Another group came into sight, confirming his fears. They were not pursuing them from behind, but had given them a wide berth only to close in as a pincer. Of course they would—they were so much faster than Varen’s elf-sized horse ever could be—he kicked himself for not considering it.
Korik must have noticed the same, swearing under his breath.
“Back the way we came,” Varen panted, pulling the reins to turn the horse around. “If we can get some distance, we can try slipping past to the—the north. So they can’t cut us off.”
Korik nodded and followed as Varen kicked his horse into a gallop; but he could see the grim expression that fell over the orc’s face. The chance of them losing their pursuers was slim to none. The best Varen could hope for was that they could find an advantageous position where they could kite the orcs from a distance and subdue them without having to resort to melee combat. What were the chances of that, though? Varen forced down the bleak thought, focusing on the uneven ground ahead of them.
He had his emergency exit, he thought—the little teleportation stone that Alwyn had given him suddenly felt heavy as lead in the pocket of his cloak. But that was a last resort. He didn’t know if it would bring Korik with him, and if he left the orc behind, it was as good as a death sentence. He was a healer, a druid—the poor man looked like he wouldn’t know what to do with a sword if one fell into his lap. If they had any other chance of getting away, they had to take it.
He could barely hear anything over the sound of hooves thundering across the earth, and his own breathing rushing in his ears; but two things cut through at almost the same time. The high-pitched whistle of an arrow ripping through the air, and—
“Varen!” Korik shouted, his warning coming too late. Varen ducked, but the arrow wasn’t meant for him. His horse screamed and bucked beneath him, and Varen felt the hot blood spraying from its haunch onto his thigh.
He swore, launching himself out of the saddle as the horse tumbled to the ground. He landed on all fours, but stumbled to his feet, forcing himself to run and ignoring the animal’s pained cries. It had been years since he’d felt sad for losing a horse—it happened too often to dwell on it—but remembering how Korik had grieved that damned mare had softened him, and now the ache of guilt swelled in his chest.
But it was quickly buried in the mounting panic that was overtaking everything else. He could see both bands of orcs approaching now, one closer than the other—could see the archer that’d loosed the arrow, nocking another. Korik pulled back on the reins of his horse beside him, reaching out to pull him up onto his own horse; but the battle was already lost.
“Korik,” Varen said, grabbing the orc’s hand, but remaining where he was. “We can’t outrun them.”
To his surprise, something like a snarl passed over Korik’s face. “We aren’t giving up,” he protested.
Varen shook his head. “No, but—listen to me. I have a teleportation stone, but I’ve never used one before. We have to be touching skin for it to bring you with me. I’m going to try to get us back to Drol Kuggradh—”
The whistle of another arrow interrupted him, and he ducked again, but he was too slow. Pain exploded in his leg, and he stifled a scream—if he hadn’t already been grabbing Korik’s hand, he would have collapsed. The arrow had pierced his thigh, which he knew could very well be a fatal blow. He had to act fast, even if Korik didn’t understand.
“Don’t let go of me,” he urged. With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his cloak, pulling out the teleportation stone with shaking fingers. Korik’s expression had morphed quickly from fright to concern to confusion, but they didn’t have time—he could hear the pounding of hooves now, even over the cries of his wounded horse.
Feed it with some of your own magic to get it started.That was what Alwyn had told him. He prayed to all the gods that the little assassin hadn’t tricked him, squeezed the stone tightly in his hand, and pushed his magic into it.
The moment his magic touched the rune, it was as if a siphon had opened up in his chest. He was vaguely aware of Korik hissing in surprise, or perhaps in pain, as the teleportation pulled all the magic he could give from his body, even pulling from Korik where their hands were clasped.
Then the teleportation took hold. The world wrenched hard around him, but his body was pinned tightly, unable to move—as if he’d suddenly been grasped in the fist of a giant and plucked away from the earth. He could barely breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’tthink. Pain still radiated up and down his entire leg.
Alwyn had told him to focus, hadn’t he? Focus on where he needed to go. He tried to think of Drol Kuggradh, but his mind felt blurry around the edges. He was going to be sick.
With a terrible lurch, the spell ended, and Varen collapsed to the ground. He felt, more than saw, Korik fall beside him. He’d been on his horse, but the horse was now gone. The spell hadn’t been able to touch it. The ground beneath him was cold, and the air was crisp and still.
“Fuck,” he hissed out through gritted teeth, curling in on himself. This wasn’t Drol Kuggradh, and his leg was on fire with agony from where he’d stumbled.
“Varen,” Korik panted, kneeling beside him. “Lay still. Let me see.”
“I fucked it up,” Varen groaned. He tried to relax the tension in his body, keeping him curled up in pain. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know how far we are from Drol Kuggradh. I’m sorry.”
“Be quiet andfocus,” Korik snapped, and his tone was so jarring that Varen had no choice but to obey. “Let me see the wound. I’m a healer, you idiot. Let me help you.”
Varen tried to roll himself onto his back so Korik could better see the wound, but it sent fire shooting down the length of his leg and up into his side. He bit back a whimper and forced himself to move, his vision going white with the effort. He could distantly hear Korik saying something in a low tone, maybe trying to comfort him; but the whole world had condensed down to the bolt in his thigh, the arrowhead stabbing and tearing the muscle with every movement.
Then Korik’s hands were on him—no, only one hand, pressinghardjust above where the bolt had entered him, the other hand grabbing it.
“No, no,no—” Varen protested, realizing what was happening. Korik ignored him and pulled the bolt out in one forceful tug. Varen screamed, and blood sprayed as he writhed, instinctively trying to get away from the source of the agony. But the orc grabbed him, deceptively strong—then magic was rushing through him, cooling his burning nerves. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. The rent flesh was pressed back together, healing rapidly with Korik’s magic.
Varen stared down at his leg. Blood still darkened his trousers, but through the rip in the cloth, he saw what had once been a deep gash was now a glistening scab. The pain that had him incapacitated seconds earlier was now fading away entirely, though his heart was still pounding.
“Whatever that spell was tapped me,” Korik sighed, leaning back. His brow was damp with sweat and his hands were shaking. “I can’t heal it any further. Sorry.”
Varen shook his head, still processing. So much had happened in mere minutes, but he suspected the teleportation was behind his lingering disorientation.
“No, it’s—I mean, thank you,” he croaked. Now that the adrenaline was fading, he could feel that he too was covered in a sheen of sweat, rapidly cooling in the cold air. “You saved me. Thank you.”
