Chapter 19 #2
“But our plan remains the same,” he said. Alwyn nodded. “Let me do the talking when we get into camp.”
“I was planning on it,” he answered dryly. Krujha cracked a small smile at that, which helped ease some of the tension building in Alwyn’s chest.
“This part I don’t think you’ll like as much,” Krujha said, and immediately Alwyn’s stomach churned again. “If you’re my prisoner, I’m going to have to tie you up.”
“But I’m supposed to be going with you willingly,” Alwyn protested, his heart starting to race.
“No orc in this camp would ever trust an elf enough to keep his hands unbound, even if you’re claiming to want to help Zesh,” Krujha replied.
His face was carefully neutral, which somehow made Alwyn feel even worse.
“It doesn’t need to be much, though. I’m thinking I’ll tie your hands together, have that connected to the reins of your horse, then lash the horse to mine.
So it looks like I know you’re dangerous, but believed your story about wanting to give Zesh information. ”
Alwyn was silent, staring down at his hands as he considered what Krujha had said.
He had been trained to use most of his magic without needing his hands, which Krujha or any other orc would have no way of knowing; but it would still be putting himself in a position of weakness while surrounded on all sides by enemies.
Unbidden, his breath quickened and his stomach turned, remembering how sedated and helpless he’d been—trapped in a dream he couldn’t understand.
Part of him wanted to abandon the plan entirely: to use his magic to hide himself away, find Zesh and kill him, then flee before he could ever be spotted.
But he didn’t know how to explain such a thing to Krujha—or what might happen to Krujha if he abandoned the plan.
Would he be able to escape, too? Or would he get caught up in all the chaos?
Or worse, be implicated and punished for his perceived role in the rebel warlord’s death?
He could hear Tessarion berating him now—this was why sorcerers of the Order didn’t have personal connections—why they worked alone whenever and wherever possible. Even having one other person involved had made things so much more complicated than they needed to be.
But he’d given in to his weakness and let himself feel camaraderie for the orc, yet another failure that would be held against him if Tessarion ever found out. He could take matters into his own hands now—could incapacitate Krujha here and slip unnoticed into the camp to carry out his grim task.
Even as he had the thought, he knew he couldn’t do it.
The thought of harm coming to Krujha because of Alwyn was somehow worse than the prospect of being brought into the rebel camp with his wrists bound, at the mercy of those who wanted to see him dead.
That soft spot inside him had rotted his resolve, and he knew it, but couldn’t bring himself to cut it out.
Not yet. When this was all over, they would part ways for good, then he could close off that part of himself forever.
But while Krujha was still here, still in front of him, whole and healthy and alive—
“Alwyn?” Krujha said softly, and Alwyn shook himself out of his rumination.
“Fine,” he croaked. “Do it.”
His hands were shaking when Krujha wrapped his wrists together with rope. The orc was gentle with him, never putting too much pressure; but it still felt stifling as Krujha tied the final knot, then brought the remaining length of rope to hook through the throatlatch of his horse’s bridle.
Krujha’s hands rested over Alwyn’s, gloved with soft leather. Alwyn scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to look away as Krujha met his eyes with a fervent expression.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I know how hard this must be for you. But I promise I won’t let any true harm come to you. We’re going to get out of this in one piece. I swear it.”
It was an impossible promise, but Alwyn managed a small smile back at the orc anyway.
He couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response, so he only nodded his head once in agreement.
Krujha held his gaze a moment longer, then stepped away to mount his own horse, leading them back up the hill once more.
“Identify yourself.”
The command pierced the cold air as they descended the hill.
Alwyn pitched forward, unbalanced, as Krujha pulled back the reins of his horse to bring them both to a stop.
The orc guard approaching them hadn’t even tried to hide, but then neither had they.
He was on foot, holding a heavy crossbow that briefly pointed at Krujha, then over to Alwyn.
Krujha lifted both his hands to show he was unarmed before he spoke.
“I’m Krujha of the Shifting Sands,” he said, his voice cool. Alwyn couldn’t place how it was different, but it certainly didn’t sound like the Krujha he knew anymore. “I’m bringing a tribute to the warlord.”
The orc guard glanced between them, then looked Krujha up and down once again. Seemingly satisfied, he gestured for Krujha to follow, and he led them closer to the perimeter of the camp.
“We’ve got a tent where we’re keeping prisoners. You can drop it off there,” the guard said. Alwyn flinched—it. As if he were an animal, an object.
“I think the warlord will want to see this one first,” Krujha said. “I found him looking for the camp. He claims to be a powerful sorcerer, and that he has information he wants to give to the rebellion.”
The guard looked back at Alwyn with a suspicious frown. Alwyn straightened up as much as he could, trying to look as indignant as he felt.
“Why would an elf want to help Zesh?” he asked, the sneer obvious in his voice.
“He says he hates orcs as much as we hate elves,” Krujha said. He chuckled as he said it, but it sounded completely humorless now. “Says he’ll help Zesh if that’s what it takes to see the union end.”
He spat on the ground when he finished speaking, as if the union left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Says he’s a mage, too, so I tied his hands up. Is it true Zesh is working with a druid?”
The guard had turned to look suspiciously at Alwyn again, but at the mention of the druid, he looked back up at Krujha. “It’s true. They say he’s got eyes everywhere. He’s got this huge fucking bird with him that he uses to spy on everyone. But his magic’s strong, so Zesh keeps him close.”
Krujha nodded. Alwyn stared at him, trying to glean any information from his reaction to what the guard had said; but he could only see the orc’s broad back, which gave no indication as to his thoughts on the matter.
“I want to bring this one to the druid,” Krujha finally said, gesturing behind him to Alwyn, which made his heart leap up into his throat. “Maybe he can tell if what the elf says is true—if he’s a sorcerer like he claims.”
The guard sighed, looking at Alwyn once more with an appraising eye.
Alwyn frowned at him, turning his nose up as he glanced away.
He could hear the orc scoff in response before addressing Krujha again.
“I can’t make any promises about getting you in front of Zesh, but I’ll see if we can ask the druid to take a look.
He does like knowing what’s going on in the camp. ”
He gestured for Krujha to dismount as they stepped into the camp, then hauled Alwyn off his horse as easily as if he were a sack of flour.
“Let me go!” he protested, kicking wildly. The guard grunted as his foot dug into the softer flesh of his stomach—then Alwyn had the wind knocked out of him entirely as the orc smacked him in the face. His head reeled from the impact, the words dying on his lips.
When his ears stopped ringing, he realized the guard had passed him off to another orc, while he and Krujha were walking away.
“No!” he exclaimed, struggling again, eyes locked on Krujha.
The orc glanced back at him briefly. His face was completely devoid of concern, or regret, or any emotion at all; as if some sinister version of Krujha had taken the cheerful orc’s place—one who didn’t care about what happened to Alwyn, who truly wanted to help the rebellion after all.
Then he turned away again, following the guard, and disappeared further into the camp.
The orc carrying Alwyn paid him no mind, so he struggled only a moment longer before resigning himself to whatever happened next.
He was shoved unceremoniously into a small tent with only a rug and a single pillow inside.
Worst of all, his hands remained bound. He could still hear the voices of guards just outside the tent flaps that were now tied firmly shut.
“…keeping this one separate until the druid can confirm.”
His heart was punching against his ribs, as if he’d just sprinted for miles. But Krujha had promised he would keep him safe—wouldn’t let any harm come to him.
Alwyn closed his eyes, trying to steel himself. He had to believe that was the true Krujha, the real one, no matter how easily he had slipped into the persona of someone who didn’t care at all whether Alwyn lived or died.
Cautiously, he reached out with his blood magic, letting him detect all nearby living beings, even through the four walls of the small tent.
Two orcs were still speaking outside the tent, steps from the entrance; one more was posted behind him.
He didn’t dare extend himself any further than that, now knowing for certain there were other magic-users in the camp, who would surely sense his magic passing over them.
Krujha knew what he was doing, he told himself again. So he situated himself as comfortably as he could, closed his eyes, and waited.