“Varg, I don't think we're dealing with mere criminals,” Milea said.
Varg looked around the room and saw different candles lit in formation behind the robed men. Several banners hung in the room, all with the same snake-like symbol that the shadow men had marked on their skin. Varg turned to his left where the most candles were and saw a large altar raised on a platform. Behind the altar and on the wall was a statue of some demonic snake-like creature. In front of the altar stood another robed man, but his robe was more decorated than the others.
Varg now understood exactly what was going on, and it didn't make the situation look any better on their end. “This is a cult.”
“Now now, there is no need to carelessly cast around words when you haven't the slightest clue what we're about,” said the robed man in front of the altar.
“Are you the Serpent?” Varg asked.
This comment earned Varg a few chuckles from the other men, then the priest of higher status responded, “I am flattered, but I'm afraid I'm not the Serpent.”
“Where is he?” Milea asked.
“The Serpent is away at the moment, but once we send word of your capture, he will want to greet you himself,” the leader said.
Milea fidgeted in her seat, “Where is Erril?”
“You mean that girl who bit and kicked our men who only offered her shelter from the bitter forest?” the priest asked. “She will be on her way to see the Serpent himself shortly.”
“Why?” Varg asked.
“If you must know, the Serpent has a special interest in her,” the leader said. After he spoke, he looked to Varg's right and said, “Ah Tain, you've arrived just in time.”
Varg turned and saw the same man with dark skin and pale hair he'd seen before, only now the man had a name. What's more, Varg noticed for the first time that he had pointed ears.
“He's another elf,” Varg whispered to Milea.
“Not like my kind, though,” Milea whispered back. “This one is a water elf. They're from a continent across the ocean.”
The priest ignored their comments and instead addressed the water elf named Tain. “I trust you will be leaving with the girl shortly?”
“I would,” Tain said, “but it appears that the girl is gone.”
The priest straightened up and stepped forward. “What? How in the world could she have escaped?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Tain offered. “As long as I have no prisoner to escort, I am of no use here.”
The priest looked around the room and gestured to two robed cultists near the entrance, a set of wooden doors. “I want the two of you to tell the others to search high and low for that girl.”
The two men bowed, creaked the doors open, and darted down the corridor.
Then the priest looked to Tain again and added, “You will report back to the Serpent that we have the White Wolf and the huntress in custody.”
“Fine by me,” Tain said. “I get paid either way.”
Tain turned and left through the double doors behind him. Everyone waited for the sound of his footsteps to stop, then the priest said, “Now then, back to business.”
“If you aren't going to kill us, then what do you plan to do with us?” Milea asked.
“Oh you will die, dear, but only after the Serpent decides how. Should he make an example by leaving your heads on the doorsteps of our enemies, or should he just keep things quiet and slay you on the spot? It's really all fun to think of the possibilities,” the priest mused. “The only certainty is that the Serpent will use you to send a message to others who are foolish enough to stand in our way.”
“You think we're the only ones who will fight?” Varg retorted. “If Lionel's death couldn't scare us away, what makes you think ours will scare others?”
“You think this is just about inciting fear?” the priest laughed. “The Serpent isn't satisfied with people simply fearing him. He wants the world to see what he's capable of, that no matter who stands in his way, he and his followers will obliterate them one by one.”
“Then is this an issue of pride, or simply vanity?” Varg remarked.
The priest chuckled. “Typical unworthy wretch, you pass judgment on a man you've never met for 'sins' that you yourself have more than likely committed.”
Varg cursed under his breath. “You should consider yourself lucky my hands are tied, otherwise they would be choking the life out of you.”
“Keep running your mouth and I just might do that to you,” the priest snapped.
Varg smirked, then said, “Oh? Do I detect a bit of a temper under that shadow cloak?”
“Do not test me, you wretch,” the priest snapped. “You don't want to know what happens to those that do.”
“Come and get me then, if you think you're man enough,” Varg dared.
“Varg, what on earth are you doing?” Milea barked.
Varg laughed. “Don't worry, Milea, he's doesn't have the balls to—”
His sentence was halted abruptly when the priest charged forward and gripped Varg's throat with a bony hand. He squeezed with all his might to ensure no breath could escape.
“I warned you, fool,” the priest growled. “The Serpent may reprimand me for denying him the pleasure of ending your life, but you cause more trouble than you're worth.”
Varg struggled for breath, but had just enough to grumble, “First rule of capturing a jotun . . .”
In a flash Varg's hands came flying out of their bond and gripped the priest's arm. The priest's arm slowly grew a layer of ice under Varg's hands. Unable to move away, the priest watched in horror as his own arm slowly froze solid and continued over the rest of his body. By the time he managed to break away from Varg's grip, the ice did not stop until his entire body was a frozen husk.
Varg stood up and to everyone's astonishment, he tossed his frozen, broken bonds onto the floor. Then he stared at the frozen statue that was all that was left of the priest, then said, “. . . beware of his bite.”
The remaining cultists prepared to attack as Varg froze and broke off Milea's bindings.
The half-elf spun out of her chair and rushed to Varg's side, then said, “What now? We aren't armed and your powers can only get us so far.”
Varg didn't openly admit that he didn't think his entire plan through, but he was determined to fight his way out of the stronghold regardless of the odds. Just when he was facing the crowd of aggressive cultists and forming an escape plan in his mind, Varg's thoughts were interrupted when the double doors flew open.
Everyone turned to face the doors expecting more cultists to arrive, but they were instead met by dozens of men in blue and silver armor. One of the men, who was covered head-to-toe in solid steel, stepped forward into the room with his sword and shield drawn.
“By the order of the Count of Ironbarrow, you are all under arrest for unlawful and unholy practices, kidnapping civilians, and murder. I hereby order all of you to stand down and face justice.”
Instead of heeding the plated warrior's warning, the cultists lunged forward with spells ready and were met by the rest of the unknown armed soldiers. Soldier and cultist alike collided, turning the small chamber into a bloody battlefield.
Milea dragged Varg to the back of the room and they ducked behind the altar to avoid the carnage. “We need to find Erril and get out of here. There's no way we can hope to survive unarmed.”
Just when Varg was about to respond, Milea looked behind him and said, “Erril!”
Varg turned to see a small, dirty girl crouching beside him with a knife in her hand and a satchel across her chest.
“What are you doing here?” the girl asked.
“Would you believe us if we told you we were here to rescue you?” Varg asked.
Erril stared at him and remarked, “Fine job of that.”
Milea ignored her remark and countered, “What are you doing in the middle of a battle, Erril? You're going to get killed!”
Erril then said, “I'm here to
return the favor you gave me. I'll start by leading you to the armory so you can get your equipment. Follow me!”
Erril turned and darted through the quarrel with amazing speed, and Varg and Milea quickly followed. Varg shielded himself and Milea from stray blade strikes with a large ice shield he formed on his arm. He rushed forward until they made it into the corridor. The girl led them to a stone staircase, which they followed to the bottom floor. She then led them to a door near the entrance and shoved it open to reveal an armory, where Frost Fang awaited Varg's grasp against the back wall.
Varg quickly darted towards his prized blade and as he grasped the handle, he felt whole again. He brandished the cool blade in both hands and smiled.“I've missed you . . .”
“Oh please,” Erril muttered.
Milea hastily retrieved her blade, bow, quiver, satchel, and cloak, then turned back to the others and said, “That should do it. Let's get out of here.”
As they emerged into the corridor just before the exit, the corpses of several assassins and soldiers lay sprawled and bloody on the floor, and the rumbling sound of battle could be heard in the courtyard. When they made it outside, they were immediately met by another battle looming before the enormous portcullis. The soldiers had apparently been ambushed by the cultists after they infiltrated the hideout, and were now desperately trying to regain control over the gate.
Milea exchanged a look with Varg and asked, “Who are these soldiers?”
“Are you really going to complain when they're helping us escape?” Varg asked.
“No, but I fear their efforts may be in vain,” Milea replied.
She pointed to the gate, where several cultists armed themselves with bows and let loose arrows unto the invading soldiers. The hardened men fought tooth and nail to regain control of the gate, but if the archers missed their marks, the cultists on the ground in front of the gate dealt swift deaths to the soldiers.
Varg's head snapped to the left to avoid an oncoming arrow, which struck the wooden arch behind him. It was then that he noticed the archers on the top of the walls surrounding the stronghold. They focused on the soldiers in the back of the crowd and it was evident that if they were dispatched, the soldiers would be either killed, captured, or worse.
“We have to stop those archers,” Erril said.
“We do, Erril,” Milea said. “You need to get to safety.”
“Where do you expect me to find cover? Under a bale of hay?” Erril remarked while pointing to the stables that had just caught fire from a stray arrow. “Until we can get those archers out of the way, I'm stuck in this battle.”
“I can take some of them out with my bow, but I don't think I kill enough of them before they kill the soldiers . . . or us,” Milea lamented.
“Don't worry, I have an idea,” Erril announced.
Like a fox, Erril darted off into the battle before Milea or Varg could stop her. The girl flew through the chaos as she drew a knife and cut through the cultist's legs and ankles before they even saw her. Varg admitted to himself that he was impressed by her speed, but he still ran after her to protect her from any harm while Milea agreed to protect his flank. Erril ran through the crowded battle towards the front gate, where the guards were waiting for her. Each of them slashed forward after her, but her quick movements helped her avoid their blades.
Erril stopped just before the gate and produced a small gray round object from her pocket. Varg realized what the object was when Erril lit a fuse on the object on a nearby torch. She tossed the small bomb over the wall, where it landed near the archers.
“Run!” Erril screamed at Varg.
Erril ran his way, so he grabbed the girl with both arms and spun himself around so that he faced away from the impending blast. A second later, a deafening inferno erupted behind him. The stinging heat bit the skin on his back, but otherwise did not harm him or Erril.
The blast killed every archer above the gate and hurled their charred bodies into the air. The soldiers took advantage of the sudden shift in control and lead a full assault on the gate. The cultists who survived the blast were slaughtered before they could recompose themselves. Milea aided the rest of the soldiers with her blade in close combat with the remaining cultists.
Varg turned to see the soldiers taking control of the gate at last. They release the mechanism that held the gigantic portcullis in place, and soon the iron bars began to rise and open the path outside of the fortress. Varg released his grip on Erril and ordered, “Go, get out of here!”
Erril arose to her feet, faced Varg, and said, “I'll wait on the other side—”
To Varg's horror, a cultist's arrow flew from the west wall and struck Erril directly in the ribcage. The shock of what had happened left her disoriented as she coughed and hacked blood and fell to the ground. Milea ran to the girl's aid and held her to shield her from further attacks.
Varg shrieked with rage and searched the crowd for the shooter. When he spotted the culprit, a cultist on the top of the western tower, Varg positioned his hands a few inches apart with his palms facing one another and poured his energy into a solid piece of ice. Varg launched the ice into the direction of the shooter and as it traveled through the air, the ice formed a sharp, spear-like projectile that was nearly longer than Varg was tall. The icy spear made a direct hit and impaled the shooter through his chest and left an empty cavity that bled out in seconds. The remains of the cultists then fell from the tower and hit the ground like an old rag doll.
Varg then ran to Milea's side and helped her carry Erril outside of the gate. The soldiers who had witnessed what happened covered their flank as they ran and also covered them until they reached the safety of the woods. Varg and Milea stopped just at the edge of the wood and propped Erril against a tree.
Erril gasped for air and muttered, “Take it out. Take the arrow out.”
“Hold on, Erril,” Milea said. “I have to do this carefully, otherwise you will bleed to death.”
“Oh for goodness sake,” Erril grumbled.
To Milea's horror, Erril yanked the arrow out and let out a blood curdling scream. Milea desperately tried to open Erril's old shirt to tend to the wound, but Erril stopped her.
“It's going to be fine, Milea,” Erril insisted. “Just watch.”
Erril carefully lifted her shirt to reveal the wound, only it wasn't nearly as severe as it should have been. In the seconds that passed, the wound was rapidly healing before their astonished eyes. They stared in awe until the wound sealed as if it was never there.
Varg and Milea looked Erril in the eyes, and with a look of amusement, the girl said, “I told you I always heal up.”
CHAPTER 8
WHEN THE BATTLE FINALLY SUBSIDED, the soldiers had collected the surviving cultists and swiftly arrested them. As they loaded the cultists onto prison carts, the plated warrior ordered a group of his men to escort them to a nearby prison where they would be interrogated and rightly punished for their crimes. As the cart pulled away, the remaining soldiers began to pay their final respects to their fallen comrades.
Erril had soon regained enough strength to stand, despite the fact that Varg advised her against it. She walked through the gate to investigate the aftermath of the massacre and Varg and Milea followed her.
As they walked, Milea stayed by Erril's side and asked, “Where did you get that power, Erril? I've never seen anything like it.”
“I've always had it,” the girl said. “As long as I can remember, I would be injured one minute and healed the next.”
“It's truly astounding,” Milea said.
“Not to mention how quick she is on her feet,” Varg added.
Varg looked to the crowd of soldiers again. There were many casualties on their part, but because of Erril's quick thinking and movement, many more were spared. He caught a glimpse of the man in charge once again and when the armored man met his gaze, he began to walk towards them. When he was within hand-shaking distance, the steel soldier removed his helmet.
Varg accepted the handshake, then answered, “We can't take all the credit. We had help, after all.”
The warrior allowed his hand to fall back to his side, then said, “Aye, but few can say they can conjure ice from nothing or fight with the cunning and agility of a wild cat. We owe you our thanks, great warriors.” The soldier then looked to Erril and added, “Especially to you, young lady.”
Erril strained to stand up, despite Milea's insisting she rest, and then she said, “I only wanted to get away from there. The archers were just blocking my exit.”
“Where did you find those bombs?” Varg asked. “What's more, how did you know how to use them?”
“After the soldiers freed me from the dungeon, they told me to hide. I didn't, of course, so I found some equipment in a supply room and the bombs were sitting on a table. They weren't difficult to figure out,” Erril explained.
“You are quite resourceful,” the soldier commented.
“I get by,” Erril muttered.
The soldier then turned to the others and said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Conley Rowan, Count of Ironbarrow.”
“We owe you our lives, Count Rowan,” Milea said with a slight bow.
“Please, it's Conley,” the Count replied with another laugh. “It is fortunate we arrived when we did. If we were any later, the Shadow Hand would have killed you all.”
“That priest mentioned something about the Shadow Hand. Is that what that group calls themselves?” Varg asked.
“Aye, and they are growing in number every day,” Conley replied.
The White Wolf (Half-Breed Book 1) Page 9