The Crystal Wood (Half-Breed Book 2)

by Brittany Comeaux

  “Well she's waiting in the throne room now, so how would you like me to handle this?” the guard asked.

  There was a brief silence, then the other man spoke again, “Obviously she cannot speak to Reman, so we're just going to have to get rid of her somehow. Take her down to the basement and kill her. Then dump her body where no one will find it.”

  Erril's blood ran cold. While she had her suspicions about the intentions of the guards, she never imagined that whoever was calling the shots in the king's stead would issue her death warrant.

  “Sir...with all due respect...she's only a child-”

  “Then lock her up for all I care. Just don't let her leave the city until I can march onto Ironbarrow,” the mysterious man said.

  “Y-yes Sir,” the guard said.

  Erril had to leave and fast. She had no idea who was in that room, but it was definitely not the king. And he clearly not only knew about Alastor's return and invasion, but was planning to march on Ironbarrow himself. Alastor and his forces were one thing for Conley to handle, but for two armies...

  Erril turned to run. She didn't care if anyone heard or saw her, she just knew she had to get out of the city and fast.

  She had just turned the corner when she hit something hard. She fell to the ground, a bit dazed but otherwise unharmed. By the time she realized what she'd hit, it was too late.

  “You there, what are you doing in here?” someone said as a pair of hands hoisted Erril to her feet.

  She looked up to see another guard. He held onto her with a firm grip as she struggled to break free. Despite her efforts, she could not break his iron grip on her arms. Though this didn't stop her from attempting to get in a few good kicks as well.

  “A trespasser, eh?” the guard said. “Well let's see what the boss has to say about that.”

  To Erril's dismay, the guard then dragged her along the corridor towards the door where she'd just been eavesdropping. She cursed herself for not being more careful during her escape, but her desperation clouded her judgment and caused her to make a foolish mistake that could very well cost her her life.

  The guard burst through the door without knocking and before he was even in the doorway, shouted, “My Lord, I've caught a trespasser in the corridor just outside!”

  The guard who had initially led her into the castle stood next to a chair that sat facing a grand hearth, and when he turned to see who was there, he met the girl's gaze and a wave of embarrassment washed over him. Erril looked for the man she had overheard and saw the top of a man's gray hair just above the top of the chair. He didn't turn around right away to see who was there, but Erril saw his head turn slightly as he listened to the guard.

  “A trespasser, you say?” the man said.

  The guard bowed his head, knowing that he would be blamed for this.

  “She was out in the corridor just now, trying to make a run for it,” the guard who caught her said as he kept a firm grip on Erril's arm. “What course of action do you want me to take, Lord Greenwood?”

  Erril's heart sank and the no-longer-mysterious man stood up. Edric Greenwood turned to face the girl with a smug grin.

  “When the guard told me that a girl had delivered the message from Count Rowan,” Greenwood said, “I had a feeling that he'd sent you.” He raised his arms with his palms facing up and tilted his head to the side, then said, “After all, how many children would he trust with such critical information?”

  “You son of a bitch!” Erril screeched. “What are you doing here? Where is King Reman?”

  Unphased by the girl's sudden outburst, Greenwood lowered his arms to his side and edged closer. “I'm afraid the king is...no longer with us. I've taken over his duties for the time being.”

  Erril, bewildered, said, “The king is dead?”

  Greenwood shrugged. “It was a necessary evil. After all, we can't have him sending troops to help Conley, now can we?”

  “You're helping Alastor, aren't you?” Erril spat. “And you're going to lead an attack on Ironbarrow while he has Conley distracted.”

  Greenwood sighed. “I see you've been poking around where you don't belong. No matter. You see, I've been given the task of running Whitspire by the Serpent, who has agreed to give me back my position as Count of Rivershire once Alastor takes power.”

  “So let me guess,” Erril said, “you've been on the run ever since you escape from us in the battle of Whitspire, and you not only feared facing justice from the King of Fellen, but you feared for your life since you betrayed Jin and the rest of his cult. Though you managed to keep a low profile, the Shadow Hand caught you and offered you leniency if you were to do their bidding again.

  “To save your own skin you naturally agreed to do whatever they wanted, and what Jin wanted was for you to take over Whitspire with the aid of the Shadow Hand and no doubt murder the king in cold blood, then wait for word from Alastor to move the king's army and march onto Ironbarrow. While Conley is distracted by Alastor's army, he won't be expecting another attack from Whitspire, but reinforcements, so you'll be able to take the city before he even realizes what has happened. Alastor takes the rest of Fellen, Jin gets clearance to do whatever he wants, and you get your cozy lifestyle back without any consequences for your crimes. You are a pathetic, cowardly, piece of sh-”

  “Enough,” Greenwood interrupted. He motioned to both of the guards and said, “Take her to the dungeon while I decide what to do with her. Perhaps she can be useful alive.”

  Erril struggled as both guards grabbed each of her arms and led her out into the corridor, but not before she shot one last swear at Greenwood that she was positive would have made even Jin faint.

  As night fell, Varg and Milea finally found their way out of the canyon and out of immediate danger, but by the time they stopped in a forest to make camp for the night, Varg was beginning to black out from the excruciating pain in his arm.

  Milea helped Varg off of the horse and he sat down next to a boulder while Milea removed her medical supplies from the saddlebag.

  “All right, this won't be easy, but I need you to bear with me.

  She was about to grab hold of his arm when she hesitated, then grabbed one of her arrows out of her quiver. She held it by the middle of the shaft and presented it to Varg, then said, “You may want to bite this.”

  Varg understood what she meant, then placed the shaft sideways between his teeth and prepared himself for the pain to come.

  Milea wrapped a wooden splint around Varg's arm and put him through the agonizing process of getting his arm in the correct shape and position again. After a few seconds of enduring both halves of his broken bone being nudged, adjusted, and placed back together, he didn't even try to hide the scream.

  Varg could scarcely feel his teeth digging into the tough wood of the arrow shaft as Milea finally got his arm in the right position, then when she released her grip, Varg finally relaxed. The arrow fell from his mouth and his body felt numb and faint. It was only when he regained his vision that he look down and see his bite marks that splintered the wood of the shaft.

  “I'm sorry,” Milea said gently, “but even with my healing magic, the bones will only fuse back together if they're in the correct position. Don't worry, the pain will be gone shortly.”

  Varg only had the strength to nod in acknowledgment as Milea readied her spell and hovered the green ball of light over Varg's arm. After several minutes, he noted that the pain was finally subsiding as the two halves of his bone fused back together. He didn't dare move or even breathe more than every few seconds for fear of knocking the bones out of place again. A cold sweat formed on his brow as the swelling in his arm lessened and the color of his skin returned to its normal pale hue.

  Once he felt nothing more than a dull ache, Varg allowed himself to breathe normally. He even shifted his position to get more comfortable, which Milea patiently allowed him to do before resuming her work. Varg caught a glance of her face, determined and concentrating on her task, but he
also could have sworn he caught a glimpse of sadness behind her eyes.

  Varg looked down at his arm, which almost looked normal save for a palm-sized discoloration that was slowly shrinking and returning to normal, then he looked back up at Milea again and said, “Thank you, by the way.”

  “It's nothing,” Milea muttered, not taking her eyes off of her work.

  After a brief silence, Varg then spoke again, “Milea, can I ask you something?”

  Milea, still keeping her eyes on Varg's arm, said, “Sure.”

  “You once told me that all elves can use healing magic, correct?” Varg asked.

  Milea nodded.

  “And among other things, healing is one thing that Elves can do that humans can only do with training and study, right?”

  “Elves train too, but they do have a bit more talent for magic than humans do,” Milea explained.

  “So even though you're half human, you still possess some of the unique abilities of the elf race?”

  Milea still didn't take her eyes away from her spell. “Where exactly are you going with this, Varg?”

  “What I mean to say is that despite your human blood, you can still heal and do other things that pure elves are capable of. It makes me wonder if what I went through today, the monster I became, might be my jotun half,” Varg explained.

  Milea shrugged. “It's possible. After all, I've never met any human who could do that.”

  Varg shook his head. “I just wish I knew more about the jotuns, but they and all trace of their culture, abilities, and history are gone. Even my mother didn't know much about them, despite her relationship with my father. She never told me much about him either, come to think of it. I only know his name was Haldor.”

  “Was there any other place where they lived?” Milea asked. “I remember how you told me how you went to the mountain where they lived before you were born and found no trace of them, but perhaps there were other tribes?”

  “They were the last of the jotuns, from what my father told my mother,” Varg explained. “They could only survive for long periods of time in the extreme cold, so there weren't many places other than the Tundra where they could live.”

  “I take it it's easier for you to manage in warmer climates due to your human half?” Milea asked.

  “That's what I figured, but even still if I get too warm I get weak,” Varg said.

  Milea smiled as she finally finished his arm and the ball of light disappeared. She untied the bandages holding the splint in place, then unwrapped everything and placed it aside. She gestured to his now bare arm and said, “Try it out.”

  Varg obeyed and cautiously lifted his arm. He tested the bend of his elbow, then clenched and unclenched his fist several times, then twisted his wrist around before he was finally satisfied.

  “It feels like it was never broken,” he said with a smile. “Thank you again.”

  “My pleasure,” Milea said, packing up the medical supplies. “Besides, we can't have you traveling with a broken limb, now can we?”

  Varg smiled as he began to strap his bracer back in place, grateful that every twitch of his muscle didn't send shockwaves throughout his body.

  Milea set up the cooking spit and was soon after cooking stew in the pot. They ate in silence and then after cleaning up, Varg gathered some grass and made a makeshift bed for the two of them to rest on. Varg lay on his back and Milea rested her head on his chest. He wrapped his now healed arm around her back and rested his hand on her shoulder, and her arm rested on his torso with her hand near her face.

  He rubbed Milea's back, a gesture that made her tremble, and gazed up at the night sky. A few embers from the fire danced around above them, then flickered away into the night air. Varg took a deep breath and said, “Thank you, Milea.”

  He felt Milea let out a breath, as though she were laughing, then she answered, “You've been telling me that all night.”

  “I mean earlier today, when I...well, you know. You were scared, sure but you had every opportunity to run like Treasa did all those years ago. I never blamed her, of course, but it's something I've never been able to forget. You on the other hand refused to leave me alone like that. And in the end, it was you who pulled me back, who reminded me of who I am. Thank you.”

  Milea remained silent, and he was worried he'd said something wrong at first, but then she said, “I suppose I just knew that the real you wouldn't do anything to hurt me, and so what you became wouldn't either.”

  “So then you pointed your sword at me as a form of foreplay?” Varg mused.

  Milea responded by delivering a jab to his ribs, which only made him laugh.

  “It was instinct to draw my weapon,” she said. “You should know I don't leave anything to chance. We're both warriors; we both live by our instincts.”

  “That's true, I suppose,” Varg answered.

  Their conversation soon ended and Varg grabbed his cloak and covered Milea and himself with it. She soon fell asleep on his chest, or he assumed she did, and his last conscious thoughts surrounded all the questions he had about his roots that even ten years of scouring an old mountain never answered.

  CHAPTER 9

  Conley stared out at the horizon from the balcony that connected to his bed chamber. From where he stood, he had a perfect view of Ironbarrow's busiest streets, as well as a view to the plains outside of the city's limits. The balcony faced the east, and he could see grassy and rocky patches of land as well as the forests surrounding Eastwold, which appeared to him only as a dark green line along the horizon line.

  Conley watched the street below as guardsmen and soldiers alike darted back and forth through the crowded city, transporting weapons and supplies. Along the city wall, the patrol had been doubled, all on his order, to watch for signs of a sneak attack from Alastor. He then focused his attention to the outside of the walls, where he could see his men forming military camps out in the plains. He nodded his head in satisfaction at the sight of all the preparations coming along nicely. He was about to turn around to head for the barracks and speak to the captain when he heard a familiar voice speak.

  “You're worrying too much, Conley. Trust your soldiers.”

  Conley turned around to face his wife, Catrina. She stood still and calm, dressed in a dark green gown and her dark hair tied back as it usually was. Her concerned expression merely added to Conley's worries.

  “I trust that they will fight to the best of their abilites,” Conley said. “What I don't trust is Alastor to play by the rules.”

  “Of course he won't, otherwise he wouldn't have allied himself with the Shadow Hand,” Catrina said.

  “Nor would he have murdered his own father,” Conley said, “which is why I've taken every possible trick into consideration. My men are preparing to meet Alastor's threat head on. I also have scouts out watching his movements.”

  As if he were waiting to be mentioned, one of Conley's scouts suddenly ran into the room without being announced or even stopping to knock. Conley normally didn't care for such formalities anyway, especially in times of crisis.

  “My Lord, I've just returned from the front with news,” the scout said.

  “Yes, what is it?” Conley said with a sense of urgency in his tone.

  “We've just spotted Eastwold troops near the border. They're marching in,” the scout reported.

  Conley nodded. “Very good, soldier. Head back to your post and inform the others that we will be marching out shortly.”

  “Yes sir,” the scout replied as he saluted and darted out the room.

  Conley thought he would feel a sense of dread at this moment, but in reality he only felt relief.

  “You're leaving?” Catrina asked, but it came out as more of a statement than a question.

  Conley turned to his wife and said, “I'm sorry, my Love. You know my men never walk onto a battlefield without me.”

  Catrina bowed her head. Her expression was blank, but Conley had known her long enough to know that she was h
iding her dread. He could tell in that moment that his wife was preparing herself for the possibility that this would be the last time she would ever see him alive.

  Conley took the hint, and walked over to embrace her. She accepted the gesture, still not betraying her emotions, even when Conley leaned down to kiss her.

  After they let go, Catrina closed her eyes in an effort to hold back tears, presumably. Conley lifted her chin and stared into her eyes when she finally opened them and allowed a single tear to escape. They shared a moment of silence, then Conley finally spoke again.

  “I will return,” he said softly, “I swear it.”

  Catrina offered a sad smile and nodded. They then said their goodbyes and Conley exited the room and headed for the barracks.

  Alastor watched as his men set up camp just over the border in Ironbarrow. He'd given specific instructions for them to wait to march, thought there were rumors that some were questioning his orders. This didn't surprise him, but he gave orders to those he was sure was loyal to him to seek out any dissenters and deal with them swiftly.

  Once his own tent was set up, which was twice as big as all the others, Alastor quickly retreated inside and began planning his next move. He had a table set up in the middle of the room with a map of Fellen along with some parchment, ink bottles, and quills. He sat in his chair and his eyes fell to the southernmost the section of the map that held Ironbarrow County.

  He and his men were stationed just over the border between Ironbarrow and Eastwold, so they were in enemy territory now. They were well under cover by the rocky terrain, but it wouldn't surprise him the least bit it Conley already knew he was there. After all, other than where they were, there was little cover in the vast plains of Ironbarrow county.

  Which is exactly what Alastor wanted.

  A silhouette appeared just outside of the flap that opened into Alastor's tent. The figure waited there as though waiting to be summoned, so Alastor heaved an annoyed sigh and said, “Enter.”

  An Eastwold soldier entered the tent, saluted, and then said, “Lord Alastor, our scouts just returned and said that they saw Count Rowan's troops advancing towards us.”