The White Wolf (Half-Breed Book 1) (21 page)

“I will leave tonight on my journey to warn the King,” Count Greenwood suggested. “We cannot all travel in a group together, for it would be too obvious that someone was going on. One of you may come with me and pretend to be my escort.”

“I will,” Oliva volunteered.

“No you will not,” Catrina protested.

“Aunt Catrina, I must be the one to keep and eye on him,” Oliva said.

“Oliva, this man has committed murder against our family. You can't actually think it would be safe to stay alone with him,” Catrina pleaded.

“I'll go with her,” Tain offered.

“You?” Conley questioned.

“She's my employer, is she not?” Tain said.

After a warning glare from the water elf, Edric gulped and quickly responded, “Very well, the two of you may come as my escorts to Whitspire.”

“I will go to the dwarves and request their help,” Conley said.

Milea stepped up to the Count's side and offered, “The dwarves haven't met you, Conley, and therefore will not know you are a friend to us. I should go to so that they know you are trustworthy.”

“I'm going too,” Erril offered.

“So am I,” Varg said.

“Actually, Varg, I think you should go to Whitspire without us and the others,” Conley suggested.

Varg gave him a confused look and said, “What good will that do?”

“We need someone to be in the city to prepare everyone for the attack. Going with Greenwood and the others will be too obvious, since the Shadow Hand could spot you a mile away. You must go alone and stay out of sight until it is time to act. I don't know another warrior with your level of skill, and so I believe that you are the best man to protect the people of that city,” Conley explained.

Varg looked to everyone, surprised to see the hopeful and confident expressions on their faces and was filled with instant confidence.

“Very well. I will go alone to Whitspire and defend the city as soon as Jin and the Shadow Hand dare to draw their blades,” Varg agreed.

“Then it's settled,” Conley said. “We will make preparations and then rest for the evening. Tomorrow morning is the start of a long journey. I won't lie, we may not all survive this, but I assure you that if we fight with all we have, we may just have a chance of ridding this land of the Shadow Hand forever.”

With that, the Count of Ironbarrow offered his goblet in a toast and everyone drank together, more than likely for the last time before Count Greenwood, Oliva, and Tain made preparations and departed Ironbarrow.

When night fell, Varg entered his bedroom, removed his cuirass, bracers, and boots, and approached the washing bin. He grabbed the damp cloth on the edge of the basin and he scrubbed his face with it. He removed the cloth and peered into his reflection in the mirror above the basin and was startled to discover that he wasn't alone.

Milea stood in the doorway and when he saw her, she said, “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Varg replied to the reflection. He replaced the cloth on the edge of basin and turned to face her. He offered her a smile and walked over to the bed to sit. After he plopped onto the bed, he asked her, “What's on your mind?”

Milea took a few steps forward, but stopped just before the bed and placed a hand on the corner post.“I'm just a bit concerned.”

“About?” Varg pressed.

Milea sat down next to Varg and continued, “This whole situation seems odd to me. First Greenwood contacts you and tells you of a plot to murder the royal family after he's already framed us for the murder of Lionel. Then he tells us that the Shadow Hand is going to attack Whitspire full force in order to get it accomplished. Then there's the fact that all of this is coming to light just as we need to warn the King of the Shadow Hand. It all seems too coincidental, don't you think?”

Varg pondered her words and realized they made some sense. He knew that Edric could very well be setting them up in order to win back Jin's favor; Varg never expected less from the Count of Rivershire. “Whatever the case, we don't have many options. It's best we just go along with Greenwood and beware of his treachery,” Varg replied.

“I just wonder how this 'treachery' might affect us should we not see it coming until it's too late,” Milea uttered.

The half-elf seemed like she had more to say, but wouldn't. Varg hated to pry, but he still asked, “Is that all?”

Milea debated with herself whether or not to speak, but she finally conceded. “I just realized that tomorrow will be the first time we've traveled apart since we first left Rivershire.”

Varg couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of their first encounter back in the cavern. “You're right. We've been through so much together since then.”

Milea stepped down from the bed and started to pace. “In all honesty, I find the idea of traveling without you to be a bit daunting. It won't be the same without your smart remarks and bold attitude.”

Varg laughed. “Well then, be sure to make it through the battle so we can keep traveling after the Shadow Hand is gone.”

Milea stopped and exchanged a glance with Varg. “You wish for us to go on more adventures together?”

“Of course,” Varg replied, “you and I make a great team. I only hope we both make it through this next battle so we can see the extent of our teamwork in action.”

Milea gave a nervous smile, but quickly turned away and covered her mouth with her hand. Varg's admiration for his friend soon turned into concern as he hopped off of the bed to investigate her sudden change in demeanor. He approached her from behind and said in a gentle voice, “What is it?”

Without facing him, the half-elf muttered, “Dammit, I just can't control it. I'm so pathetic.”

“You're not pathetic. You're one of the strongest people I know,” Varg assured.

“I can't even face you after you said such wonderful things about me, Varg. How is that not pathetic?” she said.

“What's really going on, Milea? You don't have to be afraid to tell me,” Varg pressed.

Milea turned around after wiping her face and sniffling, and revealed her reddened eyes. “Varg, I haven't cared for anyone in such a long time, and now that we're growing so close, it scares me.”

Varg felt his heart drop, for he knew all too well how she felt. “We're close because no one understands us like we do. We know each others pain, fears, and memories. We've stuck together when most people would go their separate ways. I won't lie, I never wanted to care about you this much, but my stubborn heart won't let me decide otherwise.”

Milea stared at him with tears welling in her eyes again, and it wasn't until he blinked that Varg realized he was too. Milea took a bold step closer to him and said, “I can't lose you, Varg. That's why I have to go into battle with you and protect you.”

“I feel the same, Milea,” Varg admitted. “I can't stand the thought of losing anyone, much less you. You and I have been in this together from the beginning, and I intend for us to finish it together. I won't be dying in this upcoming battle, and I will see to it that you won't either.”

Milea bowed her head in shame. “I'm sorry, I . . .”

“There's nothing to apologize for. You only feel what your heart tells you. Just like mine tells me that you and I are in this war together no matter what.”

To his surprise, Milea looked up and smiled. The half-elf walked over and embraced him, a gesture he returned without question. She held her arms around his waste and whispered into his chest, “You know, I still remember the day you saved me from the headsman's axe. You claim that you only found my innocence because you didn't want to leave the job unfinished, but was that really all there was to it?”

Varg smiled, then answered, “For the most part what I said was true, but I admit that a part of me simply wanted you to be innocent despite my better judgment. Imagine my surprise when I just so happened to meet another half-blood, of all people, in possibly the biggest coincidence of all time. I couldn't stand the thought of carrying on alone anymore, so I was bent on proving your innocence no matter what.”

Milea craned her neck so that her lips brushed on Varg's neck. “You will never be alone again, and if you'll have me, I'd like to prove it to you tonight.”

Varg placed his hand on her cheek and pulled her closer. The touch of her skin ignited a once lost part of him, and before he lost himself in the moment, he whispered, “I'm yours, Love.”

Milea smiled and gently met his lips with hers, and it was all it took to lose themselves. Varg pulled her body closer and wrapped his arm around her waist. She placed her arms across his bare back and held him tight. His heart raced as he kissed her and every touch of her fingertips sent shivers through his body. He allowed her to strip him of his remaining garments and he returned the favor. With a brush of his hands over her smooth, bare curves, Varg lay Milea onto his bed and joined her under the sheets.

As the night carried on, Varg struggled for breath as moved with Milea's body in perfect unison. Despite his rapidly draining energy, he held her closer and didn't dare stop. Instead, he pushed through the pain in his chest and kept the rhythm to his best efforts. If it wasn't the way Milea gasped when she felt his touch, it was her shivering touch on his sweating skin and her entrancing eyes gave him life when he thought he would collapse. It was Milea's intoxicating kiss, however, that drove his wild instincts to the surface, and all he needed was one to carry on through the breathless night.

When it was over, Varg collapsed beside Milea and lay silently by her side for an eternity, but no words were needed. His entire body trembled carelessly as beads of sweat fell from his brow and stained the sheets, but when Milea turned to face him and lay her head on his chest, he didn't dare stop her. He simply wrapped his arms around her and as he fell into a deep sleep, he could finally feel his heartbeat calming and his inner beast subsiding.

In his dreams, he saw Treasa once again. She was standing before him, not in a memory, but in empty space. She looked at him with a smile, then whispered, “It's time.”

CHAPTER 19

CONLEY GATHERED VARG, Milea, and Erril in his study one last time to give them a quick summary of the journey they would be taking. They would depart from the front gates of Ironbarrow and travel east, then north as they traveled with the road, then they would run into a fork in the road a ways after the curve. Conley told them that they would need to turn left at this fork, and then continue northwest until they came to another fork, where one path would lead to the mountain where Tollack and the dwarves lived, and the left path would lead to Whitspire.

Varg readied his horse's saddle with bags of supplies he would need for the journey to Whitspire of Fellen. Frost Fang was fastened in it's usual place on the clasp attached to Varg's back, Conley supplied Varg with another leather vest—for the last one had several tears in it from the previous mission—and new leather bracers and boots sewn together with fur pelts inside of each. He felt more than ready for battle, although the bloodshed that was sure to come didn't occupy his mind like it should have.

As Varg made sure the saddle straps were secure, he couldn't help but allow his mind to venture to the night before. Milea was an amazing lover, more so than he'd ever imagined. He couldn't stop thinking about the way she looked at him the entire time. He could think of nothing besides waking to her that morning to see her bare back facing him and her wine-colored curls draped over the sheets.

Soon the half-elf herself walked into the stable with her own horse ready. She ducked under the wooden beam separating herself and Varg and said, “Conley wants us to meet him at the bridge when we're ready to leave.” She then walked around the wooden beams, held out a satchel to Varg, and added, “Also here are a few potions I whipped up just in case.”

Varg accepted the satchel and tied it to his horse's saddle. “Thank you. I'm almost done here. Need any help yourself?”

“Actually there is one thing you can do for me,” Milea answered.

Without another word, Milea grasped Varg's cloak and pulled him in for a kiss. When she pulled away, Varg answered, “I can do that,” and kissed her again.

Conley waited for them at the bridge just as Varg and Milea rode their horses to meet him. Erril trotted along beside him on her own pony.

“Ah, you two are finally ready then?” Conley asked.

“As we'll ever be,” Varg answered.

“Then let us be off,” Conley said, “for we have a long journey ahead.”

“And an even longer battle at the end,” Milea added.

The four travelers rode through the town to the front gate with Conley leading the way. They took the left path from the gate, then after a few hours of travel, they turned left at the first fork in the road. At the end of the day, they found the second fork.

Varg stared at the wooden sign in between the two roads. The part of the sign that pointed left said, “Whitspire”, and he knew that it was where he needed to go, but something kept him firmly planted in his position.

“This is where we split,” Conley advised. “Varg, make haste to Whitspire, and good luck to you.”

Varg snapped out of it long enough to nod in Conley's direction. He ventured to the left down the path, but not before catching sight of Milea giving him a silent goodbye. His chest tightened at the sight of her leaving, but he knew that it was for the best and diverted his attention to the road ahead.

When the evening came, Varg stopped and made a small camp at the bottom of a cliff just south of the Ironbarrow border. As he lay his weary head on his sleeping sack, he looked straight up and admired the clear night sky. Despite trying to occupy his thoughts with the celestial beauty, the night sky only reminded Varg of his new lover's eyes once again. Now that she wasn't with him, even though he knew he'd see her again, Varg felt an empty space inside. Could Varg possibly be breaking the vow he made to himself all those years ago? Could it be that his heart, after all these years, desired to be torn apart again? Varg cared for Milea, of course, but as far as he was concerned, his heart still belonged to Treasa. Why else would he have dreamt of her after making love to Milea? There would never be another woman who could melt him the way the red-haired maiden of Wild Valley did.

Varg found Whitspire on the third night after he left. He knew he'd finally arrived when he spotted the King's grand castle over the misty horizon of Fellen near nightfall. The town itself seemed quiet and, to Varg's discomfort, quite unguarded. Did the others arrive as planned? Did Greenwood turn on Oliva and Tain? Varg made the rash, but necessary decision to enter the town in order to look for his counterparts and ensure they made it.

Whitspire wasn't as large as Eastwold or Balik, but the quality of the city lived up to its capital status. Though many of the structures were modest in taste, they were built with solid stone and wood, which is much more than the denizens of villages like Birhog or Wild Valley could ever achieve. This of course had nothing on the wealthier parts of town, where the buildings stretched tall and proud. Even from the outside, Varg could tell that the King's castle could fit two of Conley's. It would seem that the city of Whitspire was built to last against all kinds of abuse, whether it was the elements of nature or an army of invaders, but this did little to ease his mind.

Varg came across the tavern and figured he could find information there. Varg tied his horse on the post outside and entered the tavern. Inside the dim lights shone upon the loud and drunken patrons, but Varg saw no familiar faces. Even with the commotion, he could have spotted his comrades and Greenwood easily, but they were no where in sight. Varg therefore sat at the bar before the pub owner and ordered a drink.

“I'll have a pint of mead and some information if you've got it,” Varg said.

“Information eh? Can't be too careful now,” the pub owner jested.

As he poured Varg a drink from the barrel behind him, Varg then asked, “I was wondering if you've seen some friends of mine?”

“I've seen a lot of people,” answered the pub owner as he placed Varg's pint before him, “so you'll have to be a bit more specific.”

“One of them is a water elf, and he's probably got a bored expression while he's twirling a dagger in his hand. Then there's an old fellow wearing fine, green clothes and a has a false sense of entitlement. The last is a young woman, a mage, who is more than likely sifting through a book,” Varg explained.

“Can't say I've seen either of them, sorry lad,” the pub owner said.

Varg was certainly perplexed and wondered if he should ask around town, but his gut instinct started to kick in and told him he should keep quiet for the time being.
Then what am I to do?
Varg asked himself. He downed his pint, paid the bartender, and decided to look around outside.

Night was falling quickly, so Varg began to look for any signs of his comrades. He searched for strange symbols that Oliva may have created for magical protection, but found none. He tried to peek under the hood of every passing stranger, but saw no familiar faces. It was soon apparent that the three never arrived, and Varg was starting to panic.

Varg's concentration broke when he felt a hand cover his mouth. Before he even realized what happened, Varg thrashed violently as whoever held him from behind dragged him into the nearby alley. His abductor released him as soon as they were out of sight from the street, so Varg seized the opportunity to draw his weapon.

Just when Frost Fang nearly collided with the cloaked assailant, he put his hands out in defense and spat, “It's
me,
Varg!”

Varg recognized Tain's voice and quickly halted his attack. He peeked under the mystery man's dark hood and realized that while Tain's hair and eyes were dark and his scars were gone, his facial features were still the same.

Varg blinked furiously to make sure he was seeing correctly. “How in the world did you change your face?”

Tain glared at Varg and came within inches of his face. “What are you thinking, walking around town like that? You could have been caught.”

“Evidently I was,” Varg remarked as he lowered Frost Fang, “but you didn't answer my question.”

Tain rolled his now dark eyes and said, “Come, I will explain where it's safer.”

Varg returned his axe to its rightful place and followed Tain to a small shack on the outskirts of the village. On the outside it appeared that no one was there, but when Tain opened the door, the room was anything but abandoned. Instead of a withered shack, the inside appeared to be a cozy parlor straight out of a castle. The walls and floor were rich stone covered in tapestries and ornate rugs. Though the room itself was still small, a set of comfortable chairs and a blazing fireplace made the place seem like home.

Oliva sat before the fire and flipped through the pages of a spell book. When she noticed that Varg had entered, she quickly closed the book and ran to embrace him. “Oh Varg! Thank goodness you're here!”

Varg accepted the hug briefly, then broke away and said, “What has happened? Where is Greenwood? Why does Tain look like a human? And how did . . .” Varg gestured around the room with a twirl of his forefingers, “. . .
this
happen?”

“It's a long story,” Oliva said, “so you had better sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“Sure, but I want an explanation too,” Varg answered.

Varg sat down in a comfortable chair and watched as Oliva started boiling water in a small, quaint kettle.

“We only just arrived a couple of hours ago due to some delays. There were cultists everywhere, and we had to find alternate routes to avoid them,” Oliva explained.

“When we arrived,” Tain added, “Greenwood went to the castle to get an audience with the King. We waited for several hours, but we never heard from him. I thought the bastard had double crossed us, but then we saw cultists disguised as guards and we realized he'd been compromised.”

“How did you know they were cultists?” Varg asked.

“We saw one take his helmet off and his brand was on his neck, so we knew there had to be more, no doubt to provide inside access to the castle for the attack,” Oliva added, pouring Varg's tea into a cup. As soon as Varg took a sip, she continued, “We figured they had captured Greenwood before he could warn the King, and it was confirmed when I contacted him.”

“How?” Varg asked, accepted the cup Oliva handed him.

“A magic spell involving reflective surfaces, preferably mirrors. It serves as a window to communicate with another person. Each person must carry a special stone that pairs with the other to activate it. Greenwood was placed in a cell with a small puddle of water, thankfully, and since he still had the stone on his person I was able to contact him through the puddle,” Oliva explained. “He informed me that cultists were in fact in the castle and had placed him under arrest and were looking for us as well.”

“I found this shack and decided we should hide here until you arrived. That's when Oliva broke out her spell book and spruced the place up,” Tain added.

“I was just making the shack a little comfortable. Besides, the spell I cast masks the sound and light from outside, so it will still look abandoned. They won't find us here,” Oliva argued.

“That doesn't explain this,” Varg gestured to Tain.

Tain removed the hood of his cloak and his appearance swiftly changed back to it's original form. “Oliva cast another spell on this cloak, which can alter the appearance of anyone who wears it. This helps us blend in if we have to go out in public. You should wear one too.”

“You're probably right,” Varg said, running a hand through his white hair.

“Don't worry, I have an extra cloak,” Oliva said.

“What do we do about the cultists in the mean time? It's obvious that we can't warn the royals before the attack happens, and the three of us alone cannot hope to protect all of these people,” Varg said.

“I will contact Count Greenwood again and ask if he's heard any details of the attack,” Oliva offered.

“I suppose it's our best option,” Varg replied, “unless you two think we can stall the attack.”

“Not without revealing ourselves and endangering the town by making ourselves targets,” Oliva said.

Oliva then walked over to a mirror hanging on the side of the room and she held the stone out in her palm. She uttered a short incantation and the stone began to glow. She touched the surface of the glass with the stone, and a short while later, an image started to appear on the mirror.

The image on the mirror was muddy and ripples traveled across the surface of the glass, as if staring up from under a surface of water. Count Greenwood's face appeared into view, only he was worn and dirty.

“What news do you have?” Oliva asked.

“Nothing new to report, I am afraid,” Edric sighed, “but I see the hunter has arrived.”

Varg stepped towards the mirror. “Greenwood, do you know a way we can get into the castle and warn the King?”

“You mean get past all of the cultists and then the real guards before the steward even grants you an audience with the King all in one night? It's impossible,” Greenwood said.

“I've managed to pull off more impossible missions in the past. Remember, the cultists cannot act before it's time so as not to alert the real guards of their presence and compromise the operation,” Varg pointed out.