Chapter 11 #2
“Wait!” An idea struck Alwyn, and he spun on his heels to scramble for his bag—he’d been acting and speaking far too much on instinct tonight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care just then.
Tucked away in a hidden pocket of his rucksack was a small, enchanted scroll—the two-way parchment he shared with Tessarion, to report back on his missions while out in the field.
He’d had no need of it yet, so the only ink on it was the exchange they’d shared in his previous mission: a handful of words written in a cramped script to conserve as much of the precious resource as possible.
If Fionia was going to be left alone with the orcs, they should at least have a way of communicating with Torlag about their status.
Before he could think too much about it, Alwyn ripped off a piece of the scroll near the bottom, then hurried back to the group.
Galred was looking at him with obvious disapproval.
He ignored the other elf as he ripped the smaller piece in half again to create a linked pair, then handed one slip of parchment to Torlag.
“Here,” he said, still too frustrated to look the orc in the eye. “It’s a piece of enchanted parchment. Whatever you write on it will appear on my own corresponding piece. You’ll have to keep it brief, but you can update us with it.”
Torlag looked down at the tiny slip of parchment in his hand. He was sure that the orc didn’t recognize what a show of trust this was—or the pointed look Galred shot Alwyn, telling him without words that they would have a conversation about this later.
But he didn’t care. What was the point of all these powerful magical secrets if they weren’t using them to keep one of their own safe?
He and Fionia might not be friends, but they were both elves of the Order—whatever rivalry they had within the Library meant nothing out in the field.
When he had been in Fionia’s place, he would have given anything for even a scrap of hope.
Torlag started to open his mouth to say something, but instead he let out a gasp, as if he’d been punched.
It took a moment for Alwyn to realize what he was seeing in the dim light—from his throat, blood bloomed around the head of an arrow.
The enchanted parchment fell from his hands as he reached up to clutch at his throat, fluttering down into the grass amid a stream of lifeblood.
He’d been followed.
“Shit,” Krujha hissed, leaping back from the dead body, now collapsing to the ground and bleeding out. “Get the horses. Now! Now!”
But it was too late. Galred had readied himself in a combat stance again, gesturing for Alwyn to follow him.
He fell into the motion easily; with identical sweeping motions, they raised the earth up around Torlag’s body to drag it down, hiding the evidence, then lifted a separate mound to give them some cover, hoping to buy them a few more seconds to flee. Or fight.
And it did seem to be a fight. He could see the flicker of torchlight now, closer than he thought—without having to think, he reached out with his magic and extinguished the lights, causing a confused shout to rise from the distant orcs.
“We can’t take an entire camp,” Krujha was calling from behind them. “They won’t be alone. Come on!”
Alwyn looked askance at Galred again, who seemed to hesitate, considering their options.
“There were at least four,” he said, peering into the darkness. “We have the advantage, but—they were already suspicious of Torlag. No, fighting won’t accomplish anything. Let’s go.”
“But Fionia!” Alwyn protested, and this time Galred couldn’t hide the anger that crossed his face.
“You’ve received your orders, High Sorcerer,” he snapped, turning away. Somehow he managed to look graceful, even as he ran for his horse.
Alwyn felt rooted to the spot, turning wildly between the camp and the group mounting their horses.
No, he couldn’t leave an elf to suffer the same fate—especially not another elf of the Order. He turned toward the camp.
“Alwyn!” Krujha’s voice shouted from after him. Alwyn winced, but ignored him—suddenly, he was being lifted from behind and dragged in the opposite direction. “What the hell are you thinking?”
Krujha had grabbed a fistful of his robes and was now trying to haul him up onto his horse, forcing him to flee. Alwyn struggled angrily against his grip. “Let me go!”
“She’ll be fine, Alwyn, but we can’t risk the rest of us being found. We have to go now!”
“I’m not leaving her behind!” he snarled.
Magic flooded him, gripping Krujha’s arm with all the force he could muster, prying his fingers open.
The orc shouted in surprised pain, dropping him—Alwyn landed heavily on all fours, but scrambled quickly to his feet.
“Go without me. I’ll catch up. But I’m not leaving one of my Order behind. ”
The sound of the approaching orc party was louder than ever, shouting— “Horses! Horses!”
“Gods damn it all, Alwyn,” he heard Krujha growl—then the orc was beside him, having leapt off his own horse. “Fine. Let’s go. Quickly.”
Alwyn stared at him, dumbfounded, but only for an instant. Fury was obvious on the orc’s face, but he was going with Alwyn. Then they were both sprinting for the camp, making a wide circle around the orcs now chasing Galred and the other elves on horseback.
If they were lucky, the party wouldn’t notice their two abandoned horses—but judging from how the rest of the night had gone, Alwyn doubted things would work out in their favor.
“This is the most foolish thing you’ve ever done, Alwyn,” Krujha was hissing as they made their way, eventually veering back around toward the rebel camp. Alwyn mostly ignored him, focusing on the burn of his heaving breath in his lungs.
“Shut up,” Alwyn growled, refusing to even look at him. “Unless you want us to be found.”
“She would have been fine—Galred chose her for this mission because he knows she can take care of herself.”
“Go follow Galred, then!”
“I’m not letting you get captured by rebels again.”
For some reason, that infuriated Alwyn more than anything else the orc had said—he rounded on Krujha with a snarl on his face.
“So you understand where I’m coming from, then!” he snapped. Even in the darkness, he saw Krujha’s expression falter. A tiny bloom of satisfaction broke through the overwhelming wall of stress—that at least seemed to shut the orc up for the moment.
He could see the outline of the camp in the distance now, low campfires illuminating the inner portions. It was much more sprawling than he’d anticipated, though he supposed that if Zesh had taken the effort to visit, it must have been one of the larger rebel camps.
“We shouldn’t get much closer,” Krujha said quietly as they slowed, his voice a low rumble beside Alwyn. “Let’s follow the perimeter. If they’re keeping prisoners, it’s probably along the edge, closer to wherever the guard tent is.”
Alwyn nodded, and they started circling the camp, far enough away that any orcs within the camp would be hard-pressed to spot them in the darkness.
All Alwyn could really see, though, were the backsides of the tall tents that orcs used for larger camps like this, made of thick canvas and meant to stand in place for weeks, or even months, at a time.
They all had wide spaces between them; sometimes a campfire was dotted in between, or posts where horses or mules were tethered, but there was no sign of any captives.
“How big is this camp?” Alwyn hissed in frustration.
“I’d guess at least a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty tents,” Krujha answered, his voice frustratingly even now. “Which makes me worry how much larger Zesh’s primary camp is.”
Alwyn wanted to growl at him to shut up. The last thing he needed to think about now was an even bigger camp, and what they would do when they eventually arrived there. He had to focus on the task at hand.
“Alwyn,” Krujha said, after they’d trudged in silence around what felt like half the camp. “They might not be on the perimeter after all. Let’s do the same as Torlag and Fionia to get into the camp—I’ll say I caught you, and I’m bringing you as tribute—”
“Absolutely not,” Alwyn snapped, glaring back at him. “Because that plan went so well for them.”
Krujha made a noise of irritation. “We have to get into the camp if they’re further in—”
“Then we’ll do that without making the same mistakes they did! Obviously the rebels were already suspicious of Torlag—another orc, bringing another elf to camp, is going to be even more suspicious.”
“Alwyn—”
“No! I’m not doing it,” he said, rounding on him now. “I’m not stupid, and you need to listen to me: it won’t work. I’m not doing it.”
Krujha stared down at him in obvious frustration, but said nothing else.
After a beat, he gestured for Alwyn to keep walking.
His heart punching frantically in his chest, Alwyn turned around and continued in the wide perimeter—only to pause after a few steps.
Krujha stumbled to a halt behind him. “What now?”
“Look,” he whispered, pointing. He’d used a spell to sharpen his vision in the dark, realizing too late that Krujha probably couldn’t make out what he’d spotted further along the edge of the camp. “I think I see them.”
It looked almost like a paddock for horses: a circle made with wooden fencing. But in the center was a single shade tent, and huddled beneath it was a cluster of smaller bodies, too small to be orcs.
“I need to get closer,” Krujha said quietly from behind him. “Not all of us have magic vision, you know.”
Alwyn mumbled an annoyed retort, but together they both drew closer.
The figures came into sharper focus. Now Alwyn was sure they were elves, lying down in neat rows, a few sitting up with their backs against the posts that held up the canopy.
He thought he could even make out Fionia amongst them with her short dark hair and reddish-brown robes.
His heart sank at seeing them. Perhaps they might be sleeping, but something gnawing in his gut told him they were all being kept sedated.
A member of the Order would never be idle at a time like this.
Maybe Fionia was feigning sleep, but he doubted it—more likely she’d been drugged with the same thing used to keep him asleep and docile.
Maybe these orcs had heard of what had happened at the smaller camp, and were now taking no risks with any elven prisoners.
The thought made him want to crawl into the deepest hole of shame—that it might be his fault this was happening to so many others.
“I see now,” Krujha murmured. “Look. There’s a guard at the back gate, closest to us. There’s surely another on the other side.”
“I can take care of them,” Alwyn said softly, already focusing his attention on the rear guard Krujha had pointed out.
He hadn’t used his blood magic since he’d been saved from his own captivity; it had drained him to kill so many orcs in quick succession, but this was just one and well within his practiced range.
“Wait,” Krujha whispered, but Alwyn’s magic was already racing out of him.
It felt like stretching his arm out, reaching impossibly far.
In an instant, his magic had closed the distance between them, burrowing into the body of the orc guard.
He felt the orc seize around him—muscles tensing, his hands grabbing at nothing—then his magic tore out of the orc’s body through the arteries, leaving him in a crumpled heap to bleed out, even faster than Torlag had.
“Damn it, Alwyn, I told you to wait,” Krujha hissed, grabbing his shoulder. Alwyn glared up at him, drawing the magic back into himself. “What are we going to do if they notice their guard dropped dead?!”
“I’ll kill the other before they notice. No one else is around,” Alwyn protested, but Krujha shook his head.
“No. We can’t be sloppy with this. They’re already on high alert after Torlag. You said so yourself, remember?”
Alwyn scowled at the rebuke—his work was anything but sloppy. “It’s an easy matter to hide the bodies.”
“Just wait one gods damned minute, will you?” Krujha interrupted, and Alwyn fell silent with a huff. “Okay. Let me think. Let me figure out how to get that guard away from here, and then we can get them out. Okay?”
“What are you suggesting?” Alwyn asked flatly. He had a plan and was already enacting it—why should he wait for Krujha to figure something else out on his own?
“Just wait here,” Krujha said. Terror gripped Alwyn as the orc hurried toward the camp.
“Krujha!” he hissed, his voice coming out an embarrassing squeak. “Come back!”
“Wait right there. I’ll come back,” Krujha said over his shoulder. Alwyn stumbled after him for a few steps; but the orc’s stride was easily more than double his, and within moments Krujha had disappeared into the camp.
Alwyn stood there, frozen, for what felt like an eternity. What the hell was he supposed to do now?