“I’ll be fine. You know I’m the best at what I do,” he said simply, shrugging off the annoyance. “You wouldn’t have asked me to be part of this if I wasn’t.”
“Can’t argue with results,” she agreed. “I’m glad you’re on our side, at least. I have to admit I was a bit taken aback when I heard you’d been following the rebel camp.”
“To track it, and listen to its whispers,” Krujha protested, laughing. “You think I’dreallyjoin up with them?”
“I trust you entirely, of course,” Gorza said. “But being a double agent has its detriments, unfortunately.”
“I suppose all jobs have their downsides,” Krujha chuckled.
They sat together in silence for a beat longer; despite their lighthearted tone, he knew Gorza said nothing without intention. This was no different. He had been connected with her network of whisperers for many years; if she didn’t trust him now, then bringing him along for this mission was foolish. This was less a test of his loyalty and more a reminder that shedidtrust him, and that trust was a hard-won prize few others could claim.
He felt a pang of guilt at the thought that if things went his way, he would lose that trust for good. But the rebellion would be ended, one way or another, and that was all that mattered.
“Gods, I’m starving,” Gorza finally muttered, standing and stretching with a groan. “I hope this goes smoothly, just so I don’t have to be eating rations for weeks on end in the middle of winter.”
Krujha chuckled. “We can only hope, hm?”
He watched her as she stepped toward the campfire: the smell of the cooking stew had suffused the air, which he hoped meant it would be ready soon.
His eyes darted back to the elves. The assassin—on that guess, Krujha was more than ready to trust his instincts, which were usually correct—was sitting silently just a step too far from the rest. Even if he wasn’t an assassin, there was something holding him back from integrating with his companions. He would have kept a close eye on that one, even without Gorza’s command, but it was just as well. Even if he was just bad at making friends, Krujha had more than enough charisma for the both of them.
Chapter Four
Alwyn
When Gorza had explained the structure of their plan, sparse on details as it was, Alwyn’s mind had latched on to the notion of pretending to be a captive of the orcs. Hours later, it hadn’t let go, leaving him tossing and turning all night with anxiety. His memories of true captivity were no longer just haunting his dreams, but filled his waking hours as well; the wound was still too recent for it not to hurt when prodded.
He should have expected as much, though. How many other ways could an elf—a group of elves especially—be brought into a camp in open rebellion against the new orc king and the peace he had promised? The only contact those orcs had with elves traveling in the wildlands ended in either death or capture, to be ransomed back to Aefraya, both outcomes sowing further discord between their nations. On that level, the plan made sense, and it was likely the only reliable path forward; but none of that made it any easier for him to calm his nerves.
As he dressed in the dim light of his small tent, Alwyn considered how inevitable this aspect of the mission was, and how much of it the Mage Princeps had anticipated. Even thoughTessarion had given him this second chance, he was still being punished for his failure.
But it meant his success in this would be all the sweeter. After all, that was how his mentor had always taught, forcing Alwyn to sink or swim by confronting his shortcomings at every opportunity. He tried to find encouragement in the thought, but everything felt dreary and unpleasant in the damp morning air. Winter crept closer every day; and soon it would not be a cold mist clinging to him as he packed away his tent, but the sharp fingers of frost that would herald the arrival of snow.
He didn’t know how the orcs managed it, and most Aefrayan winters would be considered rather mild compared to their northern neighbors. It wasn’t even snowing yet, and he was dreading being out in the wilderness—without the comfort of a hearth roaring with fire, and a bed piled with warm blankets awaiting him at the end of the day.
The moment his belongings were packed away into his horse’s saddlebags, he joined the group gathering around the fire, partly to keep warm and partly to get his breakfast.
Meals would be a shared responsibility as they traveled together. Galred had taken the first duty, rising early to prepare food for everyone. The cauldron that had been full of hot cider the night before was now bubbling with porridge, which Galred ladled over slices of apple drizzled lightly with honey. Alwyn took his portion and sat down on one of the logs that had been pulled up around the fire, keeping his eyes on his bowl as he quickly ate. The camp was awake now, and as soon as everyone had eaten, they would be heading out.
He felt someone approach behind him, and his head immediately darted up. The smiling orc from the night before was stepping over the log where he sat, then took a seat on the other end and grinned at him.
Alwyn felt his face warm, flustered. Of all the places to sit—
“Good morning,” the orc said in elvish, offering a hand to shake while balancing his own bowl of porridge in the other. “Alwyn, right? I’m Krujha.”
Alwyn hesitated, then took the offered hand. His fingers were dwarfed by the orc’s; but Krujha’s grip was gentle, and he released his hold after one uncertain shake.
“Good morning. Yes, I’m Alwyn,” he said simply, looking back down at his bowl.
“I figured I’d introduce myself to everyone, since we’re all going to be working together,” Krujha continued, clearly undeterred by Alwyn’s lack of engagement. “But you went to bed before I got the chance to say hello. Not much of a night owl, hm?”
Alwyn risked a glance over at him again, hoping his own confusion wasn’t as plain on his face as it felt; but the orc was looking down and stirring his bowl of porridge, seemingly intent on the task. The motion was disarmingly casual, and Alwyn could have sworn that he had sensed the orc’s eyes on him just an instant before.
He took a moment before answering to consider this Krujha. He had a rather unassuming appearance. His hair was the same jet black that was common to most orcs—cut close to the skull on the sides, but with a little more length on top—falling rakishly into his eyes now, although it had been neatly pushed back the night before. His face was the sort that Alwyn might have seen illustrated in some study of orc culture or anatomy: not exactly handsome, but not ugly or off-putting, and free of any scars or marks that would stick in his memory. He seemed of average height among his companions with a solid frame Alwyn could discern even under the layers of clothing and gear that he wore for this weather; but he was no war leader or battle champion, lacking the wide, thick build of some orcs that he had encountered during his last mission.
The perfect appearance for a spy, he concluded. Alwyn was lucky enough to have a similarly unremarkable face. When he was younger, he had wished he was handsome; but in this line of work, it was better not to stand out one way or the other.
Krujha finally glanced back over at him, a questioning smile still on his face. Alwyn startled, realizing he was staring and remembering the question.
