Korik made a faint noise that might have been in agreement or discomfort, his lips pursing around his tusks as he stood. For how lanky and thin he was compared to other orcs, he had held Varen down surprisingly easily.
But that was the least of his concerns—and it looked as though Korik was thinking the same, as he turned in a slow circle, examining their surroundings.
“Where are we?” Korik asked softly, frowning as he looked up at the sky. Varen sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and finally took in the environment.
Wherever they were, it absolutely was not Drol Kuggradh. The ground beneath him was cold, hard dirt; but he could see a layer of brown pine needles had been pushed aside where he’d landed and thrashed about. They were surrounded by trees, mostly tall evergreens; but some had already lost most or all of their leaves. None of them matched the short and scrubby evergreens that he knew surrounded Drol Kuggradh.
The air felt cold and thin in his lungs, and the familiarity of it filled him with dread. It felt like mountain air. But if they had ended up on a mountain, they had more than just overshot Drol Kuggradh.
“I’m not sure,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and raspy. “But I... I think we ended up rather far from Drol Kuggradh. I think we’re on a mountain.”
Korik frowned, still looking around. “I think so too. I wish I had more magic now... I could find the local animals and learn more.”
They were both silent for a long moment. Korik was still looking around; and while his expression was terse, Varen thought the terrible gravity of their situation hadn’t fully dawned on the orc yet.
He started to push himself up to stand, but hissed as the movement sent a deep ache radiating through his leg. While it wasn’t nearly as bad as when he’d had an arrow in it, there was still clearly a healing wound there. Korik looked at him sharply, brows furrowed with worry.
“Just stay there,” he urged, kneeling beside him again. “Don’t stand yet.”
“Okay, okay,” Varen groaned. “I’m sorry. I guess we might as well set up camp here, then, if I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Korik turned his gaze upward one more time, yellow eyes scanning the sky with obvious worry. The surrounding trees were dense, though, and blotted out most of the sky above; and it was much more cloudy here than it had been over the plains. Varen wondered if Korik was worried about the other druid still trying to watch them from the eyes of birds, or if he was trying to find the sun.
He couldn't bring himself to ask—couldn’t bring himself to speak into existence that they were far,farmore distant from the camp or Drol Kuggradh than either had expected.
HadAlwyn tricked him? Part of him wanted to blame the elf, who was conveniently not there to defend himself; but Varen couldn’t deny that he hadn’t exactly been focused when he’d activated the stone. It had worked, but he hadn’t been able to guide it well enough to get them where he wanted to go. And hadn’t Alwyn told him the rune had all the magic it would need? So why had it drained them both? Maybe Alwyn had planned for it to only use one person’s worth of magic, expecting him to use it to get away from Korik, not bring him along. Maybe that extra magic had sent them further from their destination. Or maybe that was all excuses, and the fault was his alone.
He tried to push the thoughts from his mind. Right now, they had to worry about making a fire and setting up camp, so they could survive the rest of the day—gods, it wasn’t even midday yet—and hopefully figure out more once they’d had the chance to recover.
“The horses are gone,” Korik said softly, pulling Varen from his thoughts. The orc had said it so quietly that Varen suspected he hadn’t meant for him to hear, but still he grimaced with guilt.
Then a sickening worry overtook him—his parchment he’d been using to communicate with Aefraya had been in his horse’s saddlebags, too. He hadn’t thought to keep it on his person. Now, at best, it was lost forever, and at worst, in the hands of the leader of the rebel group; either way, it meant he had no way of alerting anyone where they were or what had happened.
Varen closed his eyes, fighting against the panic that threatened to overtake him.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “The horses… Mine was a lost cause, and—I mean, I wasn’t sure how the spell would work, if it would take the horse. I’m sorry. I know you were fond of your horses.”
Something in Korik’s eyes hardened, which somehow only made Varen feel worse.
“You were right,” he replied. “It’s better not to name them.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to be right about something as horrible as that.
Chapter Eighteen
Korik
“Sowe’reoutalot of supplies,” Varen said brusquely, not meeting Korik’s eyes. A cold, distant calm had settled over the elf. He pulled his rucksack off his back. “Only whatever was in our bags. I’ve got my bedroll, a bit of bread, and not much else that will be useful. You?”
Korik blinked slowly, still struggling to gather his thoughts. The teleportation had been disorienting and drained a worrying amount of his magic, which had only been further depleted to heal Varen. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, somehow both heavy and floating; and exhaustion dragged on his joints, even though it was still early in the day.
But they were clearly not out of danger—wherever they ended up was not where Varen had meant to send them. So he shook his head to try to clear his thoughts, then pulled off his rucksack.
“My own bedroll,” he said flatly, opening the bag. “An extra blanket... My extra clothes and a waterskin. Some rope, some cheese, a bag of cured meat. A piece of soap. Some herbs.”
“I have an extra blanket, too,” Varen said, rummaging through his bag. “Between that and your rope, I think we could set up a tent if we really need one, but it wouldn’t be ideal.”
Korik noticed how the elf’s hands shook as he dug through his pack. “I’ll start a campfire,” he said, turning away. “So we can keep warm.”
