Eventually, he came across a snowy goshawk, preening itself high in a tree about a mile away. Its keen eyes and swift flight were well suited for Korik’s purposes. The goshawk screeched in alarm at his presence, but he calmed it quickly and sent it high into the air, trying to get a better sense of their surroundings.
That it was a snowy goshawk at all told him they were indeed far to the north, but his heart continued to sink the further up he flew, seeing just how high in the mountains they really were. He oriented the bird, as he saw the sun rising in the east, then turned it northward, heading up and over the mountains to find what lay beyond. If this was truly the Krag Gabriz range, then he would eventually see the coast to the north; and seeing how far the valley stretched before hitting the northern cliffs would give him a good idea as to where they were.
Korik could feel the bird’s growing unease about being so far from its territory. Birds of prey often had a stronger reaction to his presence and fought him more vigorously for control over their bodies. He did not like inhabiting predator creatures because of it. Prey animals often had instincts that would take them over, leaving much of their behavior out of their control; he suspected such creatures were not as alarmed to suddenly be passengers within their own little bodies. Predators were often more cunning, too—somehow more aware that he was somethingelse, something separate from themselves, yet nonetheless still controlling them.
But he desperately needed to know where they were, and a bigger bird could cover longer distances than the little finches and buntings that were more plentiful. So he tried to calm the bird as much as he could, though it pained him to know he was distressing it.
Eventually, he crested the peak of the mountains and could see down into the valley below. It was a long descent, with many smaller peaks jutting up in between, but he followed the slope further and further.
And then he could just make it out—the glint of the ocean far in the distance. It was not close, but it wasn’t as far as he’d hoped, either. They were deep in orc territory still; he supposed it was all the same now, though he also wondered how much the remote clans here in the mountains cared about such things as peace treaties and annexations of land.
It would be a difficult path down the mountain, then they would still have a long way to go before they reached any civilization. He didn’t know exactly where the elven outpost Varen had mentioned was; but judging how far they were from the elven border, he wondered if they had any chance at all of making it there before succumbing to the elements.
Korik spent some time flying over the area, trying to find landmarks to plan out their course. What looked like a natural hot spring was nestled at the very base of the mountain, to the northeast of where they were, which would be an ideal location to aim for. He then made his way back to find themselves again, so that the goshawk was at least in familiar territory when he released it.
When he came back to himself, Varen was up and about, having already packed away all his things and in the process of shaking off his bedroll.
“Any luck?” he asked, glancing over at Korik, who grimaced. “Bad news, then?”
“Well...” Korik sighed, standing shakily. “We are definitely in the Krag Gabriz. I don’t know how far it is from the elven border, but it seems we are deep in orc territory. There’s a natural hot spring at the base of the mountain to the northeast. I think heading there will be our best bet, then head east for the fort you mentioned.”
“The hot springs,” Varen murmured, frowning. “I think I know what you’re talking about. If it’s the same place I’m thinking of, then we’re exactly where you say, and it’s at least a week from there to Solitude. And that’s if the weather is decent, which...”
He trailed off, glancing up at the sky. Clouds made the sunlight gray, but the air was temperate with a touch of morning chill. It would be the best they could hope for this time of year, though, and it was likely to only get worse the longer they were out.
“Do you think there’s anything closer?” Korik asked softly. He didn’t want to sound afraid, but it was hard to keep the nervous edge out of his voice. “Anything at all?”
“No,” Varen said brusquely, looking back down at the bedroll in his hands. “This is one of the most remote places I’ve ever been. Unless there’s an orc clan somewhere along the way that will let us shelter with them, I think we’re on our own til then.”
“And the teleportation stone? You can’t use it again?”
“Alwyn told me it had only one use,” Varen said, but he pulled the stone out of his bag anyway. It was a smooth stone about the size of the elf’s palm, but Korik could see a rune carved into it on one side. “It feels inert to me, but you’re much more skilled in that regard than I am. Take a look.”
Korik took the stone, turning it over and over in his hand. It was cool to the touch, and he couldn’t sense any magic within it. Considering the sheer amount of power it had used to get them there in the first place, he was sure that if there was any magic still within the stone, he would feel it. As Alwyn said, it was a single-use item.
“I don’t feel anything either,” Korik sighed, handing it back to him. “It’s possible we might come across an orc clan somewhere along the way, but... I doubt there are any on the mountain this time of year. And there’s no guarantee they’ll agree to help us.”
He didn’t add that whilehecould probably shelter with any clan they came across, it was Varen’s presence that would complicate things. Most orcs he knew had no qualms about the alliance between them and the elves, or the annexation of historic orc lands into Aefraya. After all, their way of life remained mostly unchanged, and it meant an end to the war so many of their number—their clanmembers, family, and friends—had been conscripted to fight in. The ones who had the strongest feelings had surely already gone west to join up with Zesh’s group of rebels.
But even the orcs who had no negative feelings about all the change of the past few years might still be distrustful of an elf amongst their number. In a remote clan like this, Korik imagined most of the orcs here had never met an elf before, where all sorts of superstitions and frightening stories about them had been told for generations. Even knowing they were just tall tales, it was hard to shake the distrust of them after a childhood of being told that an elf’s magic could siphon out your soul with a touch, or spoil your food forever with a curse.
So even if they did come across an orc clan, once they got off the mountain and down into the northern valleys, that would be no guarantee of their safety, nor promise of shelter. In all likelihood, though, Korik thought they would see no one, neither orc nor elf, until they arrived in Solitude.
Varen let out a long, slow sigh with his eyes closed, clearly as consumed by his thoughts as Korik with his own. When he opened them again, he looked up at Korik with a grim expression.
“Then we’d better get going,” he said simply.
Chapter Twenty
Varen
Howweretheygoingto survive this?
The question echoed in Varen’s mind over and over again as they trudged their way north through the mountains. If they had any hope of making it to Solitude alive, they would need to get down the mountain as fast as possible, before the weather had the chance to turn on them. If it snowed, it would be a struggle to keep warm—they each had an extra change of clothes and a cloak with them, but it was far from the heavy snow gear that would keep them truly safe and dry against the elements. Magic would help, of course; but it was a finite resource, so it was a double-edged sword.
He wondered if using the teleportation stone was a mistake, if they would have stood a better chance of survival facing the orcs that had chased them down, rather than fleeing to this gods-forsaken mountain. If he ever saw Alwyn again, he decided, he would wring the scrawny little mage’s neck.
Korik had remained quiet as they walked. The orc was always quiet, but this seemed different. He was quiet like when they were chasing after Enriel, Varen thought—tense and worried, like a coiled spring just waiting to snap. He recognized it and felt the same.
