The White Wolf (Half-Breed Book 1)

by Brittany Comeaux

  Oliva paused as a look of dread washed over her pale face. “I didn't want to think about the possibility of a trusted member of the school letting them in, but it's impenetrable otherwise. Who was it, then?”

  Varg took a deep breath and answered, “It was the headmistress.”

  Oliva's expression dropped and her skin became even whiter. “I . . . I never imagined . . . how could she?”

  “She was corrupted by the Shadow Hand, as many were,” Varg said regretfully.

  “To assume that everyone under the Serpent's thumb is merely doing his bidding because they were 'corrupted' is petty and foolish,” Tain remarked.

  “You're already on my bad side, so don't make it worse,” Varg snapped.

  “Varg, don't start a fight,” Milea said.

  Tain ignored Milea and continued. “The Serpent threatened to kill the other students if the headmistress didn't hand over the girl.”

  “Are you saying she sacrificed one student for the sake of hundreds?” Milea asked.

  “That's exactly what I'm saying,” Tain confirmed.

  The room grew quiet, then Oliva suddenly said, “I can understand that she wanted to protect the students, but this wasn't the way to do it. I'm not just saying this because it was me she sacrificed, but to mark just one student for death is still wrong. No one has the right to decide who lives or dies.”

  “At any rate,” Milea said. “We need to return you to Ironbarrow. Unfortunately, I don't think there's any way to prove the headmistress's guilt, so I think it's best if we don't mention what happened to Conley.”

  “Milea, I cannot lie to my uncle,” Oliva said.

  “Just let us explain it. You won't have to say a thing,” Varg offered.

  Oliva nodded hesitantly, then said, “Thank you all for your courage. I only hope I can find mine. I owe it to Grandfather, after all.”

  CHAPTER 13

  THE NIGHT SKY GREETED Varg and the others as they arrived at Conley's castle. The weary guards lowered the drawbridge with some effort for everyone to pass into Conley's courtyard. After visiting the stables to return their horses, Varg and his comrades then approached the front doors to the castle, where two guards eagerly opened the doors to allow them entry. Oliva addressed one of the servants to alert her aunt and uncle to her arrival, and within minutes, Conley and Catrina rushed into the room to greet her.

  “Oliva! Thank goodness you're safe!” Conley said as he and Catrina embraced the petite girl.

  They finally released Oliva after she gasped for air, then Conley added, “I am sorry to bring you here on such vague information, but now that you are here we must talk.”

  Oliva gave her uncle a nervous smile and said, “It's all right, I already know that Grandfather is dead.” Conley's face blanched and darted in Varg's direction, but Oliva quickly added, “It is not their fault, Uncle. They weren't the ones who told me.”

  “Then who did?” Conley asked.

  “It was a man named Jin, but you know him better as the Serpent, from what Varg has told me,” Oliva explained.

  Conley's face turned from white to red in less than a second and he tightened his quaking fists. “That bastard had the nerve to come near a member of my family!”

  “I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Varg and his friends,” Oliva praised.

  It was then that Conley's eyes fell on Tain. “Who is this?”

  Oliva cleared her throat, then answered, “This is Tain, Uncle. He's a mercenary I hired to help us.”

  “A mercenary?” Conley repeated in disbelief. “Where in the world did you meet him?”

  Oliva paused hesitantly, then answered, “He used to work for Jin.”

  Conley blinked, then said, “I think I misheard you. For a moment I thought you hired a man who used to work for the Shadow Hand.”

  “Uncle . . .”

  Catrina interjected at that point. “Oliva, you hired a man who associated with the very people responsible for the death of your grandfather? Please don't tell me you promised him any of your inheritance?”

  Oliva only had to shrug before Conley turned around fuming and pacing and Catrina stared at Oliva as if the girl had just insulted her and said.

  The noblewoman shook her head in disbelief. “Oliva, how could you trade something your grandfather worked his whole life to save? He never would have wanted you to give that away, even for his sake.”

  “I know, but Tain is one of the best allies we could ask for against the Shadow Hand. We need all the allies we can muster against this cult,” Oliva reasoned.

  “I just hope you know what you're doing, girl,” Conley spat.

  Catrina then broke the silence that followed. “Well Dear, perhaps our guests would like to retire for the evening? It is already past dinner, but there may be some food we could offer them as well.”

  “We ate the last of our food before coming into town, Aunt, but I thank you,” Oliva replied.

  “I'm too tired anyway,” Erril said.

  “So am I, but we have much to discuss about the Shadow Hand and I'm sure Conley would like to hear it,” Milea pointed out.

  “Let us discuss it in the morning,” Conley suggested. “Oliva is safe, and that's all that I need to know for now. It would be best for us all to retire for the evening. Varg, would you like to join me for a drink?”

  “You always know how to provide to your guests,” Varg said with a smile.

  With that, Conley bid the others good nigh and Catrina gave Oliva one last hug and kiss before showing her to her room. She informed Milea and Erril that they may return to the guest rooms they used during their previous stay and offered Tain another room. Milea nodded and thanked Catrina once again before she left the foyer to retreat to her room, with Erril trailing behind her and rubbing her eyes.

  The following morning, breakfast was spent in the throne hall of Ironbarrow's keep. Because of Oliva's safe return, Conley treated her saviors to a full breakfast prepared by his personal cook. Oliva and Catrina barely nibbled on their food, presumably due to their proper upbringing. Erril, by contrast, gobbled her biscuits as though they would be gone if she ate too slowly. Varg was tempted to do the same, but kept himself composed.

  After most of the food had been cleared from the table, Varg began to recount the events in Balik to Conley and Catrina. He left out the fact that Tain was the actual kidnapper to prevent Conley from throwing the water elf to the headsman's chopping block, but recounted that the Shadow Hand gained access to the city through and the school in order to get to Oliva.

  “There's one thing I don't understand though,” Milea said.

  “What's that?” Oliva asked.

  “We know that Jin had you kidnapped so he could use your blood to open the shrine, but why didn't they go after Catrina? Wouldn't she share the same blood?” Milea asked.

  Catrina gently placed her goblet on the table and answered, “I don't, actually, because I am not Lionel's real daughter.” A stunning silence ensued, at which point Catrina continued, “It's not a widely known fact, but it is no secret that I was adopted by the Lerington family when I was only six. I was but a poor, homeless beggar who was found sifting through the Leringtons' trash for scraps. Lionel invited me in to eat dinner with the family that very evening, and ever since then he's treated me like a daughter.”

  “He sounded like a wonderful man,” Milea said.

  “If it weren't for him, I would probably have resorted to thievery or worse,” Catrina said. “Thankfully, I felt welcomed into their lives enough to make a change for the better.”

  Oliva reflected on her aunt's story, then changed the subject to prevent herself and her aunt from dwelling on their loved one's death any further. “Milea found Grandfather's journal with all his notes on the Shadow Hand. She gave it to me to look through,” The mage apprentice proudly placed the journal on the breakfast table and declared, “and I have discovered a possible lead.

  “What is that?” Conley asked, placing his goblet on the table.<
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  “Grandfather wrote a passage about a mountain to the north, just south of the Whitspire County border. He mentioned something about a strange gem rumored to be guarded by a clan of dwarves,” Oliva explained.

  “Just a rumor?” Tain remarked.

  “It's the only lead we have for now,” Milea pointed out.

  “I say we check it out. Even if it is just a rumor, it's a safe bet the Shadow Hand will go there at some point,” Varg said.

  “Aye, but beware of this mountain. Dwarves don't take kindly to intruders, so you'd best be on your guard for any traps they may spring,” Conley said.

  “Then we'd best prepare immediately,” Oliva said. “I will need a staff and some spell scrolls if I have any hope to use my magic in a fight.”

  “I can have one delivered from the shop in town,” Conley offered.

  “Thank you, Uncle. That would be great,” Oliva said graciously.

  The dawn light carried Varg and the rest of his crew through the forest northeast of Ironbarrow and to the rocky plains that led to the mountain mentioned in Lionel's journal. In the hours they spent riding through the dense forest, the travelers grew weary and hungry. Thus, they set up camp and then Varg and Milea set out to hunt for food while the others kept watch on the supplies.

  Armed with hunting bows, Varg and Milea found a patch of wood where some wild boars roamed around looking for food themselves. They stalked the pigs carefully and looked from afar to find a nice fat one that would produce good meat. Milea found the perfect one and readied her shot. A silent shot through the night air met the boar's eye and felled the beast.

  “I have to say, your archery skills are quite impressive,” Varg said as Milea replaced her bow on her quiver.

  Without looking at him, she replied, “I've had plenty of practice.”

  “I never could get the hang of using it in combat. All I need is Frost Fang to split some skulls and my ice powers for the survivors,” Varg mused.

  Milea began to step carefully in the direction of the downed boar. “Despite my skills, I prefer melee combat. My father taught me, after all.”

  “I take it he was your human parent?” Varg asked, carefully following behind her.

  Milea nodded and plucked her arrow from the fallen boar. “He was a great hunter in his day. His tracking skills could rival even yours.”

  Varg couldn't help but be impressed by this man he never met. “If he was as great as you say, perhaps I would have liked to go hunting with him.”

  Milea laughed, then frowned as though she weren't supposed to. Varg could sense that something was wrong, so he asked, “Everything all right?”

  “Let's get this boar back to the camp,” Milea said.

  He sensed that she didn't want to discuss the matter any longer, so Varg simply nodded and placed the dead boar across his shoulder and turned back towards the camp.

  Varg and the others made it out of the forest and to the mountain in just under two days. The mountain was large enough to touch the sky, which seemed a bit excessive for a small dwarven clan to inhabit. As Oliva pointed out, Dwarves were expert craftsman and build everything for functionality over anything else. The mountain wall provided the perfect shield for not only weather, but invaders and raiders.

  “In my research,” Oliva said, “it said that dwarves once made an alliance with elves in ancient days. Ever since the elves isolated themselves, however, they lost contact with all of the outside world. If the dwarves still have an artifact entrusted to them, then there's a safe chance that they won't let it go easily.”

  “At least the outside of their settlement seems nearly impossible to penetrate,” Varg stated. “The cultists wouldn't be able to get to the artifact in a thousand years.”

  Not a second had passed after Varg spoke when he was instantly proven wrong. The base of the mountain just north of their position exploded and instantly erupted into flames. The force was so great that the ground rattled beneath them and black smoke began to stain the horizon.

  “I may be wrong,” Varg offered over the roar of the explosion.

  The allies dismounted and left their horses near a patch of brush and made sure they were well hidden before they ventured closer to the mountain base. The sound of chaos could be heard from within the rocky walls in the wake of the explosion, and Varg feared that they may have been too late. He ran ahead of everyone else and as they came to the base of the mountain, they found a cavern ahead. The mountain opening appeared to have been man-made. It stood tall and slender and formed a perfect archway that was carved with letters from a language which Varg assumed was Dwarvish. Varg drew Frost Fang as he ran through the archway.

  The carved cave continued into a large tunnel where once inside, the allies witnessed dozens of dwarves in the heat of battle. Familiar hooded assassins flooded the tunnel, killing every dwarf their blades met. The dwarf folk remained resilliant despite the odds, though Varg knew that this wouldn't last long.

  “We have to help them!” Oliva cried.

  “Agreed,” Varg said.

  Without another word, the half-blood charged into the battle with Frost Fang ready while his comrades assisted the dwarves nearest to them. Varg slashed his mighty axe through the bodies of several cultists and the dwarves who witnessed this stood in awe as the opponents who nearly killed them turned to ice. Milea drew her blade and fearlessly charged into the battle to defend a handfull of dwarves who were taking a severe beating from a larger group of cultists.

  Tain whipped his scimitar and drew water from the nearby well to act as his companion and he utilized it with ease. Oliva used her staff to conjure barriers for the charging dwarves and once they were well able to take the punishment of battle, she began to hurl fire balls at any cultist who left himself open. Erril on the other hand rushed through the battlefield and took out enemies before they even knew she was there.

  Varg came to the aid of an injured dwarf being ambushed by half a dozen cultists and narrowly blocked a fatal attack from befalling him. The others joined in the battle and not a single dwarf complained. Varg continued to aid the dwarves nearest to him until one particularly gruff one came to his side and shouted, “You have come to our aid, yes?”

  “We have,” Varg replied as he sliced the head off of another cultist, hood and all.

  “I know not your intentions, but you are an enemy of our enemy, and that is enough for me!” the dwarf replied. “Seek out our chief, Tollack, in the upper tunnels. Hurry!” The old dwarf gestured to a walkway that sloped upward and led to a carved stone tunnel. The clanking of metal echoed from the cave and warned anyone who entered that they would walk into a battlefield.

  Varg turned back to the dwarf and asked, “What about the rest of you?”

  “As long as your friends stay with us, we'll be fine,” the old dwarf assured him.

  After he witnessed his friends' tireless effort to defend the dwarves and he was sure they could carry on without him, Varg nodded to the old dwarf and darted towards the tunnel. Other dwarves he aided quickly pointed him in the right direction as he continued to press forward, slaying each cultist he came across. He soon came to more dense tunnels that seemed to go on forever. He soon found more and more cultists trying to push forward and weary dwarves trying to fend them off. The dwarves were shocked to see outsiders helping them, but remained grateful nonetheless.

  Finally Varg came across an enormous chamber of stone where he saw a dark-haired dwarf dressed in furs fighting off several cultists with an axe in each hand. Several other dwarves fought by his side, but Varg could easily tell that he was the chief. An enormous pool of water formed on either side of a long stone walkway that led to another platform, which was where the battle took place. Varg ran across the walkway and swung Frost Fang madly at the first cultist he saw.

  The dwarf chief, Tollack, looked to Varg and shouted, “Friend, or foe?”

  “Friend!” Varg assured. “My comrades are aiding your men below while I aid you here.”


  “You are a welcome addition to this battle, then. These enemies are relentless,” Tollack said as he dispatched another cultist.

  “Aye, but I can help you stop them,” Varg called.

  Despite his assurance, Varg could see that he and the dwarves were steadily outnumbered. Even with their tough hides and unyielding endurance, the dwarves could not meet the agility of the cultists. Tollack yelled a battle cry and ran forward with his surviving comrades, but the cultists were far too quick for the slow dwarves to land a hit on. Though he hid it well, Varg could tell the chief was becoming weary and wouldn't last in the battle much longer. Varg himself was losing energy quick and could only hope for a way out of the battle.

  Varg knew the only way to defeat such organized enemies was to work closely with the dwarves and come up with a plan. His mind went through everything he knew about the situation and he searched the room for answers. His eyes once again fell on the pools of water in the room, and it was there he found his answer. He swung at the enemy in the path between himself and Tollack and killed him on impact, then ran past his corpse to the chief's side.

  Varg blocked an attack on Tollack's flank, then said out of earshot of the cultists, “Help me get them into the water.”

  “I hope you have a plan,” the dwarf chief answered.

  Despite his apparent doubts, Tollack rallied his comrades as they began to drive the cultists back to the water. The cultists caught on to the plan and tried to resist, but the hardy dwarves kept them at bay. Varg managed to kill another opponent as he ran to their aid. With one last daring move, Varg threw his hand forward and strong, icy gust tossed the remaining cultists into the pool, which then froze solid upon impact.

  After it was quiet once more, the splashes and ripples in the water were frozen in place. Looking into the frozen abyss, Varg could see the still bodies of nearly a dozen cultists. Something inside him remained on edge until the dwarf chief spoke.

  “Incredible . . .” he muttered. “I never thought I would see the power of a jotun in my lifetime.”