When Fionia sat up, her eyes landed on Alwyn, and a strange expression crossed her face. He blinked, unsure of how to react, so he just continued to get to his feet and dust himself off.
“Alwyn,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper so as not to wake the others. “Thank you for coming back for me. I owe you.”
He froze. There was no need for her to thank him—what else could he have done? He knew how horrible it had been whenhe’d been captured, so it was anathema to let the same fate befall another mage, if he could do anything to prevent it.
“You’re welcome,” he said awkwardly, looking away. “I think Krujha has enough oats in his saddlebag to make porridge for everyone. Help me get it started.”
He couldn’t bring himself to turn back to her as he stumbled toward where the horses were grazing. After a beat, he could hear her rise and join him. They made a small, low campfire and started the porridge. It would barely be enough for everyone to eat, let alone fill anyone’s belly, but it was better than nothing at all.
The other elves stirred at the smell of food, as did Krujha. The orc’s expression was tight—concerned, but not entirely disapproving—when he saw that Alwyn and Fionia had prepared breakfast. Still, he didn’t complain when he was served his small portion in a copper mug, since they didn’t have enough bowls. Once everyone had eaten, a little of his familiar, confident demeanor had returned.
“We shouldn’t linger here too long,” he said as he helped rinse the dirty dishes. “But I’d like to get whatever information any of you might know about the camp we just escaped from, or how you ended up there.”
It took a long moment for anyone to break the ice; finally, the elf who had clung to Alwyn’s back on the horse spoke up. His voice was raspy.
“I was bringing a shipment of oranges up to Drol Kuggradh. They intercepted me on the road, took the shipment, and carried me off.”
The rest recounted similar tales of their own. They were all either merchants themselves or working for a merchant, accompanying supplies up north to Drol Kuggradh or some of the other settlements that popped up in the winter, as roving clans hunkered down together for the harshest season.
“Were you sedated the whole time?” Alwyn asked, anxiety bubbling in his throat. Two of the elves shook their heads.
“Not at first,” one said, a younger woman with brown hair that fell almost to her waist. “It wasn’t until Zesh left the camp that they gave us... whatever that was.” Her eyes darted between Alwyn and Fionia. “I don’t know how true it is, but I heard a rumor that they took off after elf forces destroyed a different camp. They wanted to get further north, away from the border.”
“They?” Fionia asked, frowning. “How many went with him?”
“I don’t know. But Zesh and his druid both left,” she replied.
Fionia and Alwyn exchanged confused looks—no reports about a druid had made it to Aefraya. When he glanced back at Krujha, the orc’s brow furrowed deeply, obviously troubled by the news. Alwyn hoped Krujha wasn’t putting on an act, and that the Silvertongue hadn’t kept knowledge about a magic user from them—she had trusted them with this entire mission, after all. Krujha gave a sudden start, then started fishing through the pockets of his cloak. Alwyn watched him finally pull out a tightly rolled slip of parchment—the note Torlag had given him just before he’d died.
“Some were even saying the druid was controlling Zesh with his magic,” one of the other elves added. “I don’t think that’s true, but it did seem like he was trying to gather magic-users to him.”
“Did you see this magic user?” Alwyn asked, already racking his brain for any knowledge about druids. He had heard of them—orcs who had powerful magic within them, rather than the scant puddles most orcs had—but knew nothing more. He imagined they made plants grow faster, or spoke to trees, or acted as healers. But if the rumors were common enough for the captives to hear the talk around the rebel camp, Zesh surely found some use for them.
“Torlag’s note corroborates that,” Krujha said quietly, sounding more worried than Alwyn had ever heard from him. “That he had a druid with him, at least. An old man who always has a raven with him. That the raven can spy for him, and it saw something that scared Zesh into moving to a different camp with his inner circle.”
“The raven can spy for him?” Alwyn repeated incredulously, frowning. It sounded ridiculous, but he didn’t know enough about orcish magic to truly discount it.
Krujha was quiet for a moment, considering. “Well... It sounds consistent with what I understand about druids. This complicates things.”
“It doesn’t sound that worrisome,” Alwyn said. “An inconvenience, perhaps. If he’s an old man, I’m sure we could deal with him easily enough.”
But Krujha’s worried expression remained. Whatever had him so concerned, though, he didn’t share it in front of the others. After a moment, Fionia turned back to the group of elves and continued to ask them questions about what they had seen, taking careful notes on her own scroll.
As she did so, Alwyn dug through his belongings to find his piece of magical parchment. He hadn’t needed to use it yet, but this was a development Tessarion needed to be aware of. There was plenty of space; but the enchanted paper was a precious resource, so he took a moment to consider the most concise way to share the information.
Target not in camp. Freed 3 prisoners, more left behind. Separated from Galred & others. With Fionia and 1 orc now. Will proceed to second camp until further orders received.
He looked down at the piece of parchment for a long moment, but of course no reply came. Tessarion was a busy man, and this early in the morning he might only just be rising for breakfast. Still, some part of Alwyn felt utterly alone and unmoored lookingat the missive, waiting for his mentor’s writing to appear beside it.
With a sigh, he folded the parchment back up and carefully placed it in his rucksack. He’d check again in the afternoon.
When he turned his attention back to the camp, Fionia was still sitting and talking with the other elves. Krujha had stood and was now pacing around the clearing where they’d settled for the night, looking out into the distance.
“No sign we’ve been followed,” he said quietly, as Alwyn stepped toward him. “No sign of the others either. They fled to the east. We have to assume they’re gone, or going on without us.”
Alwyn was silent.Gone. He had known that would be a possibility, but some part of him had not wanted to acknowledge that the other elves might all be dead. He had no particular love for them—Galred especially—but if they had died during this mission, it would be another point of failure on Alwyn’s record. Hopefully, they had escaped and could make contact soon.
“We should start packing up,” Krujha said after a beat.
