Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
As midnight approached, he hadn’t quite slept, but he felt a little more rested as he stood back up, pulling on his dark woolen cloak to keep him warm in the frigid night.
The row of tents was quiet, only a few illuminated from within by the flickering light of candles or oil lamps.
The brazier in the middle of the row had burned low, shedding a faint reddish light on the nearby canvas tents, but giving hardly any warmth as Krujha slipped past it.
If there was still any grass left here, it would have crunched under his feet, frozen from the cold; but any lingering green had long since been trod away, leaving only rough dirt footpaths.
As he wove through the rows of dwellings to get closer to the command tent, he noticed more activity than usual the closer he got.
When the command tent came into view, he could see it was fully illuminated, the bonfire in front of it roaring away as if freshly fed.
Light came from within the seams of the tent, too—several guards were posted up outside it, many more than usual.
Krujha bit back a curse. Zesh was definitely planning something; and the increased guard presence meant he wouldn’t be able to sneak into Alwyn’s tent safely, after all.
He still made a slow circuit around the tent to make sure.
The guards’ eyes lingered on him as he waltzed past, offering each of them a nod before continuing on his way. None of them returned the gesture.
The guard in front of Alwyn’s tent looked at him with open suspicion—another bad sign if that one, lazy as he was, had started to recognize Krujha.
Still, he offered the same polite nod, tucking his hands back into his cloak as he turned away from the makeshift alley where he would typically slip in through.
“Damn it,” he whispered to himself once he was out of sight of the tent.
He stopped in front of another low-burning brazier, trying to collect his thoughts.
Reaching Alwyn tonight would be impossible, unless he wanted to wait until whatever late-night meeting Zesh was hosting had concluded.
But there was no telling when that might be, and the guard was already clearly on edge after seeing him.
No, it would be far too risky, even if he waited.
“Sorry, Alwyn,” he sighed, shooting one last look back in the direction of the command tent. He would report for his early-morning breakfast duty, then try to slip out to see if he could get in touch with Alwyn without arousing even more suspicion.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Glasha’s voice was sharp and grating—the first thing to greet him as he ducked into the kitchen tent in the faint light of early sunrise. Krujha grimaced, turning to face her. The tall woman’s broad arms were folded across her chest, a deep scowl on her features.
“I’m sorry I missed my shift yesterday,” he said, his voice coming out deferent and contrite. “I found an old friend in the camp that joined up and lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”
His words did not seem to move Glasha, though, as she only stared at him with a deepening frown as he spoke.
She eyed him for a moment longer—then reached over and smacked him upside the head with a wooden spoon she seemed to conjure from nowhere.
Krujha hissed at the sharp pain blooming in the back of his skull, but forced the smile to remain on his face.
If this was the worst of his punishment, then he’d gotten off easy enough.
“See to it that it doesn’t,” Glasha said, turning away. “You’re at the onion station again.”
This time Krujha couldn’t quite stifle the groan of dismay in his throat, but silenced himself as Glasha shot him an icy glare over her shoulder. His eyes were already burning at the thought of another shift chopping onions.
But it couldn’t be helped. The onion station was at the back of the kitchen tent, tucked away to prevent the biting fumes from spreading too far through the enclosed space.
When he arrived, a crate of onions was already set up on the table beside the heavy cutting board.
Krujha sighed, pulled an apron from the pile, found a rag for wiping his eyes and nose when they inevitably started to run, selected a clean knife, and set to work.
At least the kitchen tent was warm from the cookfires. In the afternoons, it was sweaty and stifling in its heat; but with the morning chill still so fresh on his skin, the warmth was a welcome change.
He’d been working silently for nearly an hour when the sound of footsteps came from around the corner. Krujha tensed, expecting Glasha again to berate him or maybe, mercifully, move him to a different station—but gave a slight start of surprise when, instead, Brugo stepped into the little alcove.
“Gods, the smell,” he coughed, his eyes immediately watering. “I don’t envy you, cousin. Here. You left this in my tent last night.”
He held a hand out to Krujha. He couldn’t see anything in it, but when he held out his own hand, he felt the other orc slip a folded piece of parchment into it.
“Thank you,” he said, pocketing it without looking. “I’ll come see you after my shift, then?”
Brugo nodded, but his eyes had a tension to them that ran deeper than just the sting of chopped onions. Krujha’s stomach twisted in knots, but he stayed planted in place, even as Brugo ducked back out of the kitchen tent.
The last thing he wanted was for Glasha to notice him skipping duty again, so he kept working until he’d gone through the entire crate of onions set in front of him.
Then he picked up the empty crate and ducked out of the kitchen tent, bringing it to the storehouse where he would gather a fresh batch.
It was empty when he slipped inside, though, so he hurriedly set the crate down and fished the parchment out of his pocket, holding it close to his body as he read it.
Cousin, a guard from the new camp recognized you. Get out immediately.
Tell our friend Z has summoned all outposts to him and moves on DK within days—confirmed.
“Gods damn it,” Krujha growled, shoving the parchment back into his pocket. He would need to burn it to be safe, but that was far down on his list of priorities. Now, more than ever, he needed to get to Alwyn, and they needed to get out of here, all else be damned.
He pulled off his apron and threw it into the empty crate, then darted out the back of the storeroom, making a wide loop back around to the rows of residential tents until he arrived at his own.
He’d have to leave the tent behind to avoid too much suspicion; he could pack the necessities, but would probably have to leave most of his belongings behind as well.
Alwyn could teleport them at least partway, the way he had done before—he’d lash the elf to his horse and gallop the rest of the way to Drol Kuggradh, if that was what he had to do.
Krujha had never packed so quickly in his life—a few changes of clothes, his bedroll, and the dry rations he still had packed away from their journey here.
He started to pack away his extra cloak, then pulled it out on second thought; he would keep it close at hand to disguise Alwyn when he snuck the elf out.
As long as he could keep Alwyn covered with the hood drawn up tight, and they moved quickly, it would just look like Alwyn was a child.
Hopefully, Brugo would be in the stables and could get them a horse, but he could steal one if he needed to.
All these thoughts were racing through his head as he shouldered his rucksack and slipped back out into the camp.
Even at this early hour, he was hardly the only orc walking around with gear for a journey still strapped to their back, as stragglers from the second camp were still trickling in.
He pulled his own hood tight around his face, walking with purpose toward the command tent.
Luckily, no one gave him a second glance.
As the command tent came into view, he could see it was much quieter than it had been just hours ago when he’d gone on his midnight walk.
Maybe Zesh was still resting after whatever late-night meetings he had.
There was a single guard outside the command tent, and just beyond it, he could see Alwyn’s tent was completely unguarded.
For just an instant, he was relieved—it would be easier than ever to just dart inside and sneak Alwyn away.
But then it struck him: if the tent was unguarded, it almost certainly meant Alwyn was not there.
His short-lived relief turned his blood cold, and he broke into a nervous jog toward the tent.
“Alwyn, no.” He didn’t even stop to see if anyone was looking in his direction before he wrenched the tent flap open and stumbled inside.
The tent was empty.
“No, no, no—”
Alwyn’s boots and cloak were missing, so he’d had time to put them on.
There were no signs of a struggle, but the bedroll was unmade, as if he’d left as soon as he’d woken.
Krujha dropped to his knees beside the mattress and reached under the pillow—the cotton sack he’d given Alwyn was still there, with both the bar of soap and the adventure novel inside.
Krujha stared at it for a moment, then shoved the sack into his own backpack.
Something bad had happened to him. Krujha didn’t know what, or why he knew it, but dread started creeping into the edges of his consciousness, making his heart pound.
He rushed back out of the tent, looking around wildly for any sign of the elf, or an indication of where he had gone. There was nothing nearby. He kept walking, turning in circles to take everything in, searching for something, anything—
His vision snagged a column of smoke coming up from one of the surrounding hills, and he thought it must be the very one Zesh had led him and Alwyn up to together, when they had that strange conversation about the rebellion. That had not been there before.
Krujha’s heart continued to sink. Alwyn was there; he was sure of it. He had to get to him somehow, but it seemed impossible now, especially if his cover was blown—
A firm hand grabbed his upper arm, pulling him back—he wrenched himself away, reaching for the dagger hidden on his thigh with a snarl—only to realize the hand was Brugo’s, looking at him with obvious distress.
“What are you doing here?” the man hissed, grabbing his arm again and pulling him off the main thoroughfare. “I told you to get out!”
“The elf I was with, Alwyn,” Krujha stammered, still unable to make sense of it all. “I think he’s in trouble. I can’t leave him behind—he’s not in the tent where they were keeping him.”
Brugo stared at him for a long moment, conflict obvious in his face. Finally, he grimaced, looking toward the northern perimeter of the camp.
“We just saddled a pony and brought it to the outer gate,” he muttered. “I bet it was for him.”
That confirmed Krujha’s suspicion entirely. “I have to go after him.”
“You’ll get yourself killed!” Brugo protested, his voice a harsh whisper now. “You should get out of here while you still can. Warn the city of what’s coming. There’s no shame in that.”
“I have to go after him,” Krujha repeated, feeling his mouth twist into a snarl. He wrenched his arm out of Brugo’s grasp again, glaring at the other orc. His yellow eyes had widened in surprise. They both stood there, staring at each other uncertainly, until finally Brugo held up a placating hand.
“All right. All right,” he muttered, lifting the other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, looking distressed.
“Fuck it, then. Listen. One of the elves brought in with the new camp is a plant, a sorcerer—I just contacted him last night. We’re working on a plan to get the elves out if we have to, but he wanted to wait for the right moment.
I think this is it. But it means everything is going to go sideways, and fast. If I help you get to your elf, you help us get the rest of the elves out. Deal?”
“Deal,” Krujha said instantly. “Let’s go right now.”
“I’ll get you a horse. You’ll never catch up on foot—they must have left at least ten, fifteen minutes ago,” Brugo said hurriedly as they started to walk, heading for the opposite side of the camp toward the stables.
“Then I’ll get ahold of the sorcerer with the other elves—shit, I don’t know exactly what will happen.
Let’s just get him out and get back into the camp. We’ll figure it out from there.”
Krujha nodded, barely hearing the orc’s nervous explanation.
All his own anxiety had dissipated in an instant, replaced with a cold, calculated calm that settled over him like a heavy blanket.
This was it—the moment all his work had been leading up to for the past two years.
He was going to save Alwyn and end this rebellion, once and for all.