He stood up, and Alwyn frowned. “Are you leaving already?”
“I shouldn’t stay long today,” Krujha sighed, though he looked guilty even as he stepped toward the back wall of the tent. “But I’ll come back tomorrow night, and we can hopefully spend more time together. You can tell me what you share with the druid, and we can figure out a plan to move forward.”
Alwyn wanted him to stay. He could feel the plea bubbling up in the back of his throat, but clamped it down. He was right. The longer he stayed, the more at risk they both were; so he tamped down the desire to beg Krujha to stay with him a little longer until the moment of weakness passed.
“All right,” he finally croaked out. “Be safe, then. I’ll have more to tell you tomorrow.”
Krujha nodded, smiling. Then his expression faltered as his gaze dropped, and he stifled a curse, stomping a foot—the faint squeak of a mouse answered.
“Shoo, shoo,” he hissed. Alwyn rose quickly, but by the time he was peering over, the mouse was already gone.
“I’ve been seeing them all over,” he said, dismayed. He was sure that was hardly the first one to seek shelter in his tent, but the thought of mice crawling around him in his sleep made his skin prickle unpleasantly.
“They’ve been a pain to keep out of the food stores, too,” Krujha sighed, his nose still wrinkled in distaste. “Sorry if that one followed me in.”
“I’m sure it didn’t,” Alwyn said, shaking his head. Krujha hesitated, looking back at him again, then reached out to lightly squeeze Alwyn’s shoulder. Alwyn let out a nervous chuckle. “Don’t be so worried. You’re the one I’m worried about. I might be trapped here, but I’m alone most of the day. You’re the one who should be concerned about being found out.”
“I can handle myself,” Krujha said, smiling wryly. “Just wish you were closer. It’d be easier to make sure you’re safe that way.”
Warmth suffused Alwyn’s chest at that, spreading from his heart to his face through each of his limbs.
“I know,” he said softly. “I... Well, thank you for doing what you can.”
Krujha’s expression softened even further. He gave Alwyn’s shoulder one last, gentle squeeze, then slipped out between the panels of the tent and out into the quiet night.
Alwyn stood there silently for a long moment, until he returned to his bed, fishing out the sack Krujha had left with him. He’d have to keep it hidden when the guard came to feed him, but no one would come until morning. He consideredtrying to read, but ended up huddled there until he fell asleep, hugging the sack to his chest.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alwyn
Alwyn barely slept, his thoughts swirling restlessly from the events of the day. When he managed to rest, he was still plagued by dreams of the waterfall, which seemed to grow stronger now that he was in an orc camp again, back in captivity of a different sort. He could still faintly hear the distant roar when he stirred awake early the next morning.
He bathed quickly with the soap and a clean rag Krujha had given him, moving as quietly as possible, so he could tuck away the contraband items before the guard arrived to bring him his breakfast. The scent of horse and earth still lingered on him, but he at least managed to scrub off the layer of grime and sweat that had been building on his skin for the last few days.
Breakfast was plain porridge—hardly a surprise. He’d barely finished eating, though, when a different orc entered his tent.
“Come with me,” he said simply. “The druid wants to see you.”
Alwyn stood and allowed the guard to bind his wrists once again. His skin was chafing from the chains, but that didn’t discourage the guard from wrapping them as tight as usual. He winced as he was pulled out of the tent, led by the length of chainthrough the camp. At first, they headed toward the large tent where Alwyn had met Zesh the day before; but as it came into view, the guard instead led him to the left toward what looked like an enclosed paddock for horses.
There were no horses, but Alwyn could see two figures within: the druid hunched over on a wooden stool, and what he realized was a raven perched on the far fence, so large that at first he thought it was the silhouette of a person. He suspected it was Yarug’s familiar. Was the druid trying to intimidate him? Or did its presence serve some other purpose?
“Go on,” the guard said as he opened the gate for Alwyn; he hesitated, watching the raven warily, before stepping through. The guard closed the gate behind him, dropping the length of chain so it dragged in the dirt as Alwyn walked into the paddock towards the druid.
As he approached, it almost looked as if the old orc was sleeping—he was old enough that Alwyn would not have been entirely surprised if that was the case. But then, the raven let out a cry, its rasping caw piercing the air. Alwyn nearly leapt out of his skin in fright, and when he looked back at Yarug, his cloudy eyes were open and locked on him. The gaze was unsettling, as if the old orc might just be able to read his mind, though Alwyn knew such magic was impossible. Still, he did his best to school his expression into that perfect mask of elven neutrality, hoping the rapid thrum of his pulse wasn’t obvious in his throat. He said nothing while nearing the druid, waiting for the orc to speak.
For a moment, they stood in tense silence, as if each was expecting the other to fold first. But Alwyn had to play the part of a meek prisoner, and so he waited. Finally, Yarug spoke, his aged voice like gravel in his throat.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said simply, eyeing Alwyn with an expression he couldn’t read. “Why?”
The question took Alwyn off guard. Why wouldn’t he be afraid? He couldn’t come up with a convincing answer, so instead, he spoke honestly. “Everything I’ve heard about you is that you’re very powerful. I’m an elf, and you’re an orc. If you decided to kill me right now, I don’t think there’s much I could do about it.”
The old man let out a dry wheeze of a chuckle at that. Alwyn still couldn’t read his expression, but it seemed as though the druid accepted his answer. He slowly stood up from the wooden stool. Alwyn’s eyes darted to the raven, still watching him from its perch on the fence. The creature looked as ancient as the druid was; its feathers were dull and bedraggled like the old man’s mess of gray hair. It was far larger than any raven he’d ever seen, so it had to be a familiar—no true raven would be that size. Its dark, beady eyes watched him with an unnerving intelligence, and after a moment, Alwyn forced himself to look away.
“So you want to share the secrets of the Library,” Yarug said, pulling Alwyn from his thoughts. “I am listening.”
Alwyn hesitated. When he’d imagined this moment, it was in the tent with the long table, with access to parchment and ink. Teaching the techniques of magic was tied up in his mind with the rigid ceremony of the Library; being outside with no obvious method of instruction, he wasn’t sure what to do.
