Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Krujha
In the morning, they parted ways with the band of musicians. Some coin had changed hands for wine and spare blankets; but other than the new items, and the extra time it took for them to get back on track, it was as if the night of merriment had never happened.
All the elves were so stuffy and rigid—save Myrra, who had danced with half the troupe last night—and Alwyn was just as standoffish as always, even though Krujha had tried to open up to him.
He wasn’t quite sure what he expected from sharing the story with the elf, now that he was reflecting on the conversation.
All he had gotten out of it was Alwyn admitting he’d been an orphan, too.
Not that he had shared the story because he wanted something from the elf, aside from some sign that the elf was more than a walking spellbook.
He had kept his assurance to Gorza that he would keep an eye on the little assassin, but the more time he spent with Alwyn, the more he thought he was, in truth, only a boy in over his head.
It was obvious he was keeping Krujha at arm’s length; but he so quickly flustered when Krujha pushed against his boundaries even slightly, as if he didn’t know how to keep his guard up even if he wanted to.
It hadn’t surprised Krujha when the elf answered so curtly that he was just following orders.
That, perhaps, was the most important information he had learned from their conversation: that the little elf didn’t think much for himself.
He seemed smart enough, but whoever he served had him completely under their thumb.
Krujha had seen the signs before, even recently, from the struggling brute they had subdued with Gorza; he had sat there cursing them, parroting the same dogma all Zesh’s followers used to justify every act that came with waging war on their own people.
Alwyn had that same weakness, whether or not he realized it—maybe he would try following that thread, wherever it might lead.
On the other hand, they were fighting on the same side, so he didn’t really need to learn more about the elf.
But he found Alwyn a bit endearing, somehow: how he tried to be so stoic and serious, yet seemed to burn with heat at the slightest ribbing.
And he was so small and cute. All elves were, compared to orcs; but something about his bravado, trying to project an air of a deadly mage, with his delicate features and easily shaken certainty, made Krujha want to keep poking and prodding at him.
When they broke off from the rest of the group to forage along the banks of a creek, though, he didn’t even need to start the conversation. This time, it was Alwyn who spoke up first.
“Do you think recurring dreams mean anything?” he asked abruptly, as soon as they had each dismounted from their horses to gather some berries from a shrub. Krujha blinked, the question taking him by surprise. He considered it earnestly for a moment.
“Perhaps,” he finally said, shrugging. “I think they’re most often a reflection of the things we want, the things we think about in waking hours.
Or perhaps the things we’re too afraid to think of, but some part of us wants to consider anyway.
” He paused and shot Alwyn a teasing grin.
“Why? Been dreaming of something you want lately?”
Alwyn’s cheeks flushed a faint pink as he glanced away from Krujha, muttering something under his breath.
As he kept picking berries and dropping them into the bag Krujha held, though, his expression remained pensive.
Instead of teasing him further, Krujha waited to see if he would say anything else.
“I’ve been having the same dream a lot,” Alwyn finally said, keeping his eyes firmly on his work, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it outright.
“Where I’m a little kid, barely older than a baby.
It’s not exactly the same dream every time, I guess, but it’s always the same place.
It’s a cottage along a river, with a waterfall nearby.
I’m always a child, and there’s always an adult somewhere in the dream, a man or a woman. ”
He trailed off, but didn’t seem to expect an answer this time.
Krujha would sometimes dream of places he’d been in his childhood, too: the rocky shore and coastal chaparral that he had never returned to.
That in itself wasn’t especially unusual, but Alwyn appeared visibly troubled about whatever he wasn’t saying about the dream—and he was certain that there was something the elf was holding himself back from saying.
“Are they your parents?” Krujha asked softly, guessing at what was causing him the conflict. Alwyn winced.
“I don’t know,” he said, then added in a smaller voice, “I don’t remember them. My earliest memories are of leaving the orphanage to attend the Library.”
Krujha let out a sigh, a small pang of sympathy aching in his chest. He had memories of his parents, at least, though they were murky and faded with time now. To have no memory at all of where he’d come from—even imagining it made his heart hurt.
“Do you think dreams can be old memories like that?” Alwyn asked, finally glancing up at him. “That maybe some part of me remembers them, even if just in dreams?”
From the pained expression on the elf’s face, Krujha could tell he already didn’t believe it.
“Well,” he said, crouching slightly, so he was closer to eye level with the shorter elf.
“I think it’s certainly possible. We might not have conscious memory of learning to speak or walk, either, but obviously some part of that remains with us.
So maybe those dreams are coming from somewhere in that part of you, too.
A memory formed before you even knew it was a memory. ”
Alwyn didn’t respond, but his hands seemed less sure—not quite shaking, but his mind was clearly elsewhere now—as he continued to pull clusters of berries from the bush.
“When did these recurring dreams start?” he asked, probing. Alwyn’s eyes darkened, though he was clearly trying to keep the same stoic, emotionless face.
“After my last... job,” he replied, his voice clipped. “Which didn’t go well for me.”
There was something there, too; but he didn’t want Alwyn to continue drawing in on himself. The little assassin was talking of his own accord, and he very much wanted to keep him talking. A different approach would be best, then.
“You said you remember an orphanage,” Krujha said, changing course. “Couldn’t you go back there and find out?”
Alwyn blinked, his eyes darting up to meet Krujha’s in surprise, the darkness in his expression fading quickly. Clearly, the question caught him off-guard. Maybe it was something he had never even considered.
“I...” he said, color rising in his face again. “I don’t remember anything about it. I’d have to ask my—my mentor.”
Krujha raised an eyebrow. “Your mentor?”
“Yes,” Alwyn said, offering no other information, aside from the tension building in his face.
“Was that who took you out of the orphanage?”
“No,” Alwyn said, frowning. “I don’t remember exactly when I left... But he is the headmaster of a branch of the Library, which is how I met him. He... thought I had exceptional promise, and provided additional tutoring for me. I owe him much for how far I’ve come. I’m only here because of him.”
“He’s not an adopted father or anything, then? Just a teacher?”
Color rose in Alwyn’s face again, though this time it seemed more indignant, as he shot Krujha an annoyed look. Now, that was a thread worth following.
“No,” he said. “But he is more than a teacher, too. Without his guidance, I don’t know where I would be. Who I would be.”
“Then he should be happy to help you find this out,” Krujha said. From his silence, and the way Alwyn’s shoulders tensed at the suggestion, he suspected their relationship was perhaps not as amicable as Alwyn was trying to portray.
“Maybe,” Alwyn said. “It’s not exactly what I’m worrying about at the moment, though.”
He was worrying about it right at that moment, but Krujha decided against pointing out the obvious.
“When all this is done, then,” Krujha said, smiling despite Alwyn’s scowl. “I hope you can find the answers you’re looking for. Truly.”
The elf was silent for a moment, his hands growing still. When he met Krujha’s gaze, his brow was furrowed, but his expression was more searching now—as if wondering what Krujha might have meant—wondering if he was telling the truth.
“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice soft. He glanced back down at their basket. “Me too.”
Warmth bloomed in Krujha’s chest. Part of him wanted to prod Alwyn into telling him more—to hear about this mysterious mentor or the place the elf might have come from—but he didn’t want to push him away.
Besides, he really had no justifiable need to know more.
Still, he wanted to understand the elf; and it seemed like Alwyn wanted to share more, but didn’t know how, stunted little thing that he was.
They had time, Krujha thought. He would get there, if slowly.
“Well, then. Let’s see if we can’t nab a few fish for dinner, hm?” Krujha offered, lightening his tone, as he grinned down at the elf. Alwyn still seemed flustered and uncertain for a moment, then he nodded and followed as Krujha led him further downstream.
They didn’t have much luck with fishing in the creek; but Krujha recognized an edible river weed along the banks, so they gathered up handfuls of that instead.
The roast mutton the troupe had shared with them was becoming a distant, delicious dream; they had enough rations to sustain them until they arrived at the rebel camp, but it was much less enjoyable fare, even with the berries and greens they foraged.
By the time they caught back up with their group, Alwyn’s demeanor returned to his usual standoffish and quiet self. But as they parted ways to sort through their haul and add it to their crate of rations, Alwyn paused, glancing up at Krujha with color rising in his face again.
He didn’t say anything, standing motionlessly before Krujha until he raised an eyebrow. He tried to give him an encouraging smile, but this only seemed to fluster the boy more. His cheeks reddened as he stammered out something unintelligible.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” he finally said, more clearly and in orcish, rather than the elvish the group had settled on using.
The elves all spoke orcish at a decent enough level, but there were only himself and Torlag left; and besides, it wasn’t easy for anyone without tusks to speak it.
So the effort Alwyn had put into the simple phrase took Krujha by surprise, and he felt that same warmth bloom in his chest at the realization. “For... being nice to me.”
His orcish was accented, but it was endearing. Krujha gathered his wits enough to shoot Alwyn a wide smile, relishing in the flush that continued to climb up his face.
“You don’t have to say thank you for that,” he replied, answering in orcish. “I like being nice to you.”
Alwyn looked away, mumbling under his breath again, before switching back to elvish. “Same time tomorrow?”
Krujha chuckled, wondering how one awkward, prickly elf could be so adorable. “Same time tomorrow. Unless you’d like me to be nice to you more between now and then.”
“I don’t—I don’t—” Alwyn stammered, his face now redder than ever. “I don’t know what you mean.”
With that, he turned and scrambled away. Krujha had to stifle a laugh before it could escape his throat.
He had met plenty of elves, but never one like Alwyn. It was a shame they would never see each other again after this mission. The thought was sobering. If things went as Krujha hoped, he probably wouldn’t be able to return to Drol Kuggradh, while Alwyn would go back to his Library.
But his own mission was too important. He couldn’t let himself be distracted.
Still, there was no harm in enjoying riling the elf up while they still had time. That, at least, he could find no argument against.