“This changes everything,” the bandit leader said. “The White Wolf is renowned as the greatest bounty hunter who ever lived. To be the one to kill him would give a man dominion over all warriors, bandit and soldier alike.”
“Don't insult me by presuming you stand a chance against me,” Varg spat.
“Are you so arrogant that you believe yourself to be immortal?” the bandit leader provoked. “Even a man like you would be a fool to forget their own mortality.”
“It has nothing to do with arrogance,” Varg said. “I simply recognize an honorless coward when I see one.”
“Honor won't save you today,” the bandit leader said. “By days end, I'll have the fear and respect of every bandit in this valley once I ride your horse wielding your head for all to see.”
In a flash, the bandit leader rushed forward and attempted to strike the first blow, but Varg easily blocked. His good arm tensed under the weight of the strike, but his hold never faltered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Milea begin to ward off a few of the other bandits as they all joined into the fight. Two went after her while the others all came after Varg. As he predicted, the bandits made every move to attack his already injured arm. The leader brought all his strength into each swing in an attempt to disarm Varg, and thought he could feel his strength waning, he retained his position through sheer willpower.
Varg was continuously forced backwards as the bandit leader struck the flat of Frost Fang's blade. It never even dented the surface of the ancient, mysterious metal, but each blow sent vibrations throughout the weapon that continued into his good arm, threatening to weaken it further. What's more, every movement sent waves of pain radiating from Varg's broken arm, which dangled helplessly at his side. The bandit leader could see the pain in his eyes no matter how hard he fought against showing it, and Varg could see that he was enjoying every second of it.
His vision blurred, his head buzzed, his eyes threatened to well up, and his legs became wobbly.
Finally, the bandit leader saw his chance. He poured all of his strength into one final blow, but this time he brought his sword down near Varg's good hand. The force of the strike caused Varg to lose his grip, which sent Frost Fang tumbling into the dust.
Before Varg could make a move to grab his axe, the bandit leader brought his sword to his throat. With a triumphant grin, he looked down upon his defeated opponent and said, “Now I have your head. But first...” He then turned to the other bandits and added, “...take care of the woman. I want this one to see what happens when he dares to think he can stop us.”
Varg's eyes shot to Milea, whom he now realized was cornered by her two opponents near the edge of the canyon wall. She held her sword out in defense, and though she tried to hide it, Varg could see the fear in her eyes.
The other men laughed and slowly approached her with their weapons drawn. They taunted her, but she never backed down. She had every intention of going down fighting, and Varg had every intention of not letting that happen.
“Let her go,” Varg growled.
The bandit leader laughed, but he was no longer looking at Varg. Instead, he continued to watch his men surround the outmatched Milea and said, “You had your chance for a clean getaway. Now you get to watch her die before your turn comes.”
One of the other bandits brought his blade around and caught Milea's near the hilt, then curved it around and dislodged it from her grip. Disarmed, Milea was completely helpless, something Varg never though he would see.
“I said...”
Varg gripped the bandit leader's wrist that held his sword...with his broken arm.
The bandit leader faced Varg suddenly and struggled to free his arm, staring wild-eyed and bewildered at the broken limb performing the impossible. When he met Varg's eyes, however, his face turned a sickly shade of white.
Varg straightened up and gripped his opponent's wrist even tighter. The bandit leader cried out as his grip threatened to snap the bones.
Varg stared him straight in the eyes and with a growl that sounded different from his own voice, he continued, “...let...her...go!”
Varg pulled on the bandit leader's wrist and launched him into the air. The bandit leader tumbled into the dirt several feet away and moaned as he regained his composure. As he lay squirming on the dry ground, Varg could hear behind him that the other bandits had stopped their taunting When he heard one of them approach, he quickly turned around to face them.
Upon seeing his face, the bandits gasped and even let out a few cries. He slowly inched his way towards them. They backed away, careful not to make any sudden moves as though they were backing away from a dangerous animal. Varg could feel every inch of his body changing. His muscles tensed. His breath grew heavy and hot. His vision was sharper. He was almost certain that he grew even taller. The pain in his arm either vanished, or he was too focused on his prey to notice. Either way, he could move it again, like nothing had ever happened to it.
Varg let out a noise that sounded like a growl every time he let out a breath. The men trembled as he edged closer, all for one who dared to nock an arrow and point it directly for his head. Time slowed to a crawl as the arrow loosed and the bowstring wobbled under the rapid release in pressure. Varg's eyes focused on the pitiful piece of ammo as it came closer and closer to his face, directly between his eyes.
He could see the glint of the sun on the metal arrow head, the color of the feather on the other end, and he could hear it whistling as it traveled towards him. In a flash, and almost involuntarily, Varg's arm flew up and reached out in front of his face...
...and caught the arrow in midair.
The bandits stared in horror as Varg held the arrow only inches from the space between his eyes. He tightened his grip, snapped the arrow in half, and stared straight at them. In that moment, they realized exactly who...or what they were dealing with.
The bandits scattered in different directions like cockroaches, but Varg was already upon them. With speed unmatched, he launched himself at the nearest enemy and grabbed him from behind by his head. With a sickening twist, Varg snapped the poor sap's neck like one would snap a rotten twig in half.
“Varg! Stop!”
Varg launched a series of ice spikes in the direction that two of the other men fled, impaling them both and sending them flying several feet forward. He heard the sound of an arrow again and turned to see the bandit nocking another. Varg didn't move, but instead stared at him, daring him to loose the arrow. He then charged for the bandit, who then froze in place, unable to release the bowstring.
“Varg!”
The bandit dropped his bow and attempted to flee, but Varg dove for his legs and caught them. The bandit tripped and fell forward, then desperately tried to crawl away. He kicked at Varg, but it did nothing but fuel his rage. Varg pulled the screaming and pleading bandit closer and drove his fist into his gut, breaking through the skin and into his bowels.
“VARG!”
Varg removed a blood-soaked fist from the bleeding, dying bandit and turned his attention to the last one, who was not standing again and had his sword drawn. The bandit leader stared in horror, his knuckles blanched around the hilt of his sword. After several seconds of staring at Varg, who was now standing himself and watching the last of his prey, the bandit leader shook his head and muttered, “What are you?”
Varg smiled. “I'm the last thing you will ever see.”
After he spoke, Varg charged forward and the bandit leader, too frozen with fear to move, watched in terror as Varg swung his arm around and straight for his head. A second later, the object in Varg's hand made contact with the bandit leader's neck. A second later, the bandit leader's head was tumbling into the dirt, severed by the blade Varg took from the bandit he'd just killed.
Varg stared at the head for several seconds, then he heard something moving behind him. He spun around, ready to strike the next opponent, but stopped.
Milea stood with her sword out and her feet firmly planted on the
ground. With a shaking voice, she cried, “This isn't you, Varg.”
Varg froze as his eyes met Milea's. He knew the look she had in her eyes. He'd seen it once before.
His body began to relax, and he could feel himself shrinking. His vision blurred, his muscles relaxed, and his stance became normal.
And the pain in his arm returned with a vengeance.
Varg screamed as he clutched his broken arm and fell to his knees. He held his head down, unable to look at the battlefield. He knew exactly what had happened and he remembered what resulted the last time. He couldn't look. He couldn't see what he'd done. Not again.
Milea dropped in front of him and wrapped her arms around him. “I'm here. It's all right Varg. You're going to be all right.”
Varg picked his head up and shook it. “No Milea, it's not all right.”
He bowed his head again, then met her gaze once more. She too had tears in her eyes.
“Milea...what am I?” he cried.
Milea simply stared at him, unable to respond. She placed her hand on his cheek, and he responded to her touch by leaning his head on her palm.
Varg shut his eyes and whispered, “I'm a monster...”
Milea moved his head to face hers again and said, “Don't you dare say that. If you were a monster, you wouldn't have changed back when you saw me. You would have killed me with the rest of them.”
“But what I did-”
“Was to protect me,” Milea interrupted. “There was no way I could have defeated all those bandits on my own. The two I fought to begin with were better trained than the king's soldiers; it's a miracle I lasted against them as long as I did.”
She pulled him closer and rested his head against her chest, then said, “No matter what, Varg, you're still you. I don't know what you became just now, but I know that it isn't what defines you. You're too kind and honorable for that thing to control you. And as long as you have my heart, I won't allow the real you to slip away from me.”
Despite what had happened, Varg managed a smile as he sat up to meet Milea's gaze. His eyes peered into hers, and he said, “Because you have mine, it never will.”
Milea smiled and formed new tears in her eyes as she planted a firm kiss on his lips. He gratefully returned the gesture, then pulled away and said, “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked.
“If it wasn't for you, I don't know what would have happened,” Varg said.
Milea smiled again. “It's all right, Varg.”
She helped him to his feet and he instantly felt the pain in his arm again. Milea steadied him in a standing position, then she wrapped her arm around his waist and said, “Come, let's find a safer place where I can take a look at that arm. We don't need any more surprises in your condition.”
It took Varg and Milea about an hour to find their surviving horse. He'd been spooked by the battle and retreated further down into the canyon, where thankfully there weren't any more surprises waiting for them. Milea helped Varg get onto the horse first, then she took her place in front of him and took hold of the reins. Varg wrapped his good arm around Milea's waist, and then she beckoned her horse forward as they galloped further away from the grounds that became a graveyard.
CHAPTER 8
Erril could finally see the gates of Whitspire on the late horizon as she practically sprinted her way to the end point of her long journey. Her legs burned like fire as she quickened her pace, eager to get Conley's message to the king. The sooner she delivered the message, the sooner he could assemble his troops and send aid to Ironbarrow, and Erril's part would be finished. As for her reward, nothing would satisfy her more than to retire to a nice, warm bed and a hot meal.
The city guards saw Erril approach and ran to her as she tripped into the dirt just feet away from the front gate.
“Oh my, let us help you,” one guard said as he gently lifted Erril off the ground and helped her dust herself off.
“What in the world is a girl your age doing traveling on your own?” the other asked, bewildered.
“I...have...message...for...” Erril gasped.
“Slow down and catch your breath,” the first guard said.
Erril nodded, then took a moment to take a deep breath. When she was certain she could speak without gasping, she straightened up and said, “I have an urgent message for King Reman from Count Conley Rowan. I need to speak to him immediately.”
The guards exchanged a glance, then the one who helped her up looked back at her and said, “All right, follow me.”
Erril raised an eyebrow, but complied nonetheless. They remained silent the entire walk, and Erril couldn't help but feel discomfort at the way the guard walked as though he were hesitating. She had the sudden urge that something wasn't right, but she ignored this and blamed it on fatigue. That was, of course, until Erril realized that there was another reason that she was uncomfortable.
The echo of a window shutting down a nearby alley was her first clue. She looked for the source of the noise only to find that street, and every street of Whitspire completely empty. The only people who were visible at all were the soldiers who patrolled the area, and every one that she passed gave her a strange look, as though they'd never seen someone out of uniform in their city.
“Where is everyone?” Erril asked before she could catch herself.
The guard seemed to hesitate again, but kept walking and without turning around, said, “After the Shadow Hand invasion, everyone is understandably on edge. Most people don't stay out after dark anymore.”
Erril remained silent. A gut-wrenching feeling made her want to run, but she looked back at the city gate and was disturbed to see that there were several more guards who had gathered before it. They stared at her like stone statues, and in that moment, Erril realized she wasn't going to be walking out of the city quite so easily.
Erril turned back to the guard and continued to follow him. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, she thought. Like the guard said, everyone is scared of the Shadow Hand coming back. It wouldn't surprise her if the extra security was just a precaution, and even though some of them probably remember her from the battle, they didn't want to take any chances.
As they continued walking, Erril noted the surrounding, freshly built or repaired buildings and searched for any possible signs of people. If there were people inside, they certainly were doing an excellent job of hiding it. She couldn't even see so much as a candle glowing through the cracks of any windows. The curtains were all drawn and not a soul was seen outside. If Erril didn't know any better, she would have thought the city had been abandoned.
The guard finally arrived at the castle gate, where he led Erril inside the courtyard Erril noted the stable against the wall to her right, then continued on her way behind the guard. As soon as they were inside, Erril heard the front gate to the courtyard close behind her, then the guard led her to the front doors of the castle. The guards stationed at the entrance peered at Erril, but didn't speak. Instead, the guard leading her said, “The girl has an urgent message from Count Conley Rowan for his royal majesty, King Reman.”
The guards at the door exchanged a glance. Without a single word, they each pulled a door open. The guard Erril was following then beckoned her to follow him inside, and against her better judgment, she complied.
The guard led Erril through a stone foyer and then through another, longer corridor, which eventually led to the infamous throne room where Varg fought Jin all those months ago.
The King was not there, but the guard turned to Erril and said, “Wait here while I announce your arrival.”
Erril nodded, but she knew better than to trust his word after his and everyone else's suspicious behavior in the city that evening. She watched as the guard exited the throne room through a side door, and after seeing no one else in the throne room, she followed him.
The guard rounded a corner further down and thankfully didn't notice her. She swiftly shut the door and ducked behind a statue, then when the guard's fo
otsteps died down, she tip-toed down the corridor to where she'd last seen him. She peeked around the corner and saw him turn down another, and when she got closer she saw that it was a staircase. She heard his footsteps sound up the stairwell, and she dared to follow the sound as he made his way to the third floor.
Erril then followed as the guard exited the stairwell and went down another few corridors, ducking behind a statue or a curtain when she heard another set of footsteps coming her way, then she trailed the guard again until he stopped at a door in the west wing. He knocked, and then Erril heard a man's voice say something, which she presumed was permission to enter once the guard opened the door and stepped inside.
Though the guard attempted to close the door, he let enough of a crack in it so that Erril could see the light of a fire escaping out from within. She assumed that this was likely the royal chambers, so she crept up to the door to listen. She slowed her pace as she came closer to the door, careful not to creak any loose floorboards. Satisfied that she'd avoided detection, she pressed her ear up to the crack, but avoided touching it so she wouldn't move the door and alert the people inside of her presence.
“My Lord, there is a girl here with a message for the king. Count Rowan sent her,” the guard said.
Erril furrowed her brow. It was clear that he wasn't talking to the king. This was confirmed when someone else spoke up.
“Let me guess,” an unknown man said, “Count Conley Rowan of Ironbarrow requests the aid of Whitspire in the war against Alastor Rainald? Why am I not surprised?”
Erril's heart gave a lurch. Whoever this man was, he was more than likely involved with the situation in Eastwold somehow. What's more, she could have sworn she'd heard his voice somewhere before...
“I don't know, My Lord,” the guard answered. “She didn't tell me what the message was about.”
“Well what else could it be about? It's an urgent message from the Count of Ironbarrow,” the mysterious man said.
The Crystal Wood (Half-Breed Book 2) Page 8