But he would have to unpack his feelings about it all later. Now he just wanted to get an estimate of how many orcs were up ahead, maybe even spot their leader, or else determine if this was yet another offshoot of an even larger group. The landscape below rushed by in a blur as he raced silently through the sky. Distantly, he could feel the owl was uneasy being out in the open, as the slivers of sunrise lightened the horizon; but he pushed the animal’s instinct down, calming its thoughts and pressing on.
By the time he could start making out distinct shapes of tents and campfires, he had no doubts thatthiswas the primary seat of the rebel stronghold. The camp was sprawling: it spread out across a rocky valley with muddy paths beginning to form in the most trafficked areas, and tall bonfires along with small personal campfires scattered about. One large central tent had to be where the leader Zesh slept, or at least met with the orc leadership, like a makeshift a war room. It was early enough that there was very little activity; but a few fires had been stoked to start preparing breakfast, and many of the smaller campfires still had embers glowing like distant, warm stars.
He was considering whether he should try to draw closer to the big tent, when he sensed...somethingoutside of the owl's body. He was being shaken or grabbed—the real him, not the animal. Startled, he released his hold on the owl and came back into his own body in a rush, the world spinning around him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking firmly, yet urgently; and he was vaguely aware of Varen’s voice in a low, measured tone in his ear. It took several seconds before the disorientation faded enough that he could understand.
“Are you back with me?” he finally picked out. He nodded and immediately wished he hadn’t, as a wave of nausea washed over him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to push the vertigo away and focus on the elf’s carefully calm voice. “I think another druid is watching us. Don’t look now, but there’s a big bastard of a raven in a tree behind me. He’s been there for a few minutes. I thought it might have been you at first, but then it never came closer. It hasn’t gone away, though, and I’m sure it’s watching us.”
Despite Varen telling him not to look, Korik carefully got to his feet so he could see over the shorter elf, letting his eyes scan the opposite treeline in a way he hoped was natural. But his vision instantly locked on to the raven Varen had described; it did seem very large, and old as well. Its thinning feathers pushed every which way in the wind, giving it a bedraggled appearance; but its head was motionless, and its beady eyes were unusually sharp. Korik barely glanced over it as he looked out at the landscape, but the feeling of being watched remained. He looked back down at Varen, who was standing casually and looking in the other direction, arms folded across his chest.
“I think you’re right,” Korik said, willing his voice to remain low and calm, even as panic began to rise in his chest. “I saw the rebel camp. Half a day away at most. I’m sure they have a druid. They know we’re here.”
A pained expression crossed Varen’s face. He clearly wanted to interrogate Korik further about the camp, but it was clear that now was not the time. He turned to the horses without another word, untying them from the tree. Korik grabbed his rucksack and bedroll from where he’d propped them against a rock—thankful Varen had insisted that the first thing they did each morning was pack away their things to be ready to leave in a hurry. It had been annoying all the other mornings, but now it meant they could be gone from this place in a matter of seconds, and nothing would be left behind.
“Come here,” Varen said, a little louder so Korik would hear, but still in a perfectly calm tone. Korik approached, at first reaching for his horse, but Varen gestured for him to come closer. “Block its line of sight of me with your body.”
Korik hesitated, then took another step closer, so his form fully covered the elf. It was far too close for comfort. Silently, Varen pulled his bow out and notched an arrow in one fluid motion, still bent as if he were inspecting his horse’s hooves. This close, Korik could hear that his breathing was coming in long, slow beats—in sharp contrast to the staccato of his own anxious breaths.
“On three, duck as low as you can. Drop to the ground if you have to. I’ll need to be quick. Understand?” Varen murmured, still not looking at him. From this angle, Korik couldn’t even see his eyes, shadowed as they were by his long eyelashes and the dark curtain of his hair.
“I understand,” Korik whispered, fear spiking in his chest.
“One. Two. Three,” Varen counted. Korik threw himself to the ground. Varen pulled his drawn bow up, the arrow whistling through the air in the same instant. A rapid, heavy flutter of wings—a violent thud—the screech of the bird cut short with a wet gurgle.
Korik scrambled back up to his feet, somehow still shocked at the sight of the dying raven, now pinned by its throat to the tree it had been perched on. Such a feat should have bordered on impossible, yet Varen had moved methodically and fluidly, as if he had practiced such a shot every day of his life.
“That should buy us some time,” he said, mounting his horse. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Korik asked as he mounted his own horse, startling himself at the ragged worry in his voice. Varen shrugged, already trotting ahead.
“Away,” he said. “Toward Drol Kuggradh. Korik, I need you to remembereverydetail you saw of that camp until we get the chance to write it all down, okay?”
“I will,” Korik answered, but Varen was already pulling ahead. He nudged his horse’s ribs to catch up, and soon they were both galloping through the rocky hills, cutting through the meandering route they had taken before to make a direct path to the east.
Chapter Seventeen
Varen
Varenkepthishorsegoing as fast as it could manage for nearly an hour, before he finally felt that they had enough distance between them and the rebel camp to bring them down to a trot. He knew Korik could have sped on ahead if he really wanted to with his bigger horse; but when he looked back, the orc was just a few steps behind him, brow furrowed with worry. Surely he was aware of the danger they were still in, even more so than Varen, but he hadn’t tried to pull ahead at any point, nor sneak away from Varen when his back was turned. Maybe he just knew that whoever was watching them had seen them both, but it still brought Varen some tiny measure of comfort that even now Korik intended to keep his promise.
“I know we probably haven’t lost them,” Varen panted, his body aching from how hard he’d ran the horse. The creature was sweating and breathing hard beneath him. “But I don’t want to kill the horses. What do you think?”
Korik nervously looked behind him. “I haven’t seen anyone. But... There’s no telling.”
“I need the horses tonotbe exhausted if we have to run again,” Varen sighed. Korik’s expression darkened, and he knew he didn’t need to say that if they were truly to be chased down, they had no hope of escaping and would have to fight their way out.
“I’m following you,” Korik finally said, nervously patting his own horse’s neck. The bigger creature looked tired, but not nearly as much as Varen’s.
They kept going at a trot, and Varen took the opportunity to pull his enchanted parchment out from a saddlebag and hastily scrawl a missive. His handwriting was messy and shaky with movement compared to the neat, careful letters of each previous message.
Found primary rebel camp. No details, spotted & had to flee. Roughly ten miles north of last reported location.
Then he shoved it back into the bag and turned his attention to the dire matter at hand. He continually turned back to scan the horizon in all directions. His heart thundered in his chest—hyper aware that they were far from being out of danger, yet unable to do more to ensure their safety. Every vague shape in the distance sent fear leaping up into his throat; every silhouette of a tree or a boulder appeared as the specter of a massive orc, riding an even bigger horse, armed to the teeth and ready to cut them down.
Korik kept looking to the sky, too, worry crossing his face every time a bird flew overhead. None seemed to track them, and most were close enough that even Varen could tell they were not the same bird following them; but he couldn’t keep down the suspicion that arose with every winged shadow that passed over them.
But what more could they do? There were some trees, sure, but nothing that would give them cover long enough to shake any pursuers off their trail. There were hills, but if they were being watched from above, hiding in valleys wouldn’t be of much help. The best they could hope for was to put enough distance between them and the orc camp that they either gave up on the chase, or decided against pursuing them at all.
That was not the case. Varen’s gaze snagged on a cluster of silhouettes moving in the distance, white-hot fear pulsing through him as the image registered. A group of three orcs on horseback, not pursuing from directly behind them, but further to the north. Swearing, Varen yanked on the reins of his horse, stopping so quickly that Korik nearly ran into him. But he ignored Korik’s startled, confused shout, turning to the south, eyes searching frantically—
