Milea smiled. “Varg, I would love for you to come. I always love traveling with you. It's just that there is no way I can think of that you can get past the barrier.”
“But what about your father?” Varg pointed out. “If he was able to make it through, perhaps I could find a way too.”
Milea shrugged. “No one knows how my father got in. He claims he did nothing except walk right through, so it was speculated that he may have had elf blood in his family like Oliva does—actually, that gives me an idea. If my father did in fact have enough elf blood in him to get past the barrier, then perhaps I could use some of mine to help you, Varg.”
“How?” Varg asked.
“Perhaps if I were to lend you some of my blood, you could fool the barrier and walk into the Crystal Wood as though you were an elf,” Milea explained.
Varg raised an eyebrow. “Lend me your blood?”
“I could draw enough blood and...well, give it to you somehow,” Milea said. “I know that sounds a bit silly, but it's the only thing I can think of.”
“It's worth a shot,” Varg replied. “If it doesn't work, then I'll just wait for you outside.”
Milea gave him an incredulous look. “You're going to camp outside of the Crystal Wood for days, even weeks and wait for me to return?”
“Well of course it sounds crazy when you say it like that,” Varg mused.
They both chuckled, then sat in silence watching water trickle gracefully from the fountain just ahead of them. A gentle wind came through the garden and provided a soft melody to accompany the blissful scene. Milea felt at peace again, especially with Varg there by her side, and soon she couldn't help but feel a certain longing for him to always be there.
“Either way, I'd be willing to try it,” Milea said. It occurred to her in that moment just how much she wanted for him to go.
“So would I,” Varg said.
CHAPTER 7
As morning found its way to Ironbarrow, Conley gathered everyone once again in his study. He stood ready in his silver armor with a long, dark blue cape and his sword at his side. Catrina stood to his right with her hands folded neatly in front of her while they both stood in front of Conley's desk. Varg, Milea, Oliva, Tain, and Erril all crowded around to listen.
After clearing his throat, Conley finally spoke, “Today we are going to show Alastor and the Shadow Hand that Ironbarrow is not to be trifled with. Each of you has your duties; Erril, you will bring a message to King Reman warning him about the invasion and requesting aid for Ironbarrow. Oliva and Tain, you will be with me on the front. Oliva can act as healer as well as our primary battle mage and Tain can help break the enemy lines. Catrina has already volunteered to stay in Ironbarrow to keep things running and lead the guards to protect the townspeople should the worst come to pass. Varg and Milea, you will travel to the Crystal Wood, where you will both try to obtain information about the key to the Crystal Wood.
“The rest of my men have been briefed and they are getting ready to march as we speak. This is may be Ironbarrow's darkest hour, but I am confident in the abilities of all of you as well as my own troops. I need all of you to watch out for each other and take care of yourselves as well. Don't put yourselves in any unnecessary danger, because I need all of you alive and unharmed to be able to pull this off.”
Oliva was the first to speak. “Don't worry, Uncle Conley. We won't let you down. I will make sure that your men stay healthy and I'll use my magic to keep the enemy line back as long as possible.”
Tain simply stood next to her with a stoic frown, but he nodded in acknowledgment of Oliva's promise all the same.
“If I've survived this long on my own,” Erril said, “I can pull this off easily. I'll get to Whitspire in plenty of time to send help.”
“Though I worry what kind of resistance we may face once we meet with the elves, I can promise that we won't stop until we find the answers we need to bring down the Shadow Hand,” Milea said.
Varg then spoke, “We're all in this now, and there's no turning back for either of us. We're in it until the Shadow Hand, Jin, and Alastor are gone from Fellen forever.”
Conley smiled. “That's what I like to hear. Now everyone get to your posts. We move out as soon as preparations are complete.”
Less than an hour had passed before Varg and Milea were on horseback heading for the Ironbarrow gates from the keep.
The news of the invasion had evidently spread like wildfire throughout the city, for everyone Varg could see scrambled throughout the streets to get supplies ready for the worst case scenario. The market stands were busier than ever full of people stocking up on food and other necessities. The blacksmith's hammer hummed as he worked on a sword, and Varg could see that there wasn't a single space on the wall behind him that didn't have a weapon attached to it.
They finally reached the gate, where the guards were a bit less lenient about who went through than they normally were. They still allowed Varg and Milea to pass, but they were careful to watch for anyone else who might try to sneak out behind them.
Once down the path, Varg commented, “Security is certainly tighter than usual.”
“I overheard Conley saying that they're checking for any suspicious characters entering or leaving the city, just in case Alastor has any spies in place,” Milea explained.
“Clever,” Varg said.
They then stopped at the end of the road leading from the city gate, which forked three different ways. The first path led north to Whitspire, the second east to Eastwold, and the third south to the border.
“You said that the Crystal Wood was south of Fellen, correct?” Varg asked as they stood at the crossroads.
“Yes, past the mountain range. We have to go through the canyon, then keep going through the land south of there, then travel southwest until we find the forest. The entrance is tricky to find, but I think I remember how to get to it,” Milea explained. “Altogether, I'd say it's about a five to six day journey. Four if we limit our stops.”
With that, they began to move down the southern path. A little ways down, Varg spoke again.
“Let's not push ourselves too hard,” Varg said. “We need to keep ourselves rested and ready, because if I remember that canyon you mentioned well enough, I remember that it's a haven for criminals. Even merchants know not to go through that valley without plenty of hired muscle.”
“You say that as though you know from personal experience,” Milea said. “Have you ever worked for a caravan?”
“Once,” Varg said, “and it was enough. Even someone as seasoned as me had it rough out there, with only myself and two other men guarding one merchant. I was the only hired hand that made it out of that canyon alive.”
“The criminals were that tough?” Milea asked.
“Tough doesn't even begin to describe them,” Varg said. “The criminals there are highly organized and very well equipped, since they've had their pick of many an inexperienced traveler to rob. Of course, their skill is dwarfed by their sheer numbers. If it had only been a small cluster of simple highwaymen here and there, it would have made for a dull journey. These criminals know how to work in groups that rival armies, and they never leave empty-handed. The merchant I worked for was lucky enough to escape that valley with most of his merchandise, but his stock still took quite a hit.”
“Well between the two of us, I think we can handle them,” Milea said.
“Perhaps, but I say we still proceed with the utmost caution nonetheless,” Varg replied.
“We just have to keep our heads and we'll be fine,” Milea assured. “Besides, with you having my back and me having yours, we're unstoppable.”
Varg grinned, but didn't take his eyes off the road as he muttered, “You aren't wrong.”
After receiving word that she could meet her Ironbarrow contact inside, Zita descended the stairs that led into a tavern just below the ground. The smell of smoke from a pipe assaulted her nostrils and clouded her vision as she reached the bottom of
the steps. Even without the smoke, the dimly lit room was hardly visible as it was, which is no doubt why the tavern had a reputation for less than reputable types. It took some time to find her contact for that reason, but she finally saw him close to the center of the room dressed in miner's clothing and drinking a pint of mead.
Zita approached the table, smiled, and said, “Excuse me Sir, might I join you for the evening?”
The man, pale with dark hair and barely older than she was, smiled back and said, “I'd be honored, kind lady.”
Once Zita sat down and they made sure that no one was listening, Zita turned to him and said, “Shouldn't we move towards the back or the corner so that no one will hear us?”
The man took a gulp of mead, then answered, “The corner or the back is where one would expect criminals to meet. No one would expect anyone to conduct secret business in the middle of a crowded room.”
Zita saw his point. “Clever.”
“Of course it is,” the man said. “Now I presume you're here for information?”
“That's right,” Zita replied. “You said your man in Ironbarrow had some information on the mark?”
The man nodded. “He send word not long ago that this morning, a certain wolf and his elf friend left Ironbarrow and started south on horseback. By the amount they packed, it looks like they're expecting a long journey.”
Zita raised an eyebrow. “South? But there isn't anything south of Fellen that they would be interested in, except...”
She thought for a moment, then said to herself, “No...why would they go there?”
“Whatever the reason, they're heading south,” the man reiterated. “In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if they've already passed through here.”
“He didn't,” Zita replied. “Believe me, you would know if the White Wolf came through your town, no matter how big it is.”
“Fair enough, but he and his friend could be avoiding towns to avoid that kind of attention, which also makes him more difficult to keep track of.”
Zita frowned. “You don't think you'll be able to keep track of him?”
“I said difficult, not impossible,” the man replied. “All the Serpent has to do is give the word and we will watch the White Wolf like a hawk.”
“Good, then that's precisely what I want you to do,” Zita said. “I need every available eye on him until I catch up to him.”
“Catch up to him?” the contact asked.
“Yes, I'm going to take my horse and follow his trail,” Zita explained. “If he's going where I think he's going, then I don't have any time to waste.”
“I see. Very well then, I'll have my fellow operatives keep every eye and ear out for the Wolf,” the man said. “Long live the Serpent.”
“Long live the Serpent,” she repeated, “and may he lead the worthy to the Dawn.”
By morning the day after Varg and Milea had set out, they could see the cliffs past the border of Fellen on the horizon. After packing their camp equipment, they set out once again with the cliffs in their direct line of sight, at least when their vision wasn't being obscured by the trees of the forest. By the end of the day, the green lands of Fellen melded into the arid, rocky plains of the southern land.
They stopped once more for the night just shy of the border so that they could make as much progress as possible the next day. The next morning, they reached the border checkpoint and presented the papers to the patrolmen given to them by the Count, and then they were on their way into this new, dangerous land.
The cliffs were soon surrounding them on both sides as Varg and Milea made their way through the canyon. They both tread lightly and kept their guard up at all times so as not to be ambushed by marauders. The desert-like condition of the canyon betrayed nothing of what lie within its chasms, but Varg knew better than to take their safety for granted.
As though she could read his thoughts, Milea suddenly said, “It's far too quiet out here. One could go mad from it.”
“Keep your guard up,” Varg warned. “I have a feeling that the peace won't last.”
As if on cue, the piercing sound of something thin whistled through the air in Varg's direction, and before he realized what it was, he was launched sideways into the dirt. He landed hard and his horse fell beside him, just coming short of crushing his legs. Milea's horse bucked as she struggled to keep from falling off herself, but Varg's attention was focused on the arrow protruding from his horse's neck.
“Milea, run!” Varg screeched as he hopped to his feet and leaped onto the back of her horse.
With the shock of its partner falling dead and the large man hopping onto its back, the horse took off so fast that Varg had to throw his arms around Milea's waist to keep from falling off.
Varg soon heard the whistling again, this time from several arrows coming from different directions. The horse shifted from side to side under Milea's guidance and avoided the rain of arrows, which Varg could now see were coming from atop the cliffs. Once he was sitting more securely, Varg used his left arm to form a shield out of pure ice that was nearly as long as he was tall and about half as wide.
“Move to the base of the cliff on the right,” Varg ordered.
Milea did as instructed and pulled her horse's reins to the right, positioning them just below the cliff on that side. Varg then held the ice shield out to their left to block the flurry of arrows coming from that direction. The arrows barely nicked the surface of the ice and most of them snapped the second they hit. It didn't take long for the arrows to stop, and Varg heaved a sigh of relief that they were past the ambush.
Or so he thought.
Just as they came to a clearing where the cliffs rounded in a circular pattern, the horse suddenly skidded to a stop and bucked again. This time, Varg and Milea weren't prepared for the horse's reaction and they were both thrown off. Varg instinctively put his shielded arm out to catch himself, and by the time he thought to correct the mistake, it was too late.
Varg landed on his left arm and felt it snap as the ice shield shattered under his weight. The blinding pain that followed made his ears ring so loud he couldn't hear his own screaming. He was quite sure it was broken, and this was confirmed when he foolishly looked at it and saw that it was bent in a way it shouldn't have been. Thankfully he could see Milea a few feet away, apparently unharmed as she quickly scuffled to her feet. The sound of approaching footsteps made Varg do the same, though it took every ounce of his willpower to ignore the pain in his arm as he pushed himself up with his good one. Once they were both on their feet, they saw what had spooked the horse.
A group of at least six heavily armed men had surrounded them. Each of them was wearing padded leather or fur armor, and all of them carried a wide selection of knives, swords, and bows. Several of the men reined in the horse while the rest edged closer to the vulnerable pair.
Varg drew Frost Fang, but could only hold it up with one hand. Milea in turn drew her sword and took a defensive stance. This didn't deter their attackers, which came as no surprise, but instead seemed to egg them on.
“Well well, what have we here?” one of the bandits asked. Judging by the thicker armor and better weapons, he was likely the leader of this gang. “A couple of travelers lost in the canyon?”
“Get out of our way,” Milea warned him.
This resulted in jeers and “oohs” from the men, and a few even whistled at her, sending ice through Varg's veins.
“Is that any way to treat your host?” the bandit leader asked. “After all, sweetheart, you're in our house.”
“And we'll be leaving once you get out of our way,” Milea hissed.
“She's a fiesty one,” one of the other bandits laughed.
“Now now,” the leader said, attempting to calm the leering and cheering bandits, “let's not get off track. We have business to conduct, after all.”
“I have a hunch that your 'business' isn't what we had in mind,” Varg said.
“Oh it's simple, really,” the bandit leader s
aid. “All you have to do is hand over your valuables and we might be willing to let the two of you go. Otherwise we'd be terribly offended that you rebuffed our hospitality.”
Varg scoffed. “I've been around long enough to know that you have no intention of letting us go free even if we give you a king's ransom.”
The bandit leader smiled. “Then you know that there's no point in resisting.”
“I know that there's no point in complying with your demands,” Varg argued, “not that we had any intention of doing that in the first place.”
“Oh? Well given your condition I think it would be in your best interest to do just that,” the bandit leader said, gesturing to Varg's mangled arm.
Now that his mind was back on it, a wave of pain shot up Varg's arm. He didn't have to look to know that it was starting to swell in his bracer.
“And I know for a fact that a weapon like that requires two arms to wield,” the bandit leader said. “No man is strong enough to wield it with only one.”
A spark of indignation ignited in Varg, and just to prove a point, he lifted Frost Fang above his head with his good arm. He strained under the weight, but he stared the bandit leader in the eyes as he then swung the blade around above his head and with one fell swoop, brought the fury of Frost Fang down the ground before him. A wave of sharp icicles launched from the tip and hurdled at the bandit leader, who barely dodged the oncoming blizzard in time. The bandits around him, on the other hand, weren't so quick. The ice plunged into every inch of their bodies and hit them with so much momentum that they were flung backwards, dead before they hit the ground in icy, bloody puddles.
The bandit leader landed a few feet away, then his face shot up to meet Varg's expression. To his surprise, the bandit smiled.
“I knew it,” he said as he stood up. “I knew as soon as I saw that white hair that the legends were true.” He raised his arms up in the air and, without breaking his eye contact with Varg, he said, “You're the White Wolf.”
All eyes pointed to him, each bandit staring at him with the awe of a child seeing their hero for the first time.
The Crystal Wood (Half-Breed Book 2) Page 7