“Do you have anything I can write on?” he asked, turning in a slow circle to observe his surroundings more closely.
“No,” Yarug replied simply. “You can trace any words or glyphs you need in the dirt.”
Alwyn sighed. Arguing was pointless, so he searched his mind for something worthwhile to share, while still exercising the caution that Krujha had counseled about sharing dangerous magic.
“I can show you the glyphs for teleportation,” he said, kneeling down to trace the symbols with his finger. “It’s only really reliable for one person, and can get you about a mile away if you’re strong enough. But it might be too challenging for… well, anyone other than you.”
Yarug watched him silently as he marked down the sequence in the dirt. When he was done, Alwyn stood and turned back to him. The orc’s eyes darted between him and the symbols that he’d drawn, his expression unchanging.
“Teleportation like this isn’t a secret,” he finally said. Though his tone was the same, Alwyn felt a shiver run down his spine, knowing he was displeased. “What else can you show me?”
Alwyn remained silent. That elves had developed a better, more efficient means of teleportation was still a secret of the Library, though if Gorza knew the truth, he was sure that such rumors could have reached Zesh’s camp and beyond. That might be what Yarug was fishing for, but it would be far too dangerous to share now. Until Alwyn could be sure that the druid’s demise was imminent, passing that information was too great a risk. He would have to share something else, something valuable enough to earn him more time and leeway with the druid, but that wouldn’t spell destruction for the Library on the chance that it fell into the wrong hands.
“What do you know of blood magic?” Alwyn asked. This was the backbone of all his training, the school of magic he knew better than all others. It would be the easiest to teach to someone else, and despite its deadly nature, the thought of it being potentially shared outside the camp seemed far less dangerous. He remembered Korik, who had brought him out of his sedation. Whatever magic the healer had used then felt like only a step or two away from the techniques he used to kill. And with how uncommon magic was among orcs—he was fairly certain that in this host of hundreds, there was only this one druid—Alwyndoubted that any lasting damage could be done by sharing blood magic’s basic principles.
Sure enough, when he looked at the druid now, he recognized a measure of interest on his wrinkled face. “I know little,” he said, gesturing once again. “Teach me.”
Relieved, Alwyn explained how blood magic was closely related to the manipulation of water and other liquid elements; and how to reach out with a tendril of magic, sharpened to a needle point, and burrow into the skin of anyone within reach.
“We will need a demonstration,” Yarug said after Alwyn had described the basics. He snapped his fingers, and the guard near the fence stood to attention. “Bring us some live specimens.”
Alwyn felt his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach. What did that mean? Would he have to demonstrate its use on another orc—or worse, one of the elf prisoners he knew were being kept in that larger tent? But Yarug’s face gave no hint of what was to come, so his anxiety only continued to mount as they waited in silence. He had been wise to bathe this morning, because he was already drenched in sweat again.
When the guard returned, leading two sheep by a tether, Alwyn had to stop himself from laughing aloud in relief. The Order had trained its initiates with livestock, too—pigs and cattle that would have been slaughtered and served as meals anyway.
“This is the most efficient way to kill someone,” Alwyn explained after the sheep were herded into the paddock with them. He could feel Yarug’s magic settling on him and tried his best to ignore it as he channeled his own magic outward. The sensation was easy and familiar as his magic coursed out of him like another limb, reaching for the animal closest to him. He could sense the faint warmth of its life force as his awareness tunneled through it; the sheep let out a weak bleat of discomfort before its arteries opened up. In one singular sweeping motion,Alwyn shunted as much blood as he could out of an opening he made in its throat. It splattered out onto the earth in a steaming puddle, causing the second sheep to dart away in fright as the first creature’s body collapsed.
“Efficient,” Yarug agreed, taking a step closer to observe. He was cloaked in so many layers that it took Alwyn a moment to realize he was resting heavily on a walking stick. “Our butchers could learn a thing or two about this sort of bloodletting.”
Alwyn bit back a chuckle. “Shall I show it to you again?” he asked, but Yarug shook his head. The druid seemed to consider what Alwyn had done for a moment longer—then Alwyn felt the druid’s magic surging away, sharp and intent. The second sheep cried out, then took a few stumbling leaps forward as its throat opened up before it, too, collapsed into a stream of its own blood.
“We’re going to need more of these,” Yarug called, snapping his fingers once again. “Take these two to the kitchen. Let them know they’ll likely have a surplus of mutton today.”
The guard entered the paddock with a barely restrained expression of revulsion. He gave both Alwyn and Yarug a wide berth as he gathered up the two carcasses.
“I’ll bring as many as they can spare,” he said.
“You will bring as many as we need,” Yarug said dryly, looking away. “The warlord commands it.”
After a beat, the guard agreed, “Yes. Of course.”
“Yours was far cleaner,” Yarug commented as the guard trudged away. Alwyn glanced back at him. His cloudy eyes suddenly seemed sharp with interest. “Show me again, and explain each step as you do.”
Alwyn swallowed hard. He’d known it would be like this, but the prospect of slaughtering a dozen sheep or more before the day was done hardly appealed to him. “I will.”
By the time the guard escorted Alwyn back to his tent, the paddock was as blood-soaked as a butcher’s floor. They’d used half a dozen sheep, over a dozen chickens, and a donkey that had gone lame a few days prior. Alwyn had shown him how to open the veins, as well as how to rupture the heart from within for a more subtle kill. When he left, exhausted, Yarug was idly manipulating the dead donkey with a swish of his hand, sending its blood pooling in different parts of its body to move it around.
As the guard picked up the length of chain Alwyn had been dragging behind him all afternoon, he could feel the druid’s magic probing at him again. Whatever Yarug was looking for, he had to ensure that he wouldn’t find it. He drew his magic into himself as quickly as he could, though the effort left him shaking. Once he got a few steps away from the paddock, the sensation faded; the guard glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow, as Alwyn let out a shuddering breath.
“What now?” the orc asked, sounding annoyed.
“Nothing,” Alwyn mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m just tired.”
The guard shrugged and turned away, clearly disinterested.
Alwyn hadn’t expected that the druid would still have so much energy after a long day of practice; but he supposed an orc that old had several decades on him, as far as training and deepening his well of magic. How easily he’d picked up the techniques attested to his ability, too—Alwyn had never seen a better pupil. The more he learned about the druid, the more worried he became that his presence would be a true thorn in his side.
That was a problem for another day, though. For now, he was too exhausted to care. When he arrived in his tent, a small meal was waiting for him on the table—salt beef and bread. He didn’t have the capacity to be annoyed at the repetitive fare. He forced it down and collapsed on the mattress, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
