Chapter 21 #2
The tent was suffocating, despite the cold air.
The warlord could snap his neck at any time, and the druid was an entirely new, unknown threat.
But he had to focus—Krujha’s words echoed in his mind.
Framing that truth and getting people to see only that, and nothing I don’t want them to see.
He had to concentrate on the truth he wanted them to see.
“I’m a High Sorcerer. It means I have a respected position within the Library of Aefraya, where all mages in service of the crown are trained,” he said.
Before he could add more, he felt the intense focus of the druid’s magic again, this time probing him directly.
His voice trailed off as he instinctively tried to shield himself.
Then he remembered all the training he’d done with Krujha, and instead drew in his magic, compressing it tight until it was as small as he could make it.
The force of the druid’s magic felt a little further away when he did—the sensation of something just barely grazing his skin, instead of gripping it hard—and he had to hope that would be enough.
Still, it meant he couldn’t quite focus on what he’d been saying, and Zesh’s eyes narrowed when he fell silent. Before he could recover the thread, the orc spoke again.
“By all logic, I should kill you where you stand,” he said, leaning forward on the table. Alwyn’s eyes darted back to him—he leaned only on his left arm, as his right was missing, the empty sleeve pinned to his coat. “Tell me why you came here, High Sorcerer.”
Alwyn glanced uncertainly back at the druid, who remained motionless and impassive, before speaking again.
“I think this unification was a mistake. There are orcs in Castle Aefraya now—a place that should be only for elves. If helping you is what it takes to end this farce, then that’s what I’ll do.
So I came looking for you and your rebellion.
We want the same things, and I can help you.
I have information about Castle Aefraya you would never get access to otherwise. ”
When Alwyn finished speaking, the intense feeling of magic around him dissipated, and he could breathe a little easier. Whatever the druid had been looking for, he seemed unconcerned now—though his lack of expression or movement left Alwyn unsettled.
Zesh regarded him with an appraising look, then turned slightly to glance back at the druid sitting behind him. The old man’s eyes finally moved, darting to meet Zesh’s gaze, and they seemed to have a silent conversation.
This might be his one and only chance, Alwyn thought.
Both Zesh and the druid were here, easily within reach of his magic.
He could kill them both—and the guard still roughly gripping the back of his tunic—then flee in the chaos, having accomplished his goal.
He might never get another opportunity as simple and clean as this.
But other guards surrounded the tent, and Alwyn suspected they were near the very center of the camp.
He might be able to kill everyone in this room, and maybe even most of the guards that would certainly come rushing at the disturbance, but then what?
Could he fight his way through an entire camp of this size?
His magic gave him an advantage, but in the end it would be a numbers game.
There would be honor in dying here, he considered. But what then of Krujha? Would he be able to get away, too? Would he be under immediate suspicion, as the one who had brought Alwyn here in the first place?
He cursed himself for caring. The prospect of what might or might not happen to Krujha should have had absolutely no bearing on his decision-making in this, the most important task Tessarion had ever given him.
But he knew he couldn’t leave Krujha behind to fend for himself without warning. He had to bide his time and believe he would get another chance—one that gave them both a better shot at getting out of this alive.
“He is a mage. That is true,” the druid said, startling Alwyn as his age-worn voice broke the silence. “One of middling strength. It is believable he would have some position of power within the elven army, and access to some privileged knowledge.”
Alwyn’s heart stuttered in his chest. His attempt at shielding himself must have worked—but he couldn’t let the relief show on his face.
“If he is associated with the Library at all,” Zesh said, turning to face Alwyn again. “Can you prove you are who you claim to be?”
“Yes,” Alwyn said, nodding. “Have your guard reach into the inner lining of my cloak, on my left side. There’s a pocket there disguised with magic that has all my identifying papers.”
Zesh frowned. Alwyn felt the guard behind him tense.
“Go on, then,” Zesh said. The orc hesitated; but when the warlord cast his gaze over Alwyn’s shoulder, he moved quick enough.
The guard yanked hard, turning him to the side and reaching unceremoniously into his cloak.
Alwyn scowled at being so manhandled, but the expression on the orc’s face was even darker, so he kept his complaint to himself.
After a moment of feeling the dark cloak, the guard’s fingers disappeared; he froze, then begrudgingly withdrew a folded piece of fine parchment.
“Give it to me,” Zesh said, and the guard finally released his death grip on Alwyn’s tunic to slide the parchment across the wooden table.
Alwyn knew it would be undeniable. It had no mention of the Order, of course, but it did identify him as a High Sorcerer with the king’s own magical seal, which was all but impossible to forge.
He watched Zesh’s yellow eyes dart down the parchment as he unfolded it, then he leaned back to show it to the druid, who examined it silently.
There was a moment of complete silence in the tent before he met Zesh’s eyes again, nodding once.
When Zesh turned to face Alwyn and the guard again, he looked visibly annoyed.
“It seems you are who you say,” he said, his voice clipped. “And it also seems my guards have need of further training.” The last part came out in a scathing growl. Alwyn could see the guard’s shoulders tense, but he made no protest.
“We want the same thing,” Alwyn said fervently. “Let me go free when this is all said and done, and I’ll give you whatever information you need, help however I can, as long as it means the peace treaty is destroyed once and for all.”
Zesh stared at him for a long and uncomfortable moment, tapping the parchment on the table as he considered. Finally, he flicked it back across the length of the table, unable to fold it back up himself with his one hand.
“You’re fucking insane for coming here,” Zesh finally said, leaning back in his chair to look at Alwyn. “But if you are offering your knowledge, I’d also be insane to refuse.”
Alwyn had to force down his relief, instead schooling his features into a neutral expression, as he waited for Zesh to continue.
“So I will make use of you,” the rebel warlord sighed. “I can’t let you be kept with the other elves, of course. So instead I’ll keep you nearby, where myself or Yarug can get to you quickly. Don’t act too relieved. It’s essentially house arrest. You won’t have free access to the camp.”
Yarug. That had to be the druid. Alwyn nodded, trying not to appear too eager. House arrest or not, it had to be better than his current tent, which was barely a step up from the kind of cage used to transport livestock.
“I expect you to be available any time we call upon you, night or day,” Zesh continued. “And whatever knowledge we need of you, you’ll be expected to give it.”
“I will,” Alwyn said. “I swear it.”
Zesh held his gaze for a moment, then smirked, a slight laugh escaping him.
“I suppose I shouldn’t say you’re entirely insane.
It was a warlock of the Library who helped my father in his final plot to kidnap the elven prince, after all.
I can see how the educated ones wouldn’t be swayed by the idea of stupid little harmony circles in the woods, like other elves. ”
Alwyn grimaced. It had not been so long ago that they’d shared a camp with the musicians, singing songs of peace and unity in the woods, exactly as Zesh described.
“Of course not,” he said, shaking his head. “And I hope our collaboration goes better. That sorcerer died for his efforts after getting Prince Taegan to Drol Kuggradh, if I recall.”
Zesh barked out a bitter laugh at that, though no mirth touched his tired eyes.
“Perhaps it will,” he said. “Perhaps it will.”