The White Wolf (Half-Breed Book 1) (5 page)

Varg happened to catch a glance of Milea's face as she checked outside. The glare of the moon caught her eyes and Varg noticed for the first time that her eyes were the same color as the night sky. He soon found himself looking far longer than he intended, but he managed to break away before Milea met his glance.

“Can I ask you something?” she suddenly said.

Varg looked back to her and successfully hid his discomfort. “What is it?”

“When we left Rivershire, you mentioned that you were much older than you looked. I've been thinking about it ever since we left,” Milea answered.

“You want to know how old I am?” Varg finished her question.

Milea nodded. “I'm curious.”

Varg smiled and answered, “I can't tell you for sure, since I gave up counting around my three hundredth year, but I can tell you that I am around three hundred and fifty years old.”

Milea seemed dumbstruck. “How can you not know for sure?”

Varg shrugged, then answered, “Keeping count grew boring after a while. I know I've been a bounty hunter for more than three hundred years, and I was in my late thirties when I started.”

“You've been a bounty hunter for over three hundred years?” Milea asked in bewilderment. “No wonder you're so legendary.”

Varg shrugged his shoulders. “It's a living,”

The silence resumed, but fortunately it was broken quickly by the sound of the tavern door opening. A quick peek outside confirmed that Horatius was expelling the last drunken patron from the tavern.

Varg's eyes darted to Milea. “It's time.”

They quickly grabbed their gear and crept out of the inn. The only sound that could be heard on the dark street was from the last drunks stumbling home for the night. Varg tip-toed through the alley between the inn and the tavern with Milea right behind him. He curved right until he found the back door. When he was sure no one could see them, he slowly creaked the door open.

Horatius stood in the middle of the room inside and looked somberly at the duo when they entered. A lone candle was lit on the counter, which cast a dim light that illuminated Horatius's fatigued features.

“You made it,” Horatius said, but something in his tone gave Varg the impression that he'd wished they hadn't arrived. “Come in and shut the door behind you.”

“Horatius, what's going on?” Varg asked.

“Shut the door,” the old man repeated.

Varg waited for Milea to enter, then he did as instructed. As soon as he closed the door, Varg realized something was wrong when Horatius bowed his head in shame and said, “I wish you hadn't done that.”

Before Varg could question why the old man would say such a thing, six men in hooded black armor came out from behind the counter, tables, and the stairs. One such mystery man quickly cut off their exit and locked the door behind them. He then leaned against the door and stared daggers at the two of them as if he silently dared them to try and leave.

The rest of the hooded thugs stepped into the dim light and surrounded Horatius, all the while never taking their eyes off of Varg and Milea.

One of the men stepped towards them, then said, “We hear you've been looking for us.”

Varg's blood began to boil as he realized what had happened. He stared at Horatius and growled, “You son of a bitch . . .”

Horatius looked to the ground and mumbled, “I'm sorry, Varg. Word got around town that you were looking for them, and they came to me and found out everything.”

“You mean you
told
them everything,” Varg barked.

“Enough of this,” the apparent ringleader spat. “You should have learned from the Count's death what happens when you interfere with the Serpent's business.”

Varg remembered the name he'd seen on the parchment along with the symbol. “Who is the Serpent?”

Without missing a beat, all six members of the mysterious gang began to laugh aloud. The ringleader stepped forward and said proudly, “The Serpent is our grand and glorious leader. You would do well to speak of him with respect.”

“I don't respect those who don't deserve it,” Varg spat.

“Then you will join the sea of dead that the Serpent's men have left in the wake of his glory,” the gang member said.

Varg drew Frost Fang and charged for the gang members. Three of the cultists then left their other comrades to deal with Varg while they attempted to overpower Milea. Varg was quick enough to dodge and block their attacks, but he still remained constantly vigilant since there were multiple opponents to deal with.

A sharp sting on his left arm and a sharp, eye-watering odor nearly knocked his concentration off, but he ignored it in order to block an incoming attack. He felt the force of the attack through the handle of his blade, which caused his arm to sting again, but he ignored it and the strange smell in order to deliver a counter swing.

The swing caused his large blade to meet the ribs of one of his attackers, which sent the man tumbling and bleeding to the floor. Just as he managed to land a hit on a second foe, his arm began to burn again. Though he tried his best to ignore it, his arm was in far too much pain to continue. His head felt dizzy and faint, but somehow he still managed to defend against the third and final assassin. It failed to last, however, and Varg could no longer hold up Frost Fang to defend.

Through his fading vision, Varg saw another blade cross paths with the attacker. Milea was Varg's savior, and in a swift counter move, the half-elf swung her blade and slashed the throat of the final assassin. Through his clouded vision, Varg could see Milea turn to him and give a fallen expression.

“Varg, your arm!” she cried.

Varg couldn't tell what was happening, but thankfully his daze ended when Milea pulled a small green phial from her satchel and poured a cooling liquid onto his bare arm. His head finally cleared and the burning suddenly stopped. When Varg looked at his arm, he could see the remnants of a burned gash that slowly cleared under the stream of liquid that poured from Milea's phial. Once the wound was better, she handed the phial to Varg and said, “Drink the rest, quickly.”

Varg complied without question, and as a result, his strength soon began to return. He stood up and handed the empty bottle to his comrade, then said, “What happened?”

“Those assailants used a highly toxic poison on their blades, no doubt,” Milea answered. “One of the blades must have made contact with your arm and poisoned you. Luckily, it didn't cut deep enough to do any severe damage.”

Varg shook his head to clear away the last bit of fog, then said, “Thank you for the potion. What was that exactly was it?”

“A very potent anti-venom. I've studied alchemy over the years, as it comes quite in handy in tight situations like this,” the half-elf answered proudly.

“I can see that,” Varg said. Then he looked around at the bloodbath that was once known as Moonlighter's Manor and added, “For now though, we need to search their bodies for clues.”

“Fair enough,” Milea concurred.

The fallen assassins had little on their bodies aside from their hooded uniforms and a few extra potions—Milea was sure to examine the liquid, but she couldn't name the type of poison it was—but they still found nothing to identify who the assassins were affiliated with. When Milea lifted one of their hoods, however, she was presented with an unpleasant surprise.

“Varg, this one is just a boy,” she muttered.

Varg joined her side and silently examined the boy. He was indeed young, for his features barely began to form the angles of a man's and it appeared that his body barely had any musculature. The young assassin hadn't even grown a hint of a beard yet, and so Varg determined that he was more than likely no older than sixteen. A quick search of the other bodies turned up four more young men who now lay dead along with their adult counterparts.

“We killed these boys,” Milea muttered ruefully.

“Milea, this isn't your fault . . .” Varg assured.

“They were so young. How could boys like this get involved in a gang?” Milea dreaded.

“It's terrible, but it happens, Milea. I'd bet my axe they were homeless and probably orphaned, so they were tempted into the gang just so they'd have a place to go and a meal to eat. It wouldn't be the first time I've seen it,” Varg said. Then he added, “Don't blame yourself for their deaths. You did what you had to do. They knew the risks of walking into battle.”

Milea shook her head, but still said, “You're right . . . hold on a minute.”

Milea stooped down beside one of the dead men and pulled his collar down to reveal a familiar symbol tattooed in red on his neck.

The same haunting snake that slithered around a hand taunted Varg and still gave no clues to whom the symbol represented. Varg quickly rechecked the bodies and found the same symbol on each of them. One of the men had it inked on his arm, another on his back, and the other three had the mark on their shoulders. The half-blood shook his head as he replaced the body on the floor and said, “Usually when I see a group of individuals bearing the same tattoo, I see them forming a gang.”

“You think these thugs are in some kind of gang?” Milea pressed.

“They seem a bit too organized for something small time, but it would seem that they are. We had best watch our backs from here on end,” Varg replied.

“And here I thought we already were,” the half-elf remarked.

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of moaning. Varg and Milea had been so involved in the battle and the aftermath that they forgot all about Horatius. The old man emerged timidly from behind his counter and gasped at the sight of the carnage that was once his tavern.

“Care to offer an explanation?” Milea said to the little man.

Horatius simply looked to the ground without saying a word.

“Horatius, you had better start talking,” Varg ordered. “Who are these men and what are they up to?”

“Varg, I can't,” Horatius muttered.

Varg slammed his fist on the counter much harder than he intended, causing the little man to jump. “You nearly get us killed, then you refuse to tell us anything?”

“I have a family to protect! Those brutes are trouble, Varg. Considering all the other criminals and brutes who come into town, for us folk to be shaken by them, you know they are dangerous!” Horatius cried.

“Then you need to tell us everything so we can stop them,” Milea ordered.

“Just stay out of it,” Horatius pleaded.

“Forget it, Milea. He won't talk,” Varg said. He then gestured for the door with a nod of his head and turned to leave.

As the two of them approached the back door, Horatius said, “You two are the most stubborn fools I have ever met, and I've thought I've seen it all.”

Varg turned around and said, “Say what you want, but I don't stop until a job is done.”

Varg kicked the door and broke the lock. He allowed Milea to step out of the pub first into the approaching daylight. Before he followed her, Varg turned to Horatius and tossed a gold coin in his direction.

Horatius caught the coin and asked, “What is this?”

Varg paused, stared blankly into Horatius's eyes, and muttered, “That was for the drinks last night.”

The old man never budged as Varg threw the door closed behind him and left forever.

Once on the edge of the village, the strain of his old friend's betrayal took its toll on Varg. He wasn't about to well up with tears, but his mood became somber and it took everything he had not to punch the nearest tree. The only thing that kept him going was the hope of finding evidence at their next destination.

“Where next?” Milea asked when they were clear out of Birhog and in the forest again.

“Well, we know that there are more of those men and that Lionel apparently knew some of their secrets, so perhaps we can find what he knew in his home in Virland,” Varg suggested.

“Good thinking,” Milea said.

Varg could tell she was still upset about killing the young men and, though he hated to admit it, he felt a pang of guilt himself. He looked at her while he walked forward and said, “I want you to know that it's all right. It's not a sin to do what you have to do to survive.”

“I know, Varg, but I still can't help but wish it could have been different for them,” Milea said.

“As do I,” Varg said. “I wish everyone was given the chance to choose a better path.”

“Whatever the case, we still need answers and it's a safe chance that we'll be attacked again before the end,” Milea said.

“Perhaps we can find more answers when we reach Virland,” Varg said.

“I hope you're right,” Milea said. “This quest is becoming more dangerous by the minute.”

“We'll be all right if we stick together,” Varg said.

Milea nodded. “Agreed. I'm starting to like your company anyway.”

CHAPTER 5

AFTER A SCENIC HIKE SOUTH of Birhog, Varg and Milea were out of Rivershire County, where Count Greenwood's men were searching around every corner. They had to travel only in the wilderness to avoid detection from the law, but they also had to avoid repercussion from the mysterious organization of assassins if they had any hope to survive. They stuck close together and exchanged shifts in the middle of the night to assure they both rested. After such a tiring journey, it was more than a pleasant sight to see the tower of Virland's keep come into view late in the evening on the third day.

Even when miles from the town, it was clear that Virland's key aspect was its dense, lush forests. Rich greens were painted across the landscape in the form of tall trees and thick brush. The trees were often topped with various flowers and roses often grew effortlessly along the brush in town and around the wall surrounding the castle. Even the town banner bore an emerald green backdrop to compliment the scenery it was lucky enough to be a part of.

Varg crouched behind some brush“Everything seems quiet, but I can't see the keep very well from here,” Varg said as he peeked through a sage bush.

“We should wait for nightfall to infiltrate the keep,” Milea said.

“I'm getting hungry anyway. Want some jerky?” Varg offered.

“Thanks,” Milea said and hungrily accepted the piece of dried meat.

Varg ripped a piece of meat off with his back teeth and said with a mouthful, “We need to scout the area before we get inside.”

“That's my specialty,” Milea said after she swallowed her first bite. “I'll scout the area and let you know what I find.”

After she gulped down the rest of her jerky, Milea left Varg to guard their camp. He began to worry she'd been caught when she hadn't returned by sundown, but he held confidence in the half-elf and knew she was all right. He heaved a sigh of relief when Milea finally returned after nightfall.

“Sorry, the guards are extremely vigilant,” Milea said as she walked up the hill. “They heard my footsteps, but fortunately they thought it was just an animal. This doesn't make our mission any easier, of course.”

“Do you have any ideas for how we could get past them?” Varg asked.

“While I was scouting around the wall outside the castle and peeked over the edge, I noticed a door that was hidden behind some brush in the garden area. I think that may be the best option, granted we can actually remain undetected long enough to get there,” Milea suggested.

“Let's go with your plan,” Varg said. He turned to the camp fire and began to kick dirt onto it, then added, “Anything else?”

“I heard some of the guards talking about the orders Lionel gave them before he left. He apparently told them to guard the townspeople with their lives,” Milea explained.

Varg watched as the last ember in the fire pit flickered and died, then turned back to Milea. “You think he expected retaliation from the assassins, or even the Serpent himself?”

“Possibly, but there's something else. The guard mentioned that Lionel hadn't left his study for days before he left. I think that may be the best place to look for clues,” Milea said.

Varg nodded, then said, “Then that's where we'll look. Let's go.”

Varg and Milea crept outside of town until they arrived to a closer position near the castle. Castle Virland's walls were solid stone, but were pale in color and bore a slightly bluish hue. It was a small castle, more so than the one in Rivershire, but appeared to be comfortable and safe. From a distance, Varg could see vines growing along the walls of the castle, but it seemed that no one minded. It rather added to the charm this little country castle held so well.

Milea guided Varg to the area she spoke of, and it was then that Varg got a much better view of the keep. A solid, stone wall wrapped around the property, which would obviously make intruding all but impossible. The wall was taller than Varg, so he at least took solace that they wouldn't have to crouch down to avoid being seen from the property, but it also prevented them from seeing inside as well.

Varg stood on his toes and still couldn't see anything, so he looked to Milea again and asked, “How did you see the door over this wall?”

“I climbed the tree over there,” Milea said as she pointed a finger to the old oak tree to her right.

The tree's branches reached over the top of the wall, granting easy access into the property, and the leaves were so dense that it made the perfect hiding place at night. Milea hopped onto the tree and climbed up, at which point Varg followed and stalled just behind her.

The tree directly overlooked the garden, a private area of the castle that put the rest of Virland's forests to shame. Even with the darkness that came with the night, the greenery that made up the castle's garden shimmered like emeralds under the moonlight. A small stream traveled through the property and led to a small pond, which was dotted with lily pads and white petals.

Milea crouched onto the nearest, sturdiest branch and pointed to a thick brush against the castle wall. “It's right over there,” Milea whispered as she pointed to a small door at the foot of the castle wall.

If Varg hadn't been looking for the door, he never would have seen it. The door was built at the foot of a small stairway leading from the ground level to a lower level of the castle. A chimney situated on the wall outside indicated where an oven was, so Varg could only assume that the door led to a kitchen. Though they weren't very close, Varg could see no signs of light or life in the windows and determined that the room was empty.

“Do you see any guards?” Varg whispered to his counterpart.

“Not from here,” Milea said. “I'll drop first and tell you when it's clear for you.”

Milea inched forward and hopped onto the ground. She crouched and hid behind a bush and looked around, then gestured for Varg to proceed. He dropped down, but much louder than he intended. Thankfully he didn't attract any attention, so he took the extra moment to quickly survey his surroundings. He saw no other way out of the garden, so he removed a rolled up piece of rope from his satchel and tossed it over the branch they dropped from.

“This should allow a quick escape if necessary,” Varg explained when he saw Milea's questioning glare.

The two then darted across the lawn when they were certain that the guards weren't looking and found the door. Milea tried the handle, but discovered it was locked.

“Allow me,” Varg offered. He brought out his lock picking tools and fiddled with the lock. After hearing the
click
that assured him it was opened, he slowly creaked the door open in case someone was inside. The kitchen walls were stone and plain, much like the outside of the castle. A door on the opposite end of the room opened to a corridor, which in turn led to the dining room. Another door across the room opened to the throne room, which thankfully appeared to be empty. They still proceeded with caution just in case a lone guard stood watching, or even if Lionel's family were still awake.

In the throne hall, a fire pit in sat in the middle of the floor, but the fire was no more than lingering embers. Above the carved marble throne sat a stained glass window that allowed colorful moonlight to paint the otherwise dark chamber. A set of stairs sat to the left of the throne, which is where Milea then gestured.

“I'm willing to bet the Count's private chambers are upstairs,” Milea whispered from behind Varg.

Varg nodded and inched forward to the stairs, then climbed to the upper level. He and Milea followed the walkway until it led to a doorway on the same wall as the throne. He opened a crack in the door, then opened it completely when he found no one waiting behind it. The bounty hunter proceeded into the corridor that opened to Lionel's chambers. Though it still kept up with the Count's apparent modest taste, the main chamber of the Count's private chambers had another, unlit fireplace where a pair of pleasant chairs greeted guests to the Count.

Varg brushed aside the pleasing atmosphere long enough to locate another door opposite from where they entered. He and Milea crossed the room and went through the door to find a round room with a door on either side. In the middle of the room, there was a large plant arrangement with a variety of strange mushrooms and blossoms.

Varg and Milea split up to check the doors on either side of the room. The door Varg opened led to a bedroom that appeared to belong to a scholar. Hundreds of books were practically stacked to the ceiling in stacks around the bed, desk, and bookshelves. As Varg wondered who would have the need to read so many books, he closed the door and looked back to his counterpart as she emerged from the opposite room.

“Nothing in here,” Varg said. “Did you find anything?”

“Just an old bedroom. I don't think anyone's used it in forever,” Milea answered.

Varg looked to his left and saw another corridor across from where they entered and said, “Let's check over here.”

“After you,” Milea offered.

Varg took the lead once more and walked down the short corridor. There were three doors at the end of this hall, one directly at the end of the corridor, and one on either side. Varg first tried the one on the right and found another small bedroom. Then he tried the middle room and found a larger bedroom, no doubt the master bed chamber.

It was then that Varg tried the last door, only there was no light inside. “I can't see a thing in here.”

Milea peeked over his shoulder. “Let me see if I can find a light.”

The half-elf felt along the wall with her hands until she grabbed hold of something in the far corner. In less than a minute, a dim light sparked to life before her and she held a freshly lit candle in one hand and a used flint rock in the other.

The dim candle light revealed Count Lerington's study, a room that was full of books, scrolls, and trinkets that were scattered in a disorderly fashion. It was clear the Count was a scholarly man, judging by the wear and tear on the old tomes and the way they were placed to the side of his chair for later use. A lone desk sat on the opposite end of the room, which was littered with scribbled parchment. Judging by the state of things, it was apparent that Lionel Lerington had left in a hurry.

Varg rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and muttered, “This mess doesn't make our job any easier.”

Milea placed the candle on Lionel's desk, then moved aside a roll of parchment that was at risk of catching fire, then said, “We have to search this study top to bottom for any evidence that points to why he was murdered, so let's get to it.”

Varg nodded, then began to search the top of the desk for important notes or papers while Milea examined the nearest bookshelf. He found nothing as he sifted through the parchment, so he started to check the drawers instead. Aching to bring an end to the silence, Varg began to speak, “I noticed that the rest of the bed chambers in the castle haven't been used in some time. Lionel doesn't appear to have any family left.”

“Perhaps,” Milea replied as she replaced a book on the shelf, “but they certainly weren't forgotten. She pointed to the left wall where a large portrait hung. The portrait had an older man—though he'd only seen Lionel's decaying body, Varg recognized this man as the Count in better days—seated in a chair. A woman, no doubt his wife judging by her age, stood behind the chair. Two younger women who appeared to be his daughters stood on either side of the chair. One of the daughters and the wife had pale hair and eyes, but Varg noticed that the other daughter had dark hair and eyes, which was odd since Lionel looked nothing like her either.

After examining the family portrait, Varg allowed his curiosity to interrupt his current task. “I wonder where they are?”

“The daughters look old enough to be married, so they probably live with husbands elsewhere. Since we didn't find a wife living in the castle, it's a safe bet that Lionel was a widower,” Milea suggested.

“Do you think his daughters may know more about the gang?” Varg asked.

“I doubt Lionel would have told them, since it only would have put their lives in danger,” Milea said. “We'll know more once we find what we're looking for.”

Varg closed the second drawer after finding nothing but old maps—he took one of the maps of Fellen just in case—and extra vials of ink and quills. He came to the last drawer, however, and find that it would not open. He sifted through the papers again to find a key, but couldn't find one.
Not to worry
, he thought. He simply whipped out his lockpick again and tried it on the lock, but he soon found that the lock was incredibly complex and quite impossible to open without a key.

Varg replaced his lockpick in his satchel in defeat, then looked up to Milea and asked, “Do you see a key anywhere?”

“No, sorry,” Milea said. She walked towards the desk again and asked, “Something wrong?”

“The bottom drawer of this desk is locked tighter than a king's jewel vault,” Varg answered.

“Let me look,” the half-elf said as she shifted through any container, shelf, and corner she could find. Varg did the same on his side of the room, but neither of them could find anything that even resembled a key.

Just when Varg was about to search the other rooms, he spotted a peculiar spot on the frame of Lionel's family portrait. A small section at the bottom was discolored compared the the rest of the frame, and upon closer inspection, Varg could see a small latch in the carefully carved wood. He gently fiddled with the small latch and soon opened a small secret compartment in the frame. The compartment held an old, iron key, and Varg had a strong hunch it was the one he was looking for.