Chapter Twenty-Five
Krujha
“I thought I recognized you, cousin!”
Krujha glanced up from where he was chopping onions. The orc now standing in front of him was unfamiliar, but he returned the wide smile anyway. He had been looking for Gorza’s contact since he’d arrived to little avail; but it seemed the orc had found him, judging from the way the man was smiling at him as if they’d known each other for years. They were alone in this part of the kitchen prep tent, but he could never be sure who might overhear their conversation, so he would play along.
“I didn’t know you were here!” he laughed, eyeing the stranger up and down to memorize his face and frame. He was plain-looking, strong with the muscle of hard labor rather than combat, and his short dark hair was graying at the temples. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
The man held out his hand. Krujha hastily wiped his own and reached out to shake it, letting the other orc draw him closer.
“I’m working in the stables,” he said in a low voice, hugging Krujha affectionately. “Meet me there when you’re done with your shift.”
Krujha nodded as the man released him. “I will.”
The man waved as he ducked back out of the tent, leaving Krujha alone again. He still had several hours before he would be free to go, and his eyes were already watering from the pile of chopped onions in front of him. It was shaping up to be a long afternoon.
When he finally stepped away, it was only a few hours until sunset. The smell of onions lingered on him as he ducked out of the kitchen tent and headed toward the stables. It had been the first place he had noticed upon his arrival in the camp—just his luck that their contact had been there all along, and they had somehow missed each other.
He could see the other orc as he approached, leaning against a fence post and leisurely smoking a pipe. Hazy puffs lingered around him as he glanced up, spotting Krujha drawing near. A smile stretched around the stranger’s tusks, and he offered the pipe to Krujha.
“I’m Brugo,” he said in a low voice as Krujha took a puff of the pipe. The heady flavor of tobacco filled his senses, and then he handed it back.
“Krujha,” he answered, his name coming out with a stream of smoke. “Shall we walk?”
“Follow me,” Brugo agreed, taking one last drag from the pipe before emptying its ashes into the dirt. He led Krujha along the length of the fence and out past the stables to a quiet corner of the camp.
“Sorry I was so hard to find,” Brugo said, once they were off on their own. They were in an open field, between the fence of the stables and the outer perimeter of the camp, so they both had plenty of warning should anyone draw near. “Zesh has been more paranoid than ever, and I think someone was suspicious about the letters I’ve been receiving, so I had to lie low for a bit. Probably best if we avoid each other as much as possible.”
“Let’s make this quick, then,” Krujha sighed. He’d suspected as much. “What can you tell me?”
“Everything I see points to Zesh planning something big, and soon,” Brugo said. “I don’t know exactly what. But I’ve seen several messenger birds leaving the command tent, more than usual, and heading in all directions.”
It was hardly surprising, but Krujha still considered it for a moment. Zesh was leading a rebellion—it wasn’t strange that he would need to be in contact with the other camps following his cause, spread out across the wildlands for their own safety. But if there was more going on than usual, then he might be passing along integral information that all the camps needed to have. Or he could be summoning them to him—which would be foolhardy with the snows approaching, but not impossible.
“What did Gorza tell you about me?” he asked. Brugo shook his head.
“Only what I need to know,” he said, eyeing Krujha. “That you came here with a spy from Aefraya, and I need to help you however I can.”
From his expression, Krujha could tell that Brugo could read between the lines well enough to know he and Alwyn were here to deal with Zesh, in what would hopefully be a decisive blow. Still, he had to at least put up the front that they were just here to apprehend the rebel warlord to be brought to the king.
“Whatever you need of me, I’ll do to the best of my ability,” Brugo continued. “But as I said, I think someone in Zesh’s inner circle has suspicions of me. You’re probably going to be facing some scrutiny yourself, so the sooner you can get in and out of here, the better. If I hadn’t received word you were coming, I would have been leaving the camp myself at the first opportunity.”
“I have no intention of dilly-dallying,” Krujha agreed. “This druid is a factor I wasn’t expecting, though.”
“The druid,” Brugo sighed, shaking his head. “A thorn in all our sides. He’s Zesh’s most trusted confidant now, his right-hand man.”
“Where did he even come from?” Krujha asked, frowning.
“I couldn’t tell you. Supposedly, Zesh went looking for allies with magic when he went into hiding, since King Zorvut bested him with his own magic. Somehow he found the druid, who agreed to help him. I don’t know if the old man’s getting anything out of their alliance, but he seems entirely devoted to the cause. And he has eyes everywhere. Who knows how true the rumors are, but from how his fingers seem to be in everything that happens in the camp, I wouldn’t be surprised if he really could speak with animals—horses, livestock, the messenger birds, all of them.”
That was an unsettling thought—that the old man could somehow ask their horses where they’d come from, which would all but give them away. Could an animal lie, even if it wanted to?
Krujha shook the thoughts from his head. Even if that were possible, he couldn’t do anything about it—so he had to focus on the things he could control.
“Have you seen him in the stables?” he asked. Brugo shook his head.
“I’ve never seen him far from Zesh’s side, to be honest,” he said. “But he has that big raven familiar—I see it flying over the camp all the time. And I know magic users can commune with their familiars, so I’m sure that anything it’s seen, he knows.”
