“Enriel!” he exclaimed, urging Autumn forward; the poor horse was going as fast as she could, but it wouldn't be enough.
“Get away from me!” Enriel cried, her bow drawn. She was swiveling back and forth atop her horse, threatening each orc as they tried to get close enough to grab her without being shot.
Korik stood in his stirrups and threw his hand forward: flame burst from his open palm, shooting in a line toward the closest orc, who roared in shock and pain. Autumn squealed in fright beneath him, too, her pace stumbling. It pained him, but he kept the pressure on her sides until she cantered forward again.
The orc he’d burned was swearing and shouting, trying to put out the flames licking up his clothing. Another orc watched him dumbly, clearly startled to see fire coming from nowhere; but the third seemed to ignore him entirely. His sole focus was Enriel.
Korik shoved through the two clustered together to reach Enriel. But the third orc was already descending on her, his larger horse catching up to her all too quickly. His long arm reached out, closing the gap between them; she fired an arrow, but he ducked his head to dodge it. His arm encircled her body, as Korik got just within reach—he tried to grab her, but the orc wrenched her off her horse.
“Korik!” she screamed, eyes wild, reaching for him. Their fingers just brushed; but the other orc was stronger, his horse faster, and Korik couldn’t get a grip. He felt her fingers slip away as the other horse broke into a gallop.
“No!” he exclaimed, sending fire from his hand again; but he was afraid it would hit her, so it only spluttered against the horse’s legs. It bucked and kicked, but didn’t slow enough for him to catch up.
Something from behind hit him in the shoulder, sharp and piercing. With a cry, he realized he’d been shot with an arrow. He rounded on the two orcs chasing after him; the singed one had shot him, looking enraged, while the other was already veering off the path to catch up with the one who had taken Enriel.
Agony exploded through his shoulder as he tried to raise his hand again to defend himself. Magic sparked between his fingers, but the pain stopped him from raising his hand high enough to send it toward the other orc again. The orc wasn’t stopping—despite the meager flames, his horse barely flinched as it crashed right into Autumn. The horse bucked and screamed, entirely off-balance; and despite the pain radiating through his arm, Korik leapt from the horse and tumbled away from where she fell heavily on her side.
“I told you to stay out of this!” the orc snarled at him. With a sickening thud, he pointed his crossbow at Autumn and shot her, the bolt driving all the way through her skull. She fell still instantly.
Korik squeezed his eyes shut, turning away, sure he was going to be next. How had it come to this? Not even ten minutes ago, they’d been walking along as usual, and now—
“You’re lucky it’s only the four of us,” the orc continued, his voice becoming more distant. “The rebellion is only growing, cousin. Next time, join us, or it might be you with a crossbow bolt to the head.”
Korik’s eyes opened to the orc galloping off the way the others had gone: the way they’d taken Enriel. He stumbled to his feet, unable to look down at the dead horse, then looked back the way he’d come. Where was Varen? Was he even still alive?
As if sensing his thoughts, a ragged shout came through the trees— “Enriel!”
Varen stumbled into view. Korik couldn’t see where he’d been hurt, but blood stained the front of his shirt and was smeared across half his face and hair. The elf had an almost manic expression as he caught sight of Korik.
“Where is she?” he exclaimed, rushing toward him. Korik gestured in the direction the orcs had gone.
“They—they took her,” he panted. “Grabbed her right off her horse. I tried to catch up, but they—they killed Autumn.”
Varen glanced down at the horse for only an instant, as if only just noticing her body.
“Come on, then,” he finally replied, stepping over her. “We have to follow.”
“Follow?” Korik repeated incredulously, but Varen was already running down the dirt path. Korik hesitated—they would never catch up on foot—but it would be worse to be separated. So, with a pained groan, he wrenched the nearest saddlebag off of Autumn’s body and darted after Varen.
Varen was clearly the better runner between the two, but Korik’s stride was nearly twice as long. When he eventually caught up, he called out,
“At least let me heal you first. You’ll be useless injured.”
Varen growled something in response, but it seemed to convince him. His pace slowed, then he stumbled to a stop, breathing hard.
“Quickly, then,” he said, gesturing for Korik to come closer. Korik hesitated. He hadn’t entirely expected Varen to agree so readily; but after a beat, he placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder and let his magic flow through the point of contact.
He found the ragged wound easily, startled at the gash in the junction between his shoulder and neck. It would have been a mortal wound had it gone much deeper or higher up his neck. Varen groaned as Korik carefully explored the extent of the damage and knit the torn tissue back together. It was quick and not his cleanest work, but it would at least stop the bleeding and minimize the pain. There was another, more superficial cut high on his forehead, just along his hairline, which must have been the source of the blood on his face.
As Korik healed the elf—and then himself, when Varen pointed out the bleeding wound in his shoulder he’d forgotten in the chaos—his mind raced. They would never catch up on foot, and he knew Varen knew it too, but was too consumed with worry for his sister to act rationally. If he could somehow convince Varen that he could track the orcs and find Enriel without needing to waste their energy sprinting after horses...
But he would have to tell Varen about his abilities as a druid. The elf would never believe him otherwise. Some deep sense of tradition and habit and pride as an orc made him hesitate; but another voice, the healer within him, asked if keeping this secret was worth the life of Enriel and her child. He had sworn to do what he could for them—to do everything he could for them. He had no idea why the orcs had taken her, but it was surely nothing good.
“Listen to me,” he said, maintaining his grip on Varen’s shoulder. “You know we aren’t going to catch up to them.”
Rage flashed in Varen’s eyes; but before he could open his mouth to protest, Korik forced himself to keep speaking. “But I can track them. I can find where they’ve gone or even their camp. We can follow from afar and make a plan to get her out of there. They must be taking her to a camp. As long as we can track them, we don’t need to try to chase them down like this. It’s futile.”
“You know where their camp is?” Varen asked, confusion tempering his anger. Korik worried his lower lip, his tusks digging into his skin at the movement. If he said it now, he could never take it back.
