“I see,” Korik said. “What’s your name?”
The elf gave a start, but his expression quickly smoothed back over. “My apologies, healer. I’m Junior Scout Taneas. We’ll also be accompanied by Ranger Lyielle.”
Korik nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
The day after next. It wasn’t much of a reprieve, but at least the remainder of the journey would be an easier one—on a path, rather than through the wilderness, with time to prepare and two scouts to guide them. Better than being alone with Varen.
K’lir meowed at him as he sat back down beside the kit on the floor, and he gently scratched behind his ears. The kit purred, which made Korik smile. If nothing else, at least he got K’lir out of the whole ordeal.
And the invitation to join a mountain clan. Rhagir and her clan had been in his thoughts that morning; and the more Korik thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. Varen would be in Drol Kuggradh, presumably until he was assigned elsewhere, which could be years, maybe decades. Korik was often in and out of the elven compound there, so even with his best efforts, they might still encounter each other. The city felt too small for them to both coexist there comfortably.
Beyond all that, he wanted to travel more now that he’d had a taste of it. What was keeping him in Drol Kuggradh? He was the only healer, yes; but no one was forcing him to serve there, and another could take his place just as easily. He had no family, no real friends to speak of. He wondered if anyone had even realized he was gone—if anyone would really misshimif he left, or only miss the healer.
And he was keeping K’lir, who would someday be much bigger than he was now. Even as a kitten, he was nearly the size of Roz, but with a shorter tail, a fluffier coat, and much larger paws. It wouldn’t be long before he dwarfed her. An animal of that size would be uncomfortable in his small home, but would be well-suited to a life of travel in the mountains.
“What do you think?” Korik asked in a whisper to the kitten, who had begun grooming himself, but now paused with his ears perked up. K’lir tilted his head one way, then the other, as Korik spoke to him. “Should we leave it all behind? Should I pack everything up when we get home and leave for the mountains?”
K’lir looked at him for a long moment, his blue eyes big and unblinking. Then he meowed loudly, once, and resumed licking his paw and swiping it over his face.
Korik chuckled, scratching his ears again. That sounded like an affirmative if he had ever heard one.
His heart raced at the thought. It would be an adventure, one on his own terms, but it would take some planning. If he was lucky, a clan in Drol Kuggradh would be heading north; since healers were always wanted, he would travel with them, which would surely be safer than traveling such a long distance alone. It somehow felt like the first decision that he’d made for his own life entirely of his own volition. He had remained in Drol Kuggradh because his father took him there, and he’d taken over his father’s role when he passed away. When he left Drol Kuggradh, it was at the behest of Enriel and the elves; and even all this had been only because of King Ruven’s request. But if he went to the mountain clan, it would be for no reason other than that hewantedto.
He would change his own life. The thought was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
The next day passed in much the same way, and Korik was able to avoid being alone with Varen. The elf seemed to have given up on trying to talk with him, but his gaze still felt physically heavy when their paths crossed in the common areas. But Korik was with Myrla most of the time, working on training the kits, which kept him busy enough not to dwell on things.
Then he woke before first light the following morning and packed up his meager belongings in the borrowed room. It all fit neatly in his threadbare rucksack, which settled onto his back like an old friend. They would meet in the mess hall for breakfast, then set out.
K’lir yawned mightily as Korik gathered him up into his shirt, which had become the kit’s favored mode of transportation around the outpost. As they stepped out into the hall, the next door opened. Varen appeared, though he stopped short upon seeing Korik. They looked at each other for a moment. Varen’s mouth was slightly agape, as if he were trying to say something, but no words came.
Korik turned away, feeling heat rising in his face. He hated that despite everything, the elf was as beautiful as ever, making his heart skip a beat. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a braid—like how he had shown Korik those weeks ago in their cave during the storm. It felt like a different lifetime entirely.
“Good morning,” Varen’s voice finally came, sounding stiff. When Korik glanced in his direction again, the elf had turned away, busying himself with the straps of his own rucksack. But they would travel together a bit longer, Korik thought, so it would be best to at least be on speaking terms.
“Good morning,” he replied flatly, and he followed as Varen led the way to the mess hall. There they met their guides: the younger scout who had introduced himself to Korik earlier, and the ranger, who he was meeting for the first time.
Lyielle, the ranger, was the image of elvish stoicism. Her features were delicate, but had a decided severity to them; and though her tone was perfectly polite as she introduced herself, she did not smile as she spoke. Korik did not think her face changed expression at all in the time it took them to eat and head out to the southern gate.
Four horses waited for them near the gate. To his dismay, Korik saw that while the horse intended for him was likely the largest they had—a tall chestnut stallion—it was still an elven-bred horse. He doubted it would be a comfortable ride for either of them. But it couldn’t be helped, so he mounted the horse without complaint and followed as the others proceeded out the open gate.
They rode in silence. After a little while, Varen pulled ahead and spoke with Lyielle in low tones. They were both rangers, so they probably had more in common to talk about than anything Korik might have tried to bring up. The younger scout, Taneas, remained a few paces ahead of him. When he had first set out with Varen and Enriel, he was glad to be ignored. Now, he still didn’t want to speak to any of them, but some small part of him missed Varen’s incessant chatter. It was silly—pathetic, even—but he couldn’t deny that there was still that longing, despite everything.
It was going to be a long journey back to Drol Kuggradh.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Korik
Inreality,thejourneyback to Drol Kuggradh would be fairly short. There was a path to follow, muddy as it was; they had horses to ride, scouts to guide them, and more than enough provisions to be satiated with every meal.
It should have been a breeze. Yet Korik felt miserable the entire time. At best, he observed the scenery with cool indifference; but often he stared straight ahead, not really seeing what was before them, and stewed in his despondent thoughts.
Having Varen so close was causing him all this misery, he decided. Every time he saw the elf with his smug face, and his raven hair, and the elegant way he rode his horse, it brought him right back to the moment Varen made clear that everything between them meant nothing to him, when it had been so special to Korik.
If you're that worried about it, we don’t ever have to see each other again.Varen’s words turned over and over in his thoughts. Maybe it would be best never to see him again. That was the only way he could move on. It confirmed that his decision to leave Drol Kuggradh was the right one.
The more he thought about it, the less confident he felt about joining Rhagir’s clan—really, he mostly dreaded the prospect of going back to the Krag Gabriz, where memories of his and Varen’s time together would haunt him. He told himself it was a vast mountain range, and for all the time it took them, they had seen only a miniscule amount of it; and if it still proved too unpleasant, he could find a different clan to join. On the other hand, K’lir would be at home there, and by now Korik was resolute in his decision to raise the kit; and the mountain clan had given him a standing invitation. He would never have given it any thought then, but now he was grateful Rhagir had been so friendly, quickly recognizing what he was and how her clan could use his skills.
