Varg then spent the night showing Milea exactly what he wanted the world to know.
As the sun rose and a gentle light poured into Milea's bed chamber, a warmth washed over Varg as Milea brushed her fingers over his bare chest. He smiled without opening his eyes as her hand moved down his abdomen and she leaned over him to kiss him. He entwined his fingers in her hair and pulled her closer.
“I hate to ruin the mood,” she said, “but we should probably get dressed and report to Conley for our mission.”
“Right,” Varg said. He then kissed her again and, still without opening his eyes, added, “Then again, your lips taste too sweet to resist.”
Milea huffed playfully, then kissed him one last time before climbing out of bed. Varg finally opened his eyes to watch her walk over to where they'd discarded their clothes. His traced each and every curve of her fair skin, the way her hair tumbled down her bare back to her hips, the way her breasts hung like perfect orbs as she bent over to gather her tunic and trousers...
Varg's head began to swim. He blinked several times to fight off the effects, but rather than obey his entire body howled in protest. His muscles tightened and his heart raced. He placed a hand over his eyes in an attempt to rebel against whatever had overtaken him to no avail.
“Varg?”
The effects ceased upon hearing Milea's voice, and Varg opened his eyes again. She had pulled on her tunic and trousers and stared at him with her brows furrowed.
“Yes?” he stupidly asked.
“You looked like you were about to have a fit,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” Varg lied as he rubbed his brow.
Rather than question him, Milea said, “Well, I'm sure Conley is waiting for us. We'd best be on our way.”
After Varg was dressed, he left Milea's chambers first after ensuring that no one was in the corridor and would see him leave. He then returned to his bed chamber to gather his equipment before heading to Conley's study. Milea was already there waiting for him, but Conley hadn't yet arrived.
Milea turned to see him as he entered and said, “Conley sent word that he would be another few minutes. We are instructed to wait for his arrival.”
Varg shrugged in response and sat in the chair next to hers. In the silence that followed, Varg's mind couldn't help but drift back to the feeling he got that morning in Milea's bed. The very thought of her body drove him mad again, but he managed to push the urge back into his subconscious, though he made it worse by constantly thinking about his reaction.
“Is everything all right?” she suddenly asked.
Varg jumped, but thankfully she didn't seem to notice. “Yes, I'm fine.”
Before Milea could speak again, the door opened and Conley came into the room.
“Ah, good. You're both here,” he said. “I've just finished up the preparations for your journey. You'll have camping equipment as well as plenty of food, water, and the stable master has saddled up your horses for the journey.”
“Thank you, Conley,” Milea said.
“I know I don't have to tell you to be careful when you arrive at the tower,” Conley said as he walked around the other side of his desk. He then lay his hands flat on the desktop and leaned over and said, “We have no knowledge of what is going on over there, and I fear that the men we sent over there may have met their death out there.”
“We've been in worse situations than this,” Varg said. “We'll find out what's going on and be sure to rescue any survivors.”
“No matter what, get back here and report the status of the tower without fault,” Conley ordered. “I cannot afford to lose the two of you as well.”
Once Varg and Milea made it to the Ironbarrow tower, the commander pointed out the direction of the distress signal, and also told them where the path that led to the tower started from the road. From there it was only a few more hours before they finally could see the tower situated on a hill in a forest clearing.
Varg and Milea tied their horses near a stream, then crept forward towards the edge of the clearing. The tower was roughly fifty feet from their position, and they surveyed the scene before moving forward. Varg moved on the ground and hid within some brush and Milea gracefully climbed up the nearest tree to get a better look.
While in the tree, Milea turned to face Varg on the ground and whispered, “It looks empty now.”
“I figured it would be,” Varg said. “Whatever happened here, whether it was an attack or raid, it happened days ago. No one sticks around that long after doing away with soldiers.”
Milea hopped down from her perch, then said, “Well, we may as well go investigate since there doesn't seem to be anyone here.”
Varg nodded, then the two of them emerged from the clearing in the warm, midday light and marched towards the tower. It was roughly three stories in height and made of rich, thick stone with a large iron door at the front. An Eastwold banner hung undisturbed above the door and a few flags flew at the top, and each floor had long, thin windows all around the structure.
Once they opened the heavy door and stepped inside, they found a table set up on the left side with food still in place. Though the bread had grown mold and the meat was infested with flies, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were weapons and supplies set up on the other side of the room.
“It almost seems like they just got up and left,” Milea said in disbelief. “I can't see any signs of a struggle, a mass murder, or even a robbery.”
“You're right,” Varg said, “They're just...gone.”
Varg took another look around, then looked back to Milea and said, “Maybe if we search on the upper floors?”
Milea shook her head and said, “I doubt it would make a difference. Whatever took place here was covered up carefully.”
“Yes, but in my experience, people always make some kind of mistake. You just have to know how to look for it,” Varg said as he started for the stairs to his right.
On the second floor, there were cots set up along the wall with the blankets undisturbed and everyone's belongings still in place, such as spare clothing and satchels that lay on the floor next to several of the cots. A map of Fellen lay across a desk along with a bottle of ink, some quills, and a few letters. Varg and Milea thought the letters might hold a clue, but after meticulously combing through each one they could find, they found only a few letters to guards from their family members as well as an order to Eastwold requesting supplies that had never been sent.
Discouraged but not deterred, Varg and Milea then climbed up the stairs again which continued all the way to the roof. There they found another table with bows and quivers scattered across it, and a pile of firewood lying next to it. A large torch sat in the middle of the roof, which was currently unlit. It was covered by a stone canopy, which had a latched iron trap door at the top for allowing smoke to escape when they needed to make a signal.
Varg examined the torch, and then he said, “This must be how they sent the smoke signal, but it doesn't look like it's been lit for several days.”
Milea's brow furrowed. “Conley told me that all guard towers in Fellen have these fire pits to deliver signals in case of an emergency. They're supposed to be lit at all times, no matter the weather. If what you say is true and there hasn't been a fire for quite some time, then it's safe to assume that this tower has been abandoned for several days.”
“And we still have no clue as to what happened to the soldiers,” Varg lamented.
“Maybe we should head to Eastwold and speak with the Duke,” Milea suggested. “Perhaps he can help aid in the search.”
“I suppose,” Varg said.
They then returned to the stairwell empty-handed and marched down the stairs to the ground floor. About halfway down, Varg shook his head and said, “I just can't understand how there can be no trace of the soldiers whatsoever. No one just disappears like that, especially not more than a dozen men at once.”
“Whatever the case,” Milea said as
she lingered behind him, “the Duke should be able to send more men to scour the area while we get to the bottom of things. We can also send word to Conley when we get to town.”
Varg reached the bottom of the stairs and waited until Milea was at his side, then the two of them walked to the door together.
Varg opened the door and said, “I just hope this trip to Eastwold isn't like the last time-”
Before Varg could finish, an arrow flew past his face and smashed against the iron door. He drew Frost Fang while Milea drew her weapons as well and they both searched for the shooter. That was when they saw an armada of Eastwold soldiers barreling towards them. Another flurry of arrows came hurdling down towards them, so Varg and Milea deftly retreated into the tower as the arrows struck the outside. When they looked back, several of the arrows now pierced the very ground where they'd stood merely precious seconds before.
Varg brandished his axe and ran outside. The soldiers surrounded the tower with their weapons drawn and arrows nocked. Milea joined Varg's side and held out her own bow readied with an arrow as Varg held Frost Fang in a defensive posture. They scanned the crowd desperately for answers, but then Milea finally spoke.
“Hold your fire, soldiers! It's us, Varg and Milea. We saved Duke Rainald and the rest of the royal family,” she shouted.
“We know who you are,” one of the soldiers said, “and by order of the ruler of Eastwold, you are both under arrest!”
“Under arrest?” Varg spat with a shake of his head. “Why would the Duke order our arrest?”
“Because the Duke gave no such order.”
The voice that spoke seemed oddly familiar to Varg, and even before he saw the speaker emerge from behind the line of soldiers, he knew who it was.
“Alastor!” Varg barked.
Alastor Rainald, the traitor son of the Duke of Eastwold, stepped towards Varg and Milea with a malicious smile. He adorned a full set of black armor with a green cape in the back, and his large black sword that he used to wound Varg was strapped to his side. He held out his armored hands at his sides and said, “I'm afraid that Duke Rainald is no longer able to perform his duties, so I have graciously stepped in to take his place.”
Milea lowered her bow, but did not release her arrow, and said, “You betrayed your family to the Shadow Hand; how in the world can you be in charge of Eastwold?”
Alastor laughed, then lowered his arms and answered, “You'll find I can be quite persuasive. It didn't take long to find enough followers who were sick of my father's rule and wanted a more...lucrative change. All I have to do is turn a blind eye to a few of their dealings and they will ensure that no one disrupts my rule.”
“You dog,” Varg cursed, “you aren't worth the ground you walk on.”
Alastor snickered, causing Varg to nearly chop the smug bastard's head off. Then the disgraced noble took a few steps forward, drew his black sword, and said, “You have two choices: the two of you can either stand down and surrender to my men here, or we can surround you and kill you on the spot. It's your choice.”
“We don't surrender, and we won't be dying today either,” Varg said, holding up Frost Fang.
Alastor let out an exasperated sigh as though this whole ordeal was nothing more than dealing with a spoiled child to him. He then shook his head and uttered, “Why do you and Conley always have to make things more difficult for me?”
“Don't act like you're the victim here,” Milea remarked. “You tried to have your own family murdered so you could usurp the throne, then you fled before you could be brought to justice. Now you've taken your old home and done who knows what to the Duke and the people of Eastwold, and you have the nerve to get mad at us for making your life so hard? You can forget taking us alive, Alastor Rainald, and you can bet that as long as we draw breath, we will make every last day of your life one fight after another.”
Alastor smiled. “Well I suppose if you aren't going to go peacefully, then I shouldn't disappoint you. Men, let's show these meddlers what happens to those who oppose Alastor Rainald.”
The soldiers readied their weapons and charged forward with a collective war cry, but Varg was ready for them. Varg made a wide, sideways swing with his axe while Milea covered him with a torrent of arrows. Those who hadn't been knocked back were either struck by an arrow or slashed across the chest by Frost Fang's blade, their wounds freezing before they could bleed out. The ice spread over their bodies until they were nothing but a solid mass of ice on the battlefield.
Those lucky few who avoided Varg's initial swing now attempted to swarm him from the left side. Varg simply allowed the momentum from his initial swing to keep going and spin him around. The axe sliced through them like a hot knife through butter, and when the last body fell, Varg fixed his gaze on Alastor.
Alastor simply scoffed. “I might have guessed that those pitiful fools would be too easy for you.”
Varg pointed Frost Fang directly at Alastor, his arm not even flinching under the weapon's tremendous weight. With an icy flash of his silver eyes, Varg allowed a smile to form at the corner of his mouth as he replied, “You disappoint me, Alastor. You should have known better than to underestimate us.”
Alastor smiled. “And you should have known better than to assume I did.” He then lifted his ungloved hand to his lips and whistled.
A moment later, Varg felt the ground tremble beneath his feet and looked behind Alastor to see why. A wave of green-clad soldiers from Eastwold poured into the clearing with their weapons drawn. What's more, they came on all sides, even their flank. Even at their best, he and Milea could never have taken that many soldiers on their own.
Milea must have shared his fears, for she then turned to him and shouted, “Run!”
Varg nodded and the two of them sprinted in the opposite direction towards the line of soldiers that came upon their flank. Varg raised his hands and a swarm of ice shot from his fingertips and carved a path that arced over the soldiers and landed on the other side of the clearing. He grabbed Milea by her waist and leaped onto the arc, but instead of running the ice propelled his feet along the top of and over to the other side. He landed in the grass behind the soldiers, released his hold on Milea, and the two raced towards the edge of the clearing.
Varg and Milea bounded through the edge of trees into the forest, now under a canopy of trees to help hide them from their pursuers.
“Jump up into the trees,” Varg shouted, without taking his eyes off of where he was running, “you can hide better up there.”
“I'm not leaving you,” he heard Milea say from the left. “Separating would be a bad idea anyway.”
“Then we need a plan to lose them, fast,” Varg shouted. He then heard the trees behind them rustling and new their pursuers were getting close. “Now, if at all possible.”
“Why do I have to come up with the plan? Why can't you?” Milea spat.
Varg hurdled over a fallen tree trunk and nearly lost his footing on the steep landing, but corrected himself and kept going. “If I could think of anything, don't you think I would have come up with something by now?”
Varg heard a deafening whistle as an arrow flew past his cheek and struck the nearest tree.
“Maybe...if we keep...changing direction?” Milea panted. “We would have to...lose them eventually.”
Another arrow soared over Varg's head. “They're too close. They might catch up if we change direction.”
Milea struggled for breath, then said, “Well what do you sugges—VARG!”
Varg fell forward down a steep embankment that had been hidden by an overgrowth of bushes in their path. His body struck every stone, root, and bush as he continued his chaotic descent down the steep hill. It wasn't until he fell into a pile of brush at the bottom that he finally realized what had happened.
At first he could feel nothing, but a blinding pain shot through his body the second he tried to move. He nearly blacked out when he allowed himself to breathe, and thought he did at first, for when he reali
zed that he was on his back, he felt like he'd been passed out for several hours. Milea calling his name was the only thing that brought him back to reality.
Varg cried out as he lifted his head to find where Milea had gone. The brush covered him in shadow, and with the canopy of trees just above him, he suspected that if one hadn't known where to look, they wouldn't be able to see him. Milea now stood on the edge of a small cliff some fifty feet above him, and he thanked his lucky stars that he even survived such a fall.
“VARG!” Milea called, desperately scanning the brush for any signs of movement.
The initial shock of his injuries prevented him from uttering more than a small cry, so Varg had no way of responding to Milea's desperate cries. He was then horrified to see Eastwold soldiers surrounding her at the edge of the cliff.
The half-elf attempted to defend herself, but before she could so much as raise her fists, the soldiers swarmed her in a wave of green and silver and bound her by her arms. The soldiers then dragged her off into the forest as she continued to struggle against their grasp.
Varg tried to scream or call out to her, but all that came out was an agonizing yelp as his chest hurt too much to move or even breathe. He fought through the pain and lifted himself up with his arms. They didn't feel broken, but the pressure in his ribs sent shots of pain throughout his chest and knocked the air out of his lungs. He suffered through the pain and pulled himself to his feet.
Varg's ankle was sprained, he was certain, several muscles and ligaments had been pulled, and he had between ten and twenty fresh wounds where the sharp areas of the slope had cut his legs, torso, and arms. He could also see a streak of red staining his white hair out of the corner of his eye. He put his fingers to his face and felt blood trickling down the side of his forehead. After standing in place for several seconds, he dared to take a step.
Though he experienced yet another wave of pain with each step he took, Varg urged himself to keep moving back up the embankment. He pushed the agony to the back of his mind as he climbed up as quickly as he could so he could find Milea.
The Crystal Wood (Half-Breed Book 2) Page 3