The first had an axe, but was swinging wildly in a blind rage. He ducked as the orc swung high, the head of the axe burying itself in a tree. Before he could wrench it back out, Krujha leapt forward and shoved a dagger between his ribs, driving the blade in as the rebel screamed until his hands were slippery with his lifeblood.
Pain tore through his upper arm as the final orc slashed at him with a longsword—swearing, Krujha scrabbled with his second dagger, his bloodstained fingers struggling to get a good grip.
“You traitor!” the boy bellowed, raising his sword. Younger than the rest, his eyes were bright with tears, his face flushed with rage. “You’ve ruined everything!”
“Oh, shutup,” Krujha growled, darting out of the way as the other man slashed at him. This one was more nimble, and it was harder to find an opening. But maybe he could play into his wild emotions instead. “If anyone’s a traitor, it washim.His plans would have gotten hundreds more orcs killed.”
“Liar!” the man howled, swinging viciously. Krujha kept dodging until eventually the rebel seemed to tire and slow, andhe could finally lunge forward to slash his dagger through his throat. He raised a hand to try to deflect the blow, but Krujha pushed the weak block out of the way, finding his mark.
Panting, he peered back the way they’d come. The horses had all fled in the chaos, but four dead bodies still littered the path. He salvaged his crossbow bolts; then shoved the bodies down the hillside, hoping the dry brush would disguise them well enough for anyone who might come later; and finally hurried back to his hiding place.
Krujha risked a look back down at the camp. He could see clusters of fighting, flashes of magic; but it was all disjointed, as if their forces were trying to rally around a leader who never identified themselves. And even further away, at the far perimeter of the camp, he could see some orcs fleeing in the opposite direction on horseback—hopefully never to return.
He considered trying to move further down the hill to get closer to Brugo and the elves in hopes a healer was amongst their number, but quickly decided against it. Here, at least, he could see or hear anyone approaching before they would see him. If their numbers were too great, this was his best hiding spot; even if Krujha was discovered, there was still the chance that Alwyn would go unnoticed at the back of the cave. However slim that hope of survival was, Krujha had to believe that every little bit would help.
“Just a bit longer, Alwyn,” he said softly to the silent, motionless form behind him. “We’re so close now.”
In the end, three more groups tried to come up the hill to investigate what had happened, each in such disarray that Krujha dispatched them with only a few more wounds to showfor it. He was lucky they couldn’t seem to rally together without Zesh’s presence, as he was hardly trained as a warrior—he could defend himself, of course, but the vast majority of his training had been to ensure he never got to the point of needing to exchange blows. From his hidden position, he took the rebels by surprise, killing the most formidable-looking of the bunch with his crossbow before they even knew he was there.
The smell of smoke and blood had long since overtaken everything else; it seemed more and more of the camp was destroyed every time Krujha risked peering back down into the valley.
His clothes were soaked in blood, some of it his own; and despite his best efforts, he had no more crossbow bolts. He’d reused as many as he could, but too many had splintered or buckled beyond repair when he’d tried to retrieve them, until finally none were left.
It was past midday now. The sounds of fighting had since reached a fever pitch, and an eerie quiet had settled over the hill. Krujha remained in their tucked-away hiding place, waiting for at least another hour—but no more rebels came. If they did, he’d have no means of defending himself, aside from the blades he’d looted from the fallen orcs.
All the while, Alwyn had remained motionless where he was—alive, but unconscious—his breaths coming in fits and starts that left Krujha’s chest filled with worry.
He had to risk getting back down to the camp now. Not allowing himself to hope they might have made it, he used the last of his water to rinse the worst of the blood off him, then pulled Alwyn into his arms as gingerly as he could manage. The elf was so small, so fragile—he could hardly wrap his mind aroundthisbeing the one who had killed Zesh and his druid, who had so much magic inside him that it set the very sky aflame.
Krujha’s legs quivered under him as he set back down the path, taking each step as carefully as he could to avoid jostling the unconscious elf in his arms. Not just his legs—he realized his whole body was trembling as he walked, though he barely felt the cold of the winter afternoon.
The camp was reduced to a smoking husk; blood had turned many of the dirt paths to mud, and the command tent was a pile of splintered wood and smoldering ash. In the center of the camp, a group of elves and orcs had gathered—he could see Brugo amongst them, calling out orders.
The orc’s eyes landed on him, widening in shock. “Krujha!”
“We made it,” Krujha croaked, finally coming to a stop.
“Where’s that healer?!” Brugo shouted, jogging toward him. An elf pushed through the crowd, hurrying after him. “Krujha, we did it. All the rebels—they’ve either fled, died, or surrendered.”
A weak smile crossed Krujha’s face for only a second. The confirmation was a relief, but a short-lived one—such a victory felt meaningless if Alwyn wasn’t alive to see it. “I knew we would.”
The elf that had been chasing after Brugo came up beside him: a woman with curly dark hair held back with a faded cloth headband. She looked older than Alwyn, but it was otherwise hard to gauge, as it was with so many elves. “This is the sorcerer?”
“Yes,” Krujha said, kneeling down. “Please—he’s badly hurt. But he was the one who—who put an end to all this. Please. He deserves to see the fruit of his work.”
“I don’t have any of my herbs, but I’ll try my best,” she murmured, kneeling beside him. “Oh, he’s only a boy.”
Somehow, that hit Krujha harder than any other event of the day. Tears burned at his eyes, and he turned away, choking back a sob.He’s only a boy.
There was so much more life left for Alwyn, centuries of it still; yet he might see none of it, and die believing for twenty-five years that he was only a tool to be wielded by someone who would never value him the way Krujha did. He deserved so much more than that.
“You did well to keep his skin cool,” the healer was saying. He tried to focus on her voice, soothing and calm now that the initial surprise had passed. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Krujha,” he croaked out. “And—and this is Alwyn.”
“I’m Iefyr,” she said softly, as her fingers gingerly peeled the damp cloth off Alwyn’s forehead. “Krujha, can you tell me how long ago he was injured?”
“This morning,” he replied. As her hands gently smoothed over his face, some blisters seemed to fade. “The fire at the top of the hill—that was him.”
