“Get up,” he commanded. “The warlord wishes to see you.”
Alwyn felt his heart leap up into his throat. This was it—his chance had finally come. Krujha had told him to wait, but he didn’t know when the next opportunity might arise. He stumbled out of bed and hurriedly pulled on his boots before offering his wrists to the guard. The orc bound them with rope, then dragged Alwyn along behind him as he stepped out into the camp.
The sky was overcast and gray, making the pale light of dawn even weaker. Alwyn had never even received his breakfast this early, much less been summoned from his captivity—something had changed. Despite the early hour, the camp was quickly coming alive. Tents were coming down—the camp was getting ready to move.
Alwyn’s feet felt leaden as he stumbled along after the guard, who made no change to his much longer stride to allow him to keep up. Instead of heading for the command tent, though, the orc led him toward the northern perimeter of the camp. The realization made his heart skip a beat—he had no idea where he was being taken, or why.
His eyes darted everywhere, trying to make sense of what was happening. Finally, as they stepped through the fence and out of the camp, he could see Zesh just a few paces along the path, the same one that he and Krujha had taken together with thewarlord, which led to the top of a nearby steep hill. But this time there was only Zesh atop his horse, and a smaller pony lashed to it, obviously meant for Alwyn.
As they drew closer, he tried to get some sense of what was happening, trying to read Zesh’s face. But the orc’s expression was stony, his eyes cool and disinterested as Alwyn stepped closer. The warlord only gestured at the pony, commanding Alwyn to get on.
For a moment, Alwyn glanced back, his eyes searching the camp desperately for any sign of Krujha. But in all the flurry of activity, there was nothing; and Alwyn knew he couldn’t do anything to harm Zesh now, not in full view of the camp. He had no choice but to obey.
He reached up with both hands to grip the pommel of the pony’s saddle, then hauled himself up onto it. Zesh nodded, dismissing the guard, then nudged his own horse into motion, the pony following. Alwyn turned back one last time to look at the camp, his eyes locking on to the smoke now rising from the cooking fires of the kitchens—somehow willing Krujha to sense him, to know what was happening.
Alwyn turned again in the saddle, staring at the back of Zesh’s head, as he silently allowed himself to be led away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Krujha
“Wait!”
He could hear Alwyn’s nervous hiss chasing him out of the tent, but Krujha forced himself to close the back panel. He picked up the crate that he’d set down just outside and stumbled through the narrow alley between the surrounding tents. It had been a hasty decision to come speak to Alwyn, but hopefully, he just looked like another new grunt, hauling supplies amidst the stacks that had already been shuffled around today. The stolen moment was worth the risk, though; he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold up his part of the plan if Alwyn proceeded, and that would be a death sentence for the elf.
This second camp joining them had been an unexpected thorn in his side; it reinforced Brugo’s information thatsomethingmajor was in motion, yet he was no closer to knowing the details than he had been before.
The whole camp was bustling with activity, and the stables were no exception. There were many more horses now than there had been just a few days ago, enough that every stable pen was full, so several horses were being brushed down and fed outin the paddock instead. He spotted Brugo out among them and jogged over to him; the orc glanced up at him as he approached, grimacing.
“Good morning,” he said, despite his grim expression. “I thought you might come see me.”
“I need to know more about what’s happening,” Krujha whispered. Brugo sighed, glancing back at the stables. No one was particularly close to them, and with all the activity and noise, Krujha doubted anyone could hear them. Still, Brugo knelt down beside the horse he’d just tethered to the fence, pulling up one of its hooves to examine the horseshoe. He gestured for Krujha to look, and he squatted down so they were at eye level.
“I don’t know this for sure,” Brugo said in a low voice, continuing to point at the horseshoe. “But the rumor is that Zesh has summoned all the splinter camps to him here, and as soon as they’ve all arrived, he’ll move on Drol Kuggradh. He’s hoping to cut off the food supply lines to the city just as the first snows start.”
Krujha sighed, rubbing a hand across his face as he processed the information. How much time would they have before the remaining two camps arrived? It would be a matter of days, surely—which meant they needed to act quickly.
“There’s another matter complicating things,” Brugo said after a moment. “There are too many elf prisoners to fit in the one tent now. The new arrivals are being kept in a pen just outside, but I don’t know how long they might have that setup. In a worst-case scenario, they might start culling the extras for body parts to send a message to the city. Hopefully, they will pursue ransom money more aggressively instead, but...”
“With any luck, it won’t get to that point,” Krujha mumbled, still scrubbing a hand over his face. “Gods damn it. I have tofigure something out with the elf I came here with. I’ll be in touch.”
“Be careful,” Brugo said as Krujha straightened up. “I know there’s at least one of ours in this new camp who might be able to help us. I’m going to make contact as soon as I can, but—it might take some time.”
“I’ll be careful. But we might not have time to wait,” Krujha said. He stood and started walking away before Brugo could reply—he needed to see the penned-up elves for himself. It would have been a quick walk over to where the prisoners were being kept, but the walkways were glutted with orcs carrying all sorts of supplies or setting up tents in places that had once been empty. He wove through the now-unfamiliar labyrinth until he arrived at the prison tent; beside it was the new, fenced-off area Brugo had described.
There were about ten elves huddled within. As Krujha walked along the perimeter of the fence, he could see they looked haggard, faces gaunt and shoes caked with mud. He couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought they were the same elves that he and Alwyn had been forced to leave behind when they’d tried to enter that first camp where Torlag was slain. The canopy that had been erected over the fence, to give them some minuscule relief from the sun and snow, looked familiar—though it had been too dark to really make out the colors the first time he’d seen it.
As he reached the opposite side of the fence, his eyes landed on the orc standing watch there. Recognition dawned, and he nearly stopped in his tracks. These were surely the same elves, then, because the guard standing watch was the very same that Krujha had taken a drunken swing at, belligerently attacking to distract him. He couldn’t risk the guard recognizing him, too, so he quickly veered away, instead heading back down the main thoroughfare of the camp. He could now see that a secondary campsite had been set up outside what had once been thesouthern perimeter, so he started walking through the rows of newly raised tents, looking for anything that might help direct his next steps.
Eventually, he noticed a group of four men sitting around an upended crate, using it as a table for a game of cards. He kept going, snatching a bottle of wine from another open crate along the next row of tents, then circled back to the card game.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked with a grin as he approached, holding out the wine as an offering. One man only glared at him—an older, grizzled fighter with a deep scar on one cheek that pulled his mouth into a snarl. Two others—younger, likely foot soldiers from their muscled builds and the short swords on each of their hips—returned his smile, though, and gestured for him to join.
Krujha filled everyone’s cups with the wine as they dealt him in. Over the course of the game, he learned they were all indeed foot soldiers, and their camp had been told to prepare to join Zesh’s force to lay siege to Drol Kuggradh. It sounded as though the rumors Brugo heard were true.
Krujha didn’t want to seem suspicious, so he continued to drink and play cards with them, even past the time he was due to report for kitchen duty. Despite the jovial grin he kept plastered on his face, his heart was thudding anxiously and his mind was racing with half-baked plans. More than anything, he needed the chance to talk about this with Alwyn; but considering how busy the camp was now—and how close he was to the command tent, where so much of the activity was centered—he doubted he would get the opportunity to sneak into his tent again anytime soon. He’d managed it that morning, but he knew better than to press his luck in broad daylight a second time.
After a few rounds—all losses, but luckily the bets were small—Krujha set the cards down with a grimace.
