raven was unsettled. While Korik could sense it, he had no real understanding as to why, though often animals did feel uncomfortable when he was controlling them. He supposed it must have been an unpleasant sensation to have no control over one’s own body—to sense another awareness in one’s mind. Still, ravens tended to be keen observers; he tried to quiet himself for a moment and let the bird point him toward what was making it nervous, without letting it fly away entirely.
Its beady eyes kept darting toward the woods, where the dead orcs had been dragged. With a flap of the raven’s wings, Korik flew in that direction, pausing at the treeline to see where the earth had been tilled. A large rectangle of disturbed earth indicated a mass grave; and while the raven could smell blood, it could also smell the rot of the bodies decomposing beneath the earth. While the grave was recent, Korik thought it must have been at least a few days since the bodies were buried, maybe a week.
The bird lingered there at the treeline as Korik thought about what he had observed. It seemed most likely to him that in the three weeks since they had left this place, the camp must have been expected to meet up with another group, possibly the larger rebel force causing trouble in the west. When they never turned up, a scouting party came looking for them, coming across the ruined camp and the dead bodies. For them to bury all the bodies and break down all the tents with everything within them, Korik suspected it was a group of at least five, maybe close to ten, like the camp had been.
A group of that size probably wasn’t traveling terribly fast, and he wondered if they were still nearby. He had seen no signs of other camps when he’d first sent the raven flying in this direction. Just to be safe, he sent the raven back up into the air and circled around the area, looking out as far as the bird’s eyes could reach for any sign of a campfire, an empty campsite, or even the movement of a band of orcs along the game trail he’d found.
He saw no sign of anyone within miles, save for himself and Varen. In a last-ditch effort, he rifled through the raven’s memory, but small creatures like this processed things so differently—it was more sense memory than anything else. The raven had seen nothing Korik could make sense of; while it had smelled blood and eaten meat, he couldn’t determine when or where the memories came from. None of it was of any use to Korik. Reluctantly satisfied that they were safe where they were, Korik released his hold on the raven, returning to himself with a lurch.
When he opened his eyes, Varen was looking at him curiously.
“Well?” he prompted. Korik rubbed his face, orienting himself before standing up.
“The camp was found,” he reported, his voice rasping. “Everything cleared away, bodies buried... at least a few days ago, but I’d say no more than a week. But no sign of anyone nearby now.”
Varen was silent for a long moment, considering.
“I see,” he finally murmured, looking in the camp's direction. “We’ll still scout from a distance tomorrow, then, but it sounds like we should be safe to proceed.”
Korik nodded, but was unsure of what else to say. Varen might have been renowned for his ability to remain undetected in the wilderness, but Korik was woefully lacking in that regard. He was tall, lanky, and—much as he hated to admit it—often clumsy. His hands were steady and true, as any physician’s should be, but his legs and feet were another matter. It might be best for Varen to scout ahead of him; but he worried that would leave him vulnerable, or take too long for Varen to constantly be doubling back to collect him, only to leave him behind again to scout ahead later...
