The White Wolf (Half-Breed Book 1) (7 page)

“Don't blame me for Lerington's inability to let things go,” Tain said with a glare.

The Count would hear none of the merc's arguments. “You hired brutes are all the same. You make tough talk while you have no action to show for it. None of you can be trusted, and I certainly hope the Serpent has a plan for when you fail him.”

Greenwood expected Tain to react violently or at the very least threaten him, but instead the strange man simply returned his knife to his belt and approached the balcony. With his back still turned, Tain said, “I will be in touch, Count, but I will leave you with these parting words . . .” Tain turned to face the Count and showed him the true storm behind his sea-colored eyes. “If you question my skills again, you will regret it.”

With that, Tain's body evaporated into a fine mist and slid through the crack in the door pane. Greenwood stood frozen in place for a brief moment, then composed himself and approached the balcony. When he opened the doors and looked down, he saw Tain standing on the surface of the water, quite proud that he'd just put the noble in his place.

CHAPTER 6

THREE DAYS AFTER LEAVING the flaming ruins of the castle in Virland, Varg and Milea came across a rocky terrain which according to Lerington's map, was called North Iron Pass. The Pass was a vast territory that took almost two days to cross. Fortunately the rocky path would prevent their tracks from being found, but they didn't dare set a camp fire in case they were still being followed. Once they were on the grass plains of Ironbarrow, the county east of Virland, another half day walk southeast took them to the forest region on the map.

“It should be another two day hike to Wild Valley from here,” Varg said. “The easiest route would be to head east until we find the river, then follow the river southeast all the way to the village.”

Milea trotted up to Varg's side and as she walked alongside him, she asked, “I have been wondering, why is the village called 'Wild Valley?'”

Varg exchanged a glance with her, then faced the path again and answered, “The village has thousands of wildflowers growing wherever man-made structures haven't obstructed them. If it's how I remember it, the flowers grow all along the valley wall and even several miles outside of the village. We'll know when we are getting close when we start to see them.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Milea offered.

By the day's end, they finally reached the river Varg told Milea about. They set up camp next to the bank and dared to set a fire, since the canopy of trees would make it far more difficult to spot one from afar, and spent the night by the river. When the light of dawn reached the forest, they set off again and followed the river south, then east until they saw wild flowers blooming everywhere.

The flowers decorated the path with colors unlike any Milea had seen. Even when she lived with the elves, she'd never seen such a variety of rich shades and lovely aromas. The flowers breathed the smell of life into the air, and it made the atmosphere all the more inviting.

“There are so many of them,” Milea said with delight.

“There are more near the village,” Varg said.

Milea couldn't help but notice Varg still seemed distant despite the pleasing view. It seemed the closer they came to Wild Valley, the more sullen his mood became. Milea wanted to ask him what upset him so, but in her experience, it was best to wait for him to want to tell her instead of forcing it out of him.

Milea decided to help Varg occupy his thoughts. “We're almost out of food, would you like to set up camp and help me hunt?”

Varg nodded, so Milea eagerly helped him put a fire together and set up their supplies. When the tents were pitched and the fire was ready to be lit, they gathered their hunting bows and ventured further into the forest to find game. They later returned from hunting with a wild stag slumped over Varg's shoulder, which seemed to put him in a better mood.

On the return walk, Varg even began to make conversation. “When I first left the Tundra, I took work on a merchant ship. There I met the captain, old Dolan, and his crew. The crew didn't care for me much initially, but Dolan took me in and brought me up for the next two years. He taught me how to fight, how to work hard, and how to be a man. I suppose I was lucky enough to find someone willing to be a father figure to me.”

“You're right. Not everyone is so lucky,” Milea said. She then took another sip from her canteen and added, “I bet working on a merchant ship was an interesting life.”

Varg sighed. “It was until the day our ship was attacked by pirates. Once they disabled our ship with catapults, they hopped on board and took everyone captive. They emptied the ship of all valuables and then the bastards slaughtered every man on the ship, including Dolan. I fought, but I was still no match for all of them at once, so I ended up being cast overboard. They left me to die in the frozen water floating on some debris. Fortunately for my jotun blood, the cold didn't phase me. I washed ashore starving and nearly dead, but I survived.”

Milea shook her head. “How terrible . . .”

Varg paused and stared at the ground as he walked, then he muttered, “I've had worse.”

When they returned to the camp, Varg skinned the buck and slapped the meat onto the pit he built. Once the fire was nice and hot, the meat sizzled and cooked by the time the sun set. Milea went to the bag to gather the rest of their bread, but discovered only crumbs.

She quickly turned to Varg and held up the empty sack. “Our bread is gone.”

Varg walked to her side to investigate. “Maybe it was an animal?”

Milea shook her head. “I don't think so. There aren't any rips or claw marks in the fabric, and I am positive I tied a knot here.”

“Then it looks like we have a thief,” Varg said.

“They didn't steal our supplies, so I think it was just someone who needed food. They were probably lost and starving,” Milea reasoned.

“Maybe, but we'd better keep a good eye on our supplies tonight,” Varg said as he set a piece of meat on a wooden plate and handed it to her.

Milea accepted the meat and began to scarf it down with no attempt at grace, but Varg didn't seem to care. After they were both satisfied, Varg and Milea sat by the fire and rested for the evening.

The following morning, Varg and Milea packed the rest of their belongings and traveled southeast along the river. As Varg had said, the wild flower patches grew more dense the closer they came to the village. Rich hues of red, blue, and yellow painted the landscape and defined its beauty. When the land began to dip into the valley, Milea saw the most beautiful sight she'd ever witnessed.

The village of Wild Valley lay the ground for the tallest, brightest wild flowers Milea had ever seen, even in the Elvish forests of the Crystal Wood. The flowers grew in defiance around the wood and stone structures that tried in vain to stunt their growth. Flowers grew everywhere except on the gravel path; even some of the buildings had vines and brush growing on them.

Livestock and cattle were tended to in the west part of the village, and several villagers set up small shops along the outskirts of town to ensure that travelers would never leave without a purchase. The river also dipped into the valley and formed a small waterfall and continued the stream through the valley, then outside a trench that was built off into the distance into the valley wall on the side opposite where Milea and Varg stood. She wondered where the river led, but she put the thought aside and continued down the gravel path leading into the village with Varg behind her.

“Wild Valley truly is beautiful,” Milea said.

“You should see it at the peak of Spring,” Varg commented.

Milea paused and examined his demeanor. “Is everything all right? You've been very quiet since we left Virland.”

“I'm fine,” Varg said, but Milea could tell he was lying.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Milea asked.

“I would rather be alone for a while, if you don't mind,” Varg answered.

Milea sighed, but conceded. “All right, I'll stay out of your way.”

Varg turned his head to face the ground. “Thank you.”

Varg walked away towards the other edge of the village, but Milea decided to venture towards the amazing aroma she smelled. The baker's shop was the culprit, so Milea's first stop was to satisfy her hunger. She arrived just in time to catch some bread fresh from the oven. She took a bite from one roll as she emerged from the tiny building and had the rest stuffed into a bag. Her next stop was to see the farms and watermill, then to restock on supplies at the merchant stands.

With every stop, Milea was sure to keep a watchful eye for any signs of gang influence. She didn't dare ask directly in case any of the villagers were in league with the gang, for they didn't need another incident like the one in Birhog. She took note of body language as she made light conversation with the locals, but no one in Wild Valley seemed visibly nervous or on edge.

Milea's next destination was the mill on the eastern end of the village. She didn't see any workers, but assumed they were on break. It wasn't until she heard a deafening scream that she thought anything was out of the ordinary.

Milea straightened up and prepared for the worst. With a hand on the hilt of her blade, she ran around the mill to find a scuffle erupting. Upon further investigation, she noticed that there were three men, presumably the mill workers, beating and kicking a fourth person who was lying on the ground. If it had been a gang member, Milea would have been relieved. The person who withstood a beating from the mill workers, however, was a child.

“We have had it with your thievery,” one of the men said.

Milea was never one to get angry easily, but the sight she witnessed was enough to turn even her into a raging lunatic. She marched up to the men and yelled, “What in the name of Laelith do you think you're doing?”

The three men stopped in their tracks and turned to stare at her, daring her to speak again. The child they were kicking lay limp, but breathing on the ground. The child curled up defensively in a ball in order to shield herself from further hits.

“Back off, woman,” said the third man. “This doesn't concern you.”

“You're right, it doesn't concern me,” Milea said. “Three grown men beating a defenseless child absolutely
enrages
me. You have no right!”

“We have every right,” piped the first man. “She steals from my mill and home almost every day.”

“Your solution to beat a defenseless child is no better than thievery,” Milea said. “Be a man and deal with the problem without your fists.”

The miller scoffed and charged for Milea with his fists drawn. “Since when does a woman have a right how to tell me how to be a man?”

Milea stood her ground and readied herself against the charging miller. When he was within close range, she blocked his punches with her forearms and countered with her own swing, which landed right in the middle of his nose. She felt the instant satisfaction of crunching under her knuckles and blood gushing out of the miller's nostrils. The miller cried out in pain and stumbled backwards as he protected his broken nose from further hits.

Satisfied, Milea approached the dizzy miller and looked him right in the eye. “When she's more of a man than you are.”

Milea walked past the miller and his two workers—neither even dared to stop her—and knelt beside the girl. In an act of revenge, the miller tried to charge at her again, but his friends stopped him.

“She ain't worth the trouble,” one of them said. “Let's just get back to work.”

The three men walked off in defeat as Milea turned her attention to the girl who picked herself up to her hands and knees. Clad in rags that were far to big for her, the dirty girl looked at Milea with dark eyes and didn't show the slightest hint of weakness. Her bare feet were nearly black and she appeared to be cold, but tried in vain to hide it. Milea had no doubt this poor girl was homeless and obviously starving.

Milea examined the girl's face, then said, “How odd, I could have sworn they hit you in the face. You don't even have a bruise.”

The girl stumbled to her feet and kept her guard up. “Well you're wrong. They missed my face.”

Milea straightened up and crossed her arms. “I just stopped three men from nearly beating you to death, so the least you could do is show a little gratitude.”

The girl looked away, but finally muttered, “Thank you.”

Milea nodded, then stood up once the girl relaxed. “Now would you mind telling me your name?”

The girl studied her face, then answered, “It's Erril.”

“Erril, did you really steal from those men?” Milea asked.

“I just took a little food,” Erril said. “It's not like those pigs don't have enough.”

“Why don't you just ask?” Milea suggested.

Erril scoffed. “You don't think I've tried? The greedy people of this village can't be bothered by a starving child.”

“Still, you could get into trouble like that again and I won't be around to help you again,” Milea warned.

“You think that's the first time I was beaten for stealing?” Erril asked. “I've been stealing from this village for two years. I get caught, beaten, and left in the dirt, but I always heal up and start again. When I am not stealing here, I steal from travelers in the woods.”

Milea came to a realization. “So you're the one who took our bread last night.”

“That was your camp?” Erril asked.

Milea nodded. “You know, you could have just asked. We would have given you food.”

“I've never met a traveler who was that hospitable, so I don't exactly trust anyone,” Erril said.

“Where are your parents?” Milea asked. “Surely they wouldn't want you to live this way.”

“I don't have any,” Erril spat.

“Oh . . . I'm sorry,” Milea returned.

“Don't give me your pity,” Erril retorted. “I ran away from an orphanage two years ago and started living in the woods. I hoped to be offered at least a small meal and a place to sleep, but none of these selfish bastards wanted a worthless little waif around. I had to start stealing the little food I could get my hands on just to stay alive.”

Milea had no response for the girl. She could not imagine the horrible life this poor girl lived, and she knew she alone had to do something to help. Milea produced two loaves of bread from her bag and handed them to Erril. “Here, this should last a few days. What else do you need?”