The Crystal Wood (Half-Breed Book 2)

by Brittany Comeaux

  Milea thrashed and spat every profanity she could think of as she struggled to break free from her captors' hold. They laughed and jeered at her attempts, but it only fueled her anger. The soldiers dragged her back to the clearing, where Alastor and the rest of the soldiers waited for them. He smiled as they brought her to face him, but she just scowled enough to burn a hole in his head.

  “Well now, where is your dear friend the Wolf?” Alastor mused. “Ah no matter, we'll find him eventually.”

  As he watched Milea struggle, Alastor reached for her belt and removed her sword, then ordered the men to remove her bow and quiver. He stared at her, unarmed, but he was still dissatisfied.

  “Hold her still while I search her,” Alastor ordered.

  Milea trembled with rage as Alastor patted her down starting with her legs and moving up, intentionally touching places that even she wouldn't dare hide a weapon. She attempted to kick him, but the soldiers quickly responded by holding her legs in place as Alastor's hands then moved up her torso and touched her chest.

  When he came to a hard spot in her vest, he then stopped and said, “Hello, what's this?”

  Alastor reached into Milea's vest and to her horror, he pulled out an old dagger that she kept in a secret sheath that was sewn into the space that rested between her breasts. He held it up and examined the blade, which was covered in nicks and discoloration from old age. The hilt was wrapped with old, worn leather, but Milea recalled how it always felt so natural in her hand, in her father's hands.

  “Thought you could hide this, could you?” Alastor said.

  “Give that back! That was my father's!” Milea cried.

  She pushed forward with all her might, but despite managing to move a few inches forward against the tugging and pulling of the Eastwold soldiers, Milea was unable to reach her cherished heirloom. Then, just to mock her, Alastor held the old dagger in front of her face, just inches from her nose.

  “Oh, you mean this old thing? Such a pity that all he left you was this rusted piece of junk,” Alastor mused.

  The soldiers laughed and Milea trembled with rage again and as she fought back tears in her eyes, she barked, “That dagger means nothing to you. It's all I have left of my father!”

  “Well you probably should have taken better care of it,” Alastor said as he placed the dagger in his belt. “Otherwise it wouldn't have fallen into an enemy's hands.”

  Alastor turned away as Milea's head dropped from shame and defeat. She fought back tears again and she barely heard him say to the soldiers, “You men go and look for the Wolf. The rest of you, follow me and take the prisoner to Eastwold. As soon as her companion joins her, we will have them both executed.”

  The soldiers obeyed and marched forward with Milea in tow. She could only pray to Laelith that Varg was unharmed and that he would be able to evade the soldiers and get back to Conley with the news, but she knew he'd be too stupid to go without her. Dread filled her heart as she thought of him rushing after her and getting caught while trying to rescue her, rather than worry about his own safety.

  She didn't blame him, of course, for she knew she'd do the same for him.

  Varg stumbled to his feet as he finally reached the top of the embankment. Though he wanted to fall onto his back and lay there until he could catch his breath again, he knew he had to move quickly to not only avoid any soldiers that were still in the area, but he also had to find Milea. He had no idea how he was going to rescue her in his condition, but he refused to allow her to be harmed by the likes of Alastor or his lackeys.

  After forcing his feet to move forward, Varg gasped with every step he took. He moved at an agonizingly slow rate, but despite his efforts, he could only drag his feet one at a time. He kept a sharp eye out and stayed in the thickest patches of the forest to avoid being caught off guard, when he heard the sound of clanking chain mail and men shouting to each other.

  “Check this way,” someone shouted. “He couldn't have gone far.”

  Varg held his breath and quickly searched for a hiding place. He found a tree with the roots coming up from the ground to form a hole a the bottom barely big enough to fit him, so he shuffled to the ground and crawled inside. Though his aching ribs and legs made him wince, he stayed quiet and tucked his whole body under the tree and waited for the soldiers to pass.

  As he controlled his breathing and shut his eyes, Varg heard footsteps just behind where he was sitting on the side of the tree where the gap wasn't exposed. It was two men, by the sound of it, and there were more a moderate distance away. They were speaking, so Varg breathed as slowly as he could to try and listen.

  “How could we possibly have lost him? He's six and a half feet tall, has snow white hair, and carries a giant axe on his back; that kind of man is hard to miss,” one of the men complained.

  “He's the White Wolf, remember? He's known for all his adventures and feats of strength and catching criminals and whatnot. I'm pretty certain he hasn't gotten this far in life if he was easy to catch when the tables were turned,” the other replied.

  Varg smirked and winced from the pain afterward.

  The other soldier scoffed, then said, “I just want to catch the bastard and get back to Eastwold with the others so we can watch both of the prisoners get executed. It's too bad they get to bring the elf back without us. She's a pretty one...”

  The men laughed, then walked off into the distance. Varg thanked his lucky stars that they weren't very thorough, otherwise they would have caught him. Once he could no longer hear the griping and joking of the soldiers that were looking for him, he climbed out of his hiding place and, using the direction of the sun to guide him, headed east.

  Though he was still crippled with pain and his body ached for healing and rest, Varg didn't allow himself to stop as long as Milea was still in danger.

  CHAPTER 4

  Despite his injuries, Varg managed to reach the city of Eastwold by the time night had fallen. He lucked out and found an inn in the forest on his way there and spotted a horse tied up outside. He made sure no one could see him and hopped onto the horse, then took off towards the city. Once the gates came into view, he idled the horse on the edge of the forest and contemplated his next move.

  Varg knew he wouldn't be able to just walk right into the city without drawing attention to himself. For one thing, his injuries no doubt required medical attention and the blood would alert everyone, but on top of that his name carried far too much weight throughout Fellen to go unnoticed. It was one of the many drawbacks of his reputation, and he knew that in order to rescue Milea, he would have to be more discreet.

  He spotted a merchant cart near the stables, which wasn't that far from the forest line. The cart had been parked off to the side of the stable, and fortunately the back was facing the back of the stable, where no one was keeping an eye on it. Varg dismounted from the horse, winced from the pain in his ankle, and faced it in the direction leading ahead of the stable. After a deep breath, he slapped the horses behind as hard as he could. The horse galloped right in front of the stables and caught the attention of everyone there, particularly after his reins caught hold of a hay cart and dragged it through the grass across the field. The stable hands chased after the horse while the merchant scurried away towards the city, leaving the cart completely unguarded.

  As Varg made his way to the cart, his whole body fell against the wooden frame. He gasped through the pain, held his breath, and quickly searched through the contents. He pulled out a long, brown hooded cloak from one of the crates on the right side of the cart and wrapped it around his shoulders. He pulled the hood over his eyes and kept his head low, confident that no one would see his injuries or abnormal features. He then found a few sheets, which he then used to hastily wrap Frost Fang to conceal it.

  After he was dressed, Varg then replaced the covering on the cart just as he heard the workers returning from catching the horse. He limped away behind the stable and spotted some discarded wood on the ground. One piece
was long, thin, and sturdy, and resembled a walking cane. He snatched the stick and tested his weight on it, then once he was satisfied, he hunched over and made his way to the city gates.

  Varg was able to walk right through the front gate behind a group of people. Even though he received a few strange looks, people were either too afraid or too disgusted to look at him for more than a fleeting glance. Varg presumed that he probably came across as an old beggar, and thanked his luck that people were normally repulsed by them. However, it didn't take long for him to realize that the guards weren't ignoring him solely based on his appearance.

  The people of Eastwold who weren't already hiding in their homes with the windows bolted shut were scampering away from the prying guards, though few were unfortunate enough to get caught in their way. Varg happened to glance down an alley and witness a group of guards, four grown men, assaulting an old man and taking the gold out of his vest.

  Varg stopped in his tracks; he wanted to help the old man, but he couldn't risk blowing his cover unless it meant life or death. Seeing this injustice and doing nothing, however, brought bad memories of his days as a highwayman flooding back to Varg, and the deep seeded regret of killing innocent men who only defended themselves, some of which had never lifted blades in their lives. He almost forgot his mission and rushed to help the old man, but stopped when the guards left him alone in the alley, shaken but alive.

  Varg heaved a sigh of relief and continued walking before the guards saw him staring at them. Better turn your back on a theft than a murder, he thought, though trying to justify standing idly in the face of injustice didn't bring him any solace.

  As he came closer to the castle gate, Varg saw something that, if the soldiers terrorizing the citizens of Ironbarrow didn't keep them in check, would certainly do the trick. Several bloody, severed heads were impaled on freshly carved wooden spikes just above the castle wall. Directly above the gate sat the head of a man Varg only saw once, but knew the face well enough. Staring down at anyone who dared to object to Alastor's right to rule was the rotting, lifeless face of the late Duke Rainald.

  Varg stopped in his tracks and faced the ground, trembling with rage. Even though Varg didn't personally know the man, such a sight was enough to fuel his rage to the point where he fantasized about tearing Alastor's head off with his bare hands. He could only imagine what else such a vindictive, cruel man was capable of, but he quickly brushed the thought aside and came back to reality long enough to focus on the task at hand.

  He picked up his pace again, then peeked out from under his hood to survey the scene ahead. There were more guards securing the gate than there was during their last trip, which came as no surprise. Getting in that way wasn't an option, injuries or no injuries. It wouldn't take long for someone to recognize him, and at that point he could forget about any opportunity to get Milea out of that dreaded place, at least not unscathed. Instead, Varg ducked into a nearby alley that was emptier than the street that led to the gate, and then he turned down another path just ahead that came out just in front of the wall surrounding the castle.

  Everywhere Varg searched, the wall was either too high for him to climb, or a guard patrolled along the outside of the wall to watch for any intruders. Varg silently gave Alastor credit for his thoroughness, but cursed his name in the same breath.

  As Varg hobbled his way to the city's edge, where the castle wall intersected with the city wall, he spotted a tree that had been planted with a small patch of green grass and surrounded by a little fence, which was maybe about a foot high. The tree was still a sapling, for even it's highest branch came at least a few feet short of touching the top of the wall. Varg wouldn't have given it a second glance if it hadn't been for the flash of torch light that caught his eye. Behind the tree, obscured from view, there appeared to be some kind of gap in the wall, no doubt another gate, and Varg attributed the torch light to a passing guard making his rounds in the small corner of the castle yard.

  Varg decided to take his chances with the gate. He limped to the tree and used its branches and shadow to conceal himself as he examined the gate. It was locked, but he expected as much. He peered through he bars and saw the torchlight fading from view. He quickly produced his pick and knife and set to work on the lock. Though he was by no means a professional thief or infiltrator, it didn't take long for the old tumblers to give way and allow the intruder to ease the gate open.

  Varg winced as the old, rusted metal creaked open. He shut his eyes and waited for the sounds of shouting guards and hurried footsteps getting closer, but when he didn't hear anyone coming to investigate the noise, he crept inside and shut the gate again.

  Varg made his way over to the nearest garden hedges and ducked behind them. He was about three or four feet from the wall and cast in shadow as the torch light grew again, then the scraping of the guard's heels indicated that he was turning around again and the light dimmed once again. Varg looked to his right and continued along the hedge's length, stopping every once and a while to catch his breath. He came closer and closer to the castle itself as he moved along the city wall and spotted a door where the wall met the castle. Though he had no idea where it would lead, he decided it was his best option at getting inside.

  Varg limped to the door and pressed his body up against the frame. He then tested the latch and wasn't surprised to find it locked. He was just about to decide how to get in when he heard a rough voice shout, “What are you doing here?”

  Varg turned as quickly as his aching body allowed him and he came face to face with a guard holding a weapon to his head.

  “Show me your hands,” the guard shouted, a bit louder than Varg expected. That was when he heard another set of footprints coming his way, followed by more shouting coming from that direction.

  “I said show me your hands!” the guard repeated.

  Varg gripped his makeshift cane as hard as he could and then brought it upward straight for the guard's head. The old piece of wood slammed into the side of his helmet and knocked him to the ground and splitting the stick in half.

  The guard's blade broke away from his hand and skidded across the cobblestone ground. Varg retrieved it and readied the sword in his good hand. He waited for the other guards to show up since he didn't have enough time to run. The guards came running around the corner of the hedges with their weapons drawn and pointed straight at Varg. There were three in total, and they all shouted orders for him to stand down, but he was already charging for them while ignoring the pain in his ankle. He brought the sword around and parried with the first guard to meet him. He swung again and disarmed the guard, then knocked him to the ground with his elbow before dispatching the last two.

  With the men moaning on the ground, Varg decided they wouldn't be a threat as long as he needed to be in the castle, but he then heard more shouting off in the distance, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be surrounded. He lifted one of the barely conscious guards by the collar of his uniform and said, “Where is the female prisoner that Alastor and his troops returned with?”

  The guard lifted his weary head and Varg noticed a trail of blood coming from his nose under his helmet. He then painfully muttered, “I'll...never...tell...you-”

  Varg drove his fist into the guard's nose and his knee into his stomach. He then slammed the guard's body against the stone wall and held him about a foot off the ground.

  “TELL ME,” he growled.

  The guard whimpered, then gasped, “S-she's in the dungeon. If you go through that door,” he then gestured to the door Varg had previously eyed with a jerk of his head, “you'll find the storage area, then the basement just below there. The dungeon is down the hall through the barracks from the basement and armory.”

  Varg lowered the guard and let him fall onto the ground with a hard thud. He marched over to the door, stepping over the other guards along the way. When he reached the door Varg delivered a hard kick to the center, breaking it off its hinges and knocking it to the gr
ound.

  Pain jolted through Varg's leg, but he ignored it and stepped through the broken door frame, stepping on the door as he did so. He made his way through the storage area and through another dark corridor just as he heard the guards closing in on his position.

  Milea heard the shouts of guards running through the halls outside of her cell, but their voices were too distant and muffled to make out anything they were saying. It was too dark to see save for the light coming through the bars of her cell door. She pressed her body against the iron to try and listen for anything that might indicated what the commotion was about.

  Just then, the door to the prison opened and one of the guards came in. He approached the cell door and stood in front of it, just staring at Milea.

  In an effort to break the uncomfortable silence, Milea asked, “What's going on outside?”

  The guard simply smiled and said, “Oh, nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  To Milea's surprise, he then produced an old key ring and unlocked her cell door, but before she could make a break for it, he stepped inside and slammed the door behind him. He edged closer to her and said, “I couldn't help but notice what a pretty little thing you are. It would be a shame for you to stay locked up in here without a little...company.”

  Milea narrowed her gaze. “Get away from me.”

  The guard laughed and kept moving towards her until she was backed up against the wall. Sensing he had an advantage, the guard lunged at her, but she spun to the left and avoided his grasp. He landed against the wall with a thud, and then bounded off and chased after her. Milea was quick, though, and she was able to dodge him again, but this wouldn't last forever, and both of them knew it.

  “Sit still and it'll be over quick,” he said with a laugh.

  Instead of dodging, Milea charged him. She delivered a swift punch to his nose and then brought her leg around and landed her foot square in his chest. She felt his chest rattle until her boot. The guard coughed and gasped for air as he tumbled backwards, and she could tell by the look on his face that he knew she wouldn't be an easy target.