“I see you’re the strong and silent type, then,” the elf laughed. Korik was not especially strong, he thought, so he wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Gods, Varen, leave him alone,” Enriel sighed, finally interjecting. She looked over at Korik with an apologetic expression. “Just ignore him. I certainly do most of the time.”
“What? I’m trying to make conversation. Should I ignore our companion instead?” Varen snapped back.
“Yes,” Korik muttered under his breath, but he was too far away for Varen to hear. He would much prefer to be ignored and left alone unless he was needed.
The two siblings bickered for a while longer, and luckily, it seemed Korik was forgotten in their argument. It made him wonder if the arrogant elf was always like this, if he was just as annoying to his sister as he was to Korik. Elves in general were haughty, of course, but at least most of them were haughty in the silent, judging sort of way—not the brash, outspoken way Varen was. Just his luck that he would be stuck on the road for a month with the loudest elf he’d ever met.
Korik realized Enriel had slowed her horse so that they were side by side, bearing an apologetic expression.
“He’s not normally this bad, I swear,” she sighed, as she settled into place beside Korik. “Well, he’s annoying all the time, but I think he’s just on edge about making the trip. Don’t judge him too harshly.”
“I can still hear you,” Varen called irritably from over his shoulder.
“Good!” Enriel snapped, then turned to Korik again, speaking a little quieter. “Really, you can just ignore him. He’ll barely notice. He likes to hear himself talk.”
Despite himself, Korik smirked with a restrained laugh.
“I see,” he replied simply. Enriel seemed to take it as a good sign, since she smiled back at him. Their horses trotted alongside each other for a little while, but Enriel—to her credit—seemed to realize Korik preferred the quiet and solitude, and she gave him one last tight-lipped smile before pulling ahead to rejoin her brother.
Korik watched her leave, wondering how he would manage the journey back to Drol Kuggradh with Varen alone.
Despite Enriel’s advice, Korik found it difficult to outright ignore Varen as the days went on. If Korik remained completely silent when Varen addressed him, the elf seemed annoyed and would prattle on endlessly. If Korik at least gave an answer, even if it was only a word or two, then the elf would make some wry comment in response and move on. Once he’d gone through enough topics, he would grow bored of Korik and go back to rambling at Enriel.
Despite Korik’s short answers, and Enriel’s continual admonishments, Varen kept coming back to him, trying to strike up conversation again and again. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, the elf might be getting out of such an effort; but after a few days, Korik found it a little less grating. It helped pass the time. Sometimes, Varen could even make a remark that made Korik chuckle—though his self-satisfied expression would grow all the more insufferable afterward.
All in all, Korik was hopeful that they could make it back to Drol Kuggradh without having killed or abandoned each other. Probably.
By the seventh day, they had settled into a routine. Enriel usually woke first, rising at dawn to stoke whatever embers remained of the last night’s campfire and prepare a small meal—alternating between a pot of porridge sweetened with berries, or thick slabs of salted pork with hard bread. The sound of her moving around would wake Korik, and he would tend to the horses first, then help Enriel. Varen would only emerge from his tent when the food was ready, though he was always dressed with his hair braided or brushed neatly when he stepped out into the open air.
They would eat, then Varen would clear away the remnants of the fire; Enriel would wash the cooking equipment; and Korik would get the horses prepared, often sneaking away for a few minutes to search the area again if he had the time. For the first few days, the hunting party of orcs seemed to follow them; but once they’d gone into the rocky hills that marked the near-halfway point of their journey, Korik lost all sight of them. There was likely no worthwhile game here, he thought—he was just glad that they had backed off on their own. He’d been dreading the prospect of warning the two elves of an approaching orc party, not to mention having to come up with an adequate explanation of how he knew about their presence.
They would stop several times throughout the day to give Enriel the chance to stretch her legs—the longer they traveled, the more uncomfortable she seemed sitting on her horse for so long. Varen would keep an eye out for small game as they went, so they had fresh meat for their evening meal: rabbits or rock quail roasted over the campfire more often than not, and supplemented with foraged berries or greens and their rations of bread and cheese.
Now that Korik had gotten used to them, traveling wasn’t so bad. Still, they had a week to go, and the thought of spending a few days in Castle Aefraya filled him with a certain trepidation. After that, it would be another two weeks back home. It would be bearable; but the next time the prince tried to call in a favor, Korik would politely decline.
They were descending from the rocky hills into the more forested area that marked the border between Aefraya and the orc wildlands when Enriel spoke up.
“Can we take a quick break?” she asked. In the hills, Enriel had kept a careful eye out for large rocks for privacy to relieve herself, but now the trees were finally starting to get wide and dense enough to suffice.
“Go on, then,” Varen said, waving a hand. Korik stopped a few steps short of them, as Enriel carefully dismounted her horse, groaning and rubbing the small of her back. After she had stepped off the path toward a thick oak tree several yards away, Varen sighed and dismounted his own horse.
“Suppose I’d better do the same while I can,” he said, already unlacing his pants as he walked in the opposite direction his sister had gone. “Watch the horses. Will you?”
The question was added a beat too late, but he’d seemed to finally pick up on how Korik disliked being bossed around. Korik huffed, but nudged Autumn forward so he could grab hold of both horses by their reins. He did not think Varen had named his buckskin stallion, but he had occasionally heard Enriel calling her paint gelding Spot.
The horses’ ears pricked at some distant sound, and Autumn whickered uneasily beneath him. Korik frowned, turning to look back the way they came. Autumn had been a placid, easygoing horse so far, and nothing had really spooked her. Now, though, she seemed to have heard something making her uneasy, something Korik couldn’t hear.
His eyes lingered on the road behind them for a moment. They were descending the hills, and there wasn’t much visibility beyond a few hundred feet in either direction. Perhaps some predator prowled the woods nearby—the thought made him nervous enough that, despite how nearby the elves were, he risked a quick check of their surroundings, letting his awareness drain from his body and drop into the earth below.
Some birds were perched in the trees above, and small creatures were hiding in the foliage, but nothing that posed a threat. Still, he could feel Autumn’s distinct tension when his mind passed over hers, so he kept searching. His awareness spiraled outward, like a thousand tiny tendrils reaching out and out, until—
Horses. Four of them, galloping and breathing hard. Korik’s vision flitted between them, trying to get a better picture of what was happening.
Four horses, four orcs atop them—was this the hunting party he’d spotted before? Their surroundings looked familiar. Had they crossed paths again?
Korik’s heart nearly fell out of his chest when he saw it: the red brand of the Bonebreaker clan, flashing on the haunch of a horse ahead of him, when he looked through the eyes of the one bringing up the rear. He hadn’t quite recognized it at first with how the vision jolted and stuttered, but after a few seconds of looking at it, he was sure.
