Only the rebel clans still bore the Bonebreaker brand, followers of Zesh, who had been the former warlord’s eldest son. Had King Zorvut not bested him in battle, Zesh would be the warlord now, so now the clans who refused to recognize the new king’s authority had gathered under him.
They were a hunting party, but not the kind Korik had expected. They had been tracking him and the elves all along, stalking their prey across the open plains until they found a better ambush spot—and Korik had let them do it.
Chapter Three
Korik
Korikpulledhisawarenessaway from the approaching orcs quickly, shaking his head rapidly to dispel the dizziness. The orcs were coming at them full speed, so they had only minutes, if that.
“Commander!” he barked. “Enriel!”
“Gods, what are you yelling for?” he heard Varen call back. Korik hesitated, unsure of how to explain what he’d seen, or how he saw it.
“I think we’re being followed,” he said, trying not to shout, despite the hammering of his heart in his chest. A beat of silence passed, then Varen came striding out from the cover of the trees, hurriedly lacing his trousers.
“Followed? What do you mean?” he snapped, first looking at Korik, then swiveling his head to each side as if trying to spot some intruder.
“I...” Korik stammered. “I hear horses approaching. And the other day I noticed a campfire in the distance—I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Varen growled, frowning as he approached Korik. Korik flinched, stammering something unintelligible; but Varen rushed right past him to look further up the way they came. “Shh! Let me listen.”
Korik clamped his mouth shut, face burning. They both stood motionless and silent for a beat, then Varen marched toward one of the taller trees off the path. He whispered something under his breath, then leapt into the air to land silently in its branches. Korik watched him in surprise; he’d never seen the commander utilize any sort of magic in their week of traveling together, though he supposed it shouldn’t be so much of a shock. Most elves had at least some magical prowess.
Varen was motionless in the tree for a moment, looking out into the distance. After a few seconds, he leapt back down, still landing silently in the dirt below. A strange calmness had replaced the irritated, angry expression that had just been on his face.
“Enriel!” Varen repeated, his voice an urgent hiss, not quite a shout. But Enriel was already jogging back up to the path, looking worried.
“I heard you,” she said, mounting her horse in one rapid movement. “Let’s go!”
She kicked at the paint horse’s side, and it broke into a run as Varen mounted his own horse.
“We need to get as much distance as possible between us and them,” Varen said curtly, barely turning his head over his shoulder to address Korik. “Don’t stop until I say so. Now!”
Korik gulped, nodding, and dug his heels into Autumn’s sides. The mare whinnied in protest, but began to run; as Varen and his horse darted past, she broke into a gallop. She was a larger, orc-bred horse, so her stride was longer than the others, but she was clearly not bred for speed. Stocky and strong, even at full speed she barely kept pace with the elves’ horses, whose legs were churning much faster.
Enriel led several paces ahead of them, hunched low over her horse. Varen was close enough that Korik could still see flashes of his grim expression as he continually scanned their surroundings, his black hair whipping behind him. He held a longbow in one hand—Korik hadn’t even noticed him drawing it.
In a flash, Varen snarled, shouting something unintelligible, and leaned back to draw an arrow. Korik’s head whipped toward where he was looking, the arrow whistling as it shot through the air—an orc had come crashing through the trees up ahead, cutting them off from Enriel. The orc’s horse screamed as the arrow sliced its ear, but it was a glancing blow that didn’t stop the charge. Varen’s horse reared up before they crashed into each other. He swore, nearly dropping his bow as he struggled to stay mounted. Korik wrenched back on the reins, eyes darting between the stumbling commander and the massive orc blocking their way.
“Get the girl!” he bellowed in orcish, rounding on Korik and Varen with a thick crossbow pointed at them. “I’ve got these two.”
His gaze snagged on Korik, and he grimaced, the expression pulled tight around his tusks.
“Stay out of this while you have the chance, cousin,” he growled, and before Varen could draw another arrow, he fired the crossbow at his buckskin stallion. The bolt thudded into the horse’s neck, a gurgling cry escaping it as blood gushed forth.
Varen swore again and leapt off the dying horse. Korik froze, indecision and fright holding him motionless. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was no fighter, no warrior—what was he supposed to do? Whatcouldhe do?
“Enriel!” Varen shouted, drawing the sword at his hip. With a roar, he swiped it at the larger orc still on his horse. He darted away, but on the backswing Varen lunged forward and slashed through the horse’s hind legs, causing it to scream and buck.
Korik flinched, looking away—he was going to be sick.
“Enriel!” Varen shouted again, but there was no response. The other orc had leapt from his horse, snarling at Varen, who relentlessly closed the gap between them, sword flashing.
Enriel. He was here to make sure she was well. That much he could do. Gritting his teeth, Korik kicked Autumn's sides again, urging her forward. As they galloped past, Varen’s eyes landed on him for only a brief moment. Grim determination had made his expression hard; but he gave an almost imperceptible nod when their eyes met, as if he somehow knew what Korik’s intention was without words.
The orc scowled at him as he fled, but was too preoccupied with Varen harrying him with his blade to do anything but dodge and try to reload his crossbow.
A shrill cry came from up ahead. He could hear Varen shouting again behind him, but he didn’t dare turn back. Enriel had not stopped, but was now surrounded by three more orcs, each on horseback.
