Chapter 2 #2
Blythe Everwood’s Adventures: In the Sea Serpent’s Maw, this one was called.
The title was emblazoned in blue, glossy text on a plain black clothbound cover.
He gently opened it to the first page, which had an illustration of the titular human: a ruggedly handsome man with dark hair and muscular features, holding a sword in one hand, a beautiful woman in the other, brandishing his weapon against an approaching mob of pirates.
A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he flipped through the table of contents to the first chapter.
The books might have been trash, but it was something small and indulgent just for him.
Despite everything else going on, he could escape for just a little while—and maybe even dream of sailing on the open sea.
The days passed by, most of them indistinguishable from any other. Alwyn’s backside ached more each evening from being so long on the horse; but otherwise, the only thing that changed was the scenery around them.
The subtler differences of Aefraya’s winter became more obvious the farther north they went, as the lush greens of the forests had largely fallen away, and the emerald grasses on rolling hills had turned dull and brown.
When they finally crossed the border, leaving their homeland behind, the land became rockier; and craggy shelves of stone broke the horizon rather than soft rolling hills.
He hated how familiar the orc wildlands were, even as the approaching frost had stripped the landscape of its former vibrance.
He’d spent weeks alone in this wilderness, tracking the movement of rebel spies from what he’d thought was a safe distance.
The mission had been almost enjoyable until it went sideways.
He liked working alone, and he liked seeing new places; but the memory of the day he was captured crept up his spine, the same way the orc had snuck up on him.
For all his training and magical prowess, an unseen blow to the back of the head incapacitated him just like any other elf.
Alwyn shook his head, trying to drive away the unpleasant memories. That was before. It had been a fluke, and after this mission, everyone in the Order who doubted him would know it.
“Keep an eye out for their smoke signal,” Galred called from the head of their line. Alwyn was second to last; Cithrel, the quietest of the bunch aside from him, took up the rear. “We should be spotting them soon.”
The rendezvous point was in a remote and unremarkable part of the wildlands, far from the historic Aefrayan border, but not near any commonly traveled paths or hunting grounds.
It was mostly rocky ground, hardy plants, and the small animals that lived in such an environment—with absolutely nothing else of note within more than a day’s journey.
No one would be here, making it an ideal meeting place for two groups intending to infiltrate the rebellion.
Although, Alwyn thought in exasperation, it also meant that it would be a pain in the ass for the two groups to find each other.
Once they met up, it would be easy enough to keep in contact with the magic the elves could provide; but until then, they’d have to rely on more mundane means.
Of course, the day was cloudy and cool, so a smoke signal could be easy to miss.
A dense fog had lingered in the air when they broke camp this morning; and while it had mostly dissipated as the day wore on, the sky was still gray and overcast. Alwyn pulled his hood closer around his face.
Staging such a mission at the beginning of winter seemed like a poor choice, but he supposed it was too late to complain now.
Fionia was the first to spot the hazy line of smoke in the distance, nearly an hour later. Within twenty minutes, they were approaching the orc camp. Alwyn could see one figure standing apart from the other three, watching them; after a beat, the figure waved, beckoning them.
The orc beckoning to them was a woman with a slender build, suggesting she was no warrior.
She had long, jet-black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, high on her skull, that fell in a narrow cascade to the small of her back, with several tattoos along the sides of her neck that disappeared into her hairline.
She was dressed plainly in dark leathers and a fur capelet; but as they drew closer, Alwyn could see they were finely crafted despite being a little worn, and she wore a brooch just above her heart in the shape of a bird.
One of her tusks had a silver cap atop it with an inlaid jewel that glittered in the cloudy light as she moved.
Surely, this was Gorza herself, King Zorvut’s sister and spymaster.
“Welcome, friends,” she said in accented elvish as they approached. “I hope your journey was as uneventful as ours.”
At the head of their group, Galred dismounted from his horse and stepped toward her, bowing his head politely. When he spoke, it was in orcish. “Thank you. We all arrived safely, as you can see. I’m Galred. I take it you are Gorza?”
“The very same,” Gorza said, a smile stretching around her tusks. “Come sit with us. We’ve traveled far, too. Let’s take the remainder of the day to discuss our goals and hopefully relax a little bit.”
Galred nodded and gestured for the rest of the elves to follow suit. Soon, all the horses were tethered and grazing nearby, as the group of elves and orcs settled around the campfire. Alwyn wondered if the orcs felt awkward and uncertain, too, or if it was just him.
Gorza stood before a cauldron over their fire and ladled the liquid within into stone cups, which were then passed around—hot cider with a sharp bite of alcohol that mellowed out to a pleasantly spiced tartness.
Alwyn stifled a chuckle as he took a sip.
That was one way to keep warm and relaxed, he supposed.