Despite the anger that had been simmering low in his belly, that familiar, cool calm fell over Krujha as he slipped into the camp. He was in his element, doing what he did best. Everything else could be dealt with in due time. The smart thing to do would have been to flee with the others; but he had to admit that he was tired of sitting on his hands. He wanted to be doingsomething, not just tracking and waiting. Besides, he couldn’t leave Alwyn alone, and the stubborn elf had proven stronger than he’d realized. Hauling him away by force wasn’t going to work when he could magically force Krujha to let him go.
He would have to keep that in mind in the future. Krujha had been thinking of himself as the stronger one between them, considering their sheer size difference, but clearly his magic put the smaller elf at a distinct advantage. He couldn’t underestimate the assassin again.
He hadn’t foreseen Alwyn being so stubborn in saving Fionia, either. Alwyn, Galred, and Fionia had all mostly kept to themselves, while the other three mages from the Library had their own little clique. So he hadn’t expected this muchresistance from Alwyn when everyone else fled, leaving Fionia to her mission. In hindsight, though, he could easily see how Alwyn’s concern had less to do with Fionia herself, and much more to do with his own experience being captured by a rebel camp.
Krujha pushed the thoughts from his mind, focusing on his surroundings. The layout of the camp was not exactly what he’d expected. It looked like they had their guard tent more centrally located, as opposed to the camp he’d been in previously, which had the guard near the northern perimeter and more open space in the center. But this camp was larger than the one he’d been tracking, and had been here for longer. As he walked, he spotted many different amenities pointing to the camp’s longevity: a forge, two different stables, a brick oven, several food storage tents, and one long banquet table under a multicolored canopy. It was only because this was such a remote part of the hills that a rebel camp of this size hadn’t been flushed out yet.
Between the banquet table, and what he assumed was the guard tent due to its size, he could see the imprints in the ground of another, even larger pavilion—surely that was where Zesh had stayed, taking the place of honor that no one else had yet to claim. The camp was quiet, but he could still smell the smoke of low campfires; some orcs were sleeping, but most of the camp was probably still winding down. He was lucky he and Alwyn hadn’t been spotted skulking along the borders.
He passed only a few other orcs as he slipped through the camp. One was a boy hauling a cart of firewood behind him, barely glancing at Krujha as he trundled by; and a pair of drunken men, having a too-loud conversation as they ambled between tents. Krujha shot them a slight smile in greeting as he passed, and they paid him hardly any mind. He followed the way they had come and found a half-empty bottle of ale on a stumpoutside a tent, which he picked up and held in one hand, letting his gait become a little more uneven.
Then he spotted another orc hurrying through the camp, making a beeline for the guard tent. Krujha’s heart leapt up into his throat. The woman wore leathers with a longbow and a quiver of arrows slung across her back; and she was limping as if she were wounded.
That had to be one of the scouts who’d been chasing them, returning to report that they’d killed a spy and chased more off—maybe hoping to muster some backup, if she’d been injured and forced to retreat.
Krujha turned around and ambled back to the fenced-off area, where the elves were being kept. His instincts told him that the scout would provide enough of a distraction, which was the best he could hope for without drawing closer to the guard tent himself. He just had to make sure the orc guarding the prisoners didn’t notice Alwyn until then.
As he neared the fence, and the lone orc guarding the captive elves, he splashed his tunic with some ale—taking a swig and letting it sit on his tongue for good measure—then slowed his pace and swung heavily with each step, loosening his features to be drunkenly slack. The guard eyed him as he approached, an annoyed frown crossing his features.
“Hey!” Krujha snarled before the guard could shoo him away. “It was you, wasn’t it? Did you fuck my wife?”
“What?” the man replied, taken aback. “No! I don’t even know who you are, or your wife.”
“You did,” Krujha growled. He swung the ale bottle at him, letting it arc far too wide, as the amber liquid inside splashed down his arm. “Gods damned whore. I know it was you!”
“You’ve got the wrong man!” the guard protested. Krujha dropped the bottle and lunged, tackling him too slowly to have any hope of really knocking him over. The guard grunted,grabbing his shoulders and trying to push him away. Krujha dug in his heels, wrapping both arms around the orc’s waist. “That’s enough! Get off me before I make you.”
“I know it was you,” Krujha repeated, slurring the words. “Admit it! It was you.”
The guard’s head turned toward the pen of sleeping elves; Krujha punched him in the stomach to keep him from looking too long. “Bula! Help me!”
He bit back a curse. The other guard would never respond.
Luckily, the gods seemed to have some measure of pity on him now: the sound of a horn pierced the air, coming from the guard tent. Krujha nearly went limp with relief that his gamble had proven true.
“What now?” the guard growled, tensing. This time, when he tried to shove Krujha away, he let the man throw him to the side and collapsed in the muddy ground, groaning. “I’ll deal with you later! Bula, you lazy bastard, wake up!”
Krujha watched with one eye barely open as the guard hurried away, heading for the tent. Only when he was no longer in sight did Krujha scramble to his feet and hop over the fence, running toward the canopy where all the elves were huddled.
Something was strange about the situation. Despite all the commotion, none had even so much as stirred, except one kneeling in the corner—which he quickly realized was Alwyn. He was bent over the still form of Fionia, asleep on the ground. His hand was pressed to the side of her throat, as if feeling for a pulse.
Alwyn didn’t look up as he approached, and for a moment, he thought the elf hadn’t noticed him until a soft murmur came from his mouth. “I’m trying to wake her, but I don’t know how.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Krujha asked, bending down to get a better look in the darkness. There were about ten of them, and they all looked as if they were sleeping deeply.
“I was right,” Alwyn mumbled, a hint of pain in his tone now. “They’re sedating them all.”
For a moment, Krujha was silent. He didn’t knowwhythey would sedate all their captives, instead of just the powerful ones. Were all these elves magic users, as Alwyn was? Somehow he doubted it. Even in the dark, he could tell their clothes were those of merchants or other well-off travelers—not the fancy robes of mages, nor the plain, inconspicuous traveling clothes Alwyn and Fionia wore. Something had caused the rebels to be more cautious with the prisoners they took, and he couldn’t think of what might have caused that level of paranoia.
“How did you wake up?” Krujha asked. “When it was you?”
For a moment, Alwyn was silent. “A healer woke me. I don’t know exactly how.”
Krujha watched silently for a moment, but nothing seemed to happen. He could hear the commotion near the center of the camp growing, calls for horses as the alarm sounded again.
“Alwyn, I’m sorry,” he finally said, putting a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “But we don’t have time for this. I’ll just carry her, and we can get out of here.”
“No!” Alwyn hissed, shaking his head. His eyes were tightly closed in concentration. “I don’t want to leave any of them behind. Fionia is better at this kind of magic than I am. If I can just get her up, she can help me wake the others.”
