The White Wolf (Half-Breed Book 1) (2 page)

Varg wished to observe her more before he confronted her, so he took a step towards her with his hand on his battleaxe. As he stepped forward, he accidentally kicked the dirt with his boot. The woman shifted her position to face him and readied her blade in less than a second.

“Who goes there?” she demanded.

The woman's jumpy behavior definitely added to his suspicions of her. Varg paused and readied his weapon. Then he said, “I'm a bounty hunter, and my job is to find that dead noble over there and whoever kidnapped him.”

The woman remained cool and collected, then answered. “Well it appears you're too late.”

Varg studied the woman and found no fault in her demeanor, then added, “I may not be able to bring him home safely, but I can at least get my reward for catching his abductor.”

The woman blinked. “Just what do you think you're accusing me of?”

Varg shrugged. “Kidnapping, theft, and I suppose we can add murder to that list.”

“How dare you!” the woman shouted. “I haven't killed anyone.”

“Then explain why I found you standing over his corpse,” Varg countered.

The woman sheathed her sword, walked forward, and said, “I don't have to explain anything to you. Now get out of my way.”

“Sorry, Love, but the only place you're going is the castle dungeon,” Varg said.

“I will
not
be charged with a crime I didn't commit!” the woman shouted.

“Then I suppose we must do this the hard way,” Varg shrugged.

The woman lunged at Varg with her blade before her. He responded by drawing his battleaxe from the holster on his belt and he held it in front of him to block. The woman's blade scratched across the surface of the cool metal, but didn't leave so much as a nick. The woman backtracked and attempted to swing her sword forward, but Varg blocked again.

Varg took advantage when she slowed down and he quickly put himself on the offensive. He swung his battleaxe low, downward, upward, sideways, and every other direction, but the agile woman dodged every single attack. She was incredibly quick and precise, but Varg knew that every fighter had a weak point. It was only a matter of time until she let herself become vulnerable to attack.

Varg knew that this woman was far to quick to land a hit on, so he feigned weakness and allowed her to go onto the offensive again. He parried, dodged, and blocked every attack she threw his way while biding his time and waiting for her to slip up.

The woman halted her frontal assault, jumped backwards, and armed herself with her bow. She readied an arrow in his direction and stood perfectly still with her eyes set unblinking in his direction. She smiled, loosed the arrow, and watched as it flew towards Varg's unprotected head. The moment that Varg saw her fingers release the arrow, he swung his axe upward. The curved blade collided perfectly in the middle of the arrow shaft and snapped the wood in half in midair. The two halves of the shaft then flew aside and tumbled uselessly into the dirt.

As the woman stared with her mouth agape at the two halves of her arrow, Varg then muttered, “Are you ready to surrender?”

The enraged woman continued to loose arrows at Varg, who dodged from side to side just in time to avoid being scraped by the sharp metal heads. The closer he came, the more the woman lost her concentration, and it was the opening that Varg had been waiting for. He lunged for her bow and wrestled it from her grip. She desperately tried to pull away from him with so much force that she fell backwards. He purposely allowed his body to fall onto hers, pinning her to the ground. He then held her arms in place so she could no longer fight.

The woman drilled her fierce eyes into Varg's and accusingly growled, “Just what you think you are planning before hauling me to prison?”

Varg stared right back at her with a mischievous smirk and then leaned in closer. Within an inch of her ear, he whispered, “Don't flatter yourself, Love.”

Varg then rolled the woman onto her stomach, pulled her arms behind her back, and tied her wrists together with a piece of rope he pulled from his belt pouch.

“What are you doing? Stop that!” the woman yelled. She swung her legs backwards in an attempt to kick Varg, so he used an extra piece of rope to tie her ankles together to save himself the trouble.

“I have to hand it to you, you are not easy to catch,” Varg admitted as he unfastened her quiver and sheath, “but now you can't fight me anymore, Love.”

The woman still continued to struggle even as Varg searched her pockets for hidden weapons. “Listen to me! I didn't kill anyone! And stop calling me 'Love!'”

“Then do you have another name I could use instead?” Varg offered.

“Go pleasure yourself,” she spat.

“Not a name I would have chosen, but oddly enough it suits you,” Varg remarked. “Aha!” Varg pulled a pouch out of the woman's satchel and opened it up to look inside. “How about that? Fifty gold coins, exactly the amount of coin the Count paid for the ransom. This also has his family insignia on it.”

“That's my money! I was paid to clear this cave—
put me down this instant
!”

Varg lifted the woman over his shoulder and carried her off in the direction of the cave entrance. He held her in place by placing his arm around her waist.

“Sorry Love, nothing personal,” Varg said as he grinned with triumph.

CHAPTER 2

VARG ENTERED EDRIC'S STUDY after handing the raging woman off to the guards to claim his reward. The Count waited with two pouches of gold on his desk. While he didn't seem please with Varg's work, Edric still said, “Job well done, bounty hunter. Hilda has already positively identified the woman's voice as the kidnapper's. My guards also found the same type of arrows in her quiver as the one that was shot through my window. With all of the evidence against her, she will be charged with murder and executed at dawn. As promised, here is your two hundred gold pieces.”

Varg raised an eyebrow. “I didn't return the Count alive.”

“No, but at least he can be lain to rest properly,” Edric offered, but it didn't ease Varg's mind. The Count then added, “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to compose a letter to Count Lerington's family and tend to his service.” Edric sat down at his desk and started writing something on a piece of parchment as he took a sip of wine from his goblet.

Varg turned to leave, but a weight in his gut kept him firmly to the ground. He knew his work felt unfinished despite that he'd already received his pay. He turned to face the painting the arrow had pierced, according to the story Greenwood gave him, and he examined the hole. While archery was never one of his strongest skills, Varg knew a hole left by an arrow when he saw one. The hole in the painting at first glance did resemble an arrow mark, by upon further inspection, the mark was more of a straight line than a typical hole left by an arrow head. If Varg didn't know any better, he would have said the mark was made by a dagger, not an arrow.

This revelation sparked Varg's curiosity, and on a hunch he positioned himself in front of the hole and faced the window. The position of the window didn't fit the path the arrow would have had to travel in order to land where it did. The window was hanging too far to the right, and the bottom of the sill was too high to be able to reach the painting from the ground outside. Though the woman was an excellent shot, he was positive that even she would never be able to land an arrow where Count Greenwood claimed to have found it.

The Count had apparently noticed Varg was still lingering around, for he then said, “The guards can show you the way out, bounty hunter.”

The hunter took one last look at Count Greenwood and studied him for any faults in his demeanor, but turned around and left the room when he saw nothing. Varg knew that something was amiss, and neither the Count nor anyone else in the castle would say otherwise. There was only one person who may be able to shed light on the situation, and he was certain if she wanted to live she would cooperate.

After Varg left the Count's chambers, he avoided the eyes of the prying guards and found the door to the barracks located in the corridor leading out of the entrance chamber. When he entered, he saw a guard inside who straightened up quickly and tried to hide a bottle of ale before he could see it.

The guard quickly stood and readied his weapon. “What are you doing in here? You aren't allowed—”

“Before you make any attempt to idly threaten me, perhaps I can offer a deal? You let me visit your prisoner and I won't tell the Count you're drinking on the job,” Varg said.

The guard's expression fell, then he grudgingly lowered his weapon and said, “Only a few minutes, brute.”

“That's all I need,” Varg answered. He ignored the guard's inebriated glares and continued into the corridor until he found the cell where the woman was being held.

Once Varg found the woman's cell, he was finally able to see who she really was now that her cloak had been confiscated. She stood tall and lean with clear, fair skin. Her long hair was the color of rich wine and formed tight spirals down her back all the way to her waist. He couldn't help but notice her lovely curves, but he brushed it out of his head. If he wasn't in the middle of his work, he may have actually been attracted to her.

The woman paced back and forth in her cell until she saw Varg approach, at which point she straightened her posture and stared daggers at him.

“It wasn't enough to tie me up and carry me through Rivershire like a piece of game,” she snapped, “but now you've come to rub it in my face?”

“I am by no means here to insult you,” Varg assured.

The woman rolled her eyes and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It was then he noticed something that he hadn't noticed until she stepped further into the dim candle light of the dungeon. The woman's ears were pointed, an unmistakeable feature of an elf.

“You're an elf? I thought your people were sealed off from the world, into their domain,” Varg pressed.

The woman ignored his question and continued to glare at him. “What do you want with me?”

Varg brushed aside his curiosity and remembered his current objective. “I need to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” the elf spat.

“If you value your freedom, you should tell me what happened,” Varg said.

The elf scoffed. “Don't you think you should have asked me all this
before
you had me arrested and charged with kidnapping and murder? Why should I trust you?”

“What choice do you have?” Varg pointed out.

The elf sighed and said, “Fine, what do you want to know?”

“First, can you tell me your name?” Varg asked.

“Why do you care?” the elf asked.

“Forgive my curiosity,” the hunter replied, “but in all my years I have never met an elf. I've only heard tales and rumors about how the elves used powerful magic to seal their kingdom off from the outside world many centuries ago. How is it you've come to leave your people behind?”

“I don't consider those wretches my people,” she spat. “Besides, I am only half-elf.”

Varg paused briefly and pondered what she'd just said. He gave her a slight smile and muttered, “Small world, this is.”

“What are you talking about?” the half-elf said with a sigh.

“I mean that I'm just like you,” Varg said. “I'm a half-breed.”

The half-elf stared at him as if she expected him to be making a cruel joke. Then she replied, “You are?”

“Aye, and I don't tell you this simply for your cooperation. I know all to well the isolation that comes with being a half-blood. My father's kind has been extinct for some time,” Varg said. “He was a jotun.”

“A jotun? You mean the fabled men of ice said to have inhabited the Northern Continent?”

“They were hardly fable, obviously,” Varg said, “but yes, though they were more commonly known as frost giants. They weren't really giant, mind you, but they were much taller than human men.”

The half-elf grew quiet, as if she were trying to decide whether or not she believed what Varg was saying. He began to fear that he would never gain her trust until he finally heard her utter, “Milea.”

Varg looked her in the eyes and said, “What was that?”

“My name is Milea,” she repeated.

Varg smiled and placed a hand on one of the cell bars, then said, “That's a much more fitting name. In case you were wondering, my name is Varg.”

“All right Varg,” Milea said softly, “what do you want to know?”

“To start, what were you doing in that cave next to Lionel's body?” Varg asked.

Milea began to pace again. “I came to town in search of work and was hired by a man from the town to clear the cave of a wolf infestation. I'm a hunter by trade, and sometimes I clear infestations of pests and monsters. The man said that the wolves were becoming quite a problem for Rivershire, so he asked me to complete the task immediately and offered a generous reward.”

Varg remembered the dead wolf he'd found in the cave, then said, “Go on.”

“I didn't find many wolves,” Milea said, “but I was told the nest would probably be further back into the mine. Then I discovered that body just before you discovered me.”

“What about the Count's coin pouch I found in your satchel?” Varg asked.

“I received that as a down payment for my services. At the time I thought this was a good deal, but now I know that it was a ploy to frame me for the crime,” Milea said.

Varg stroked the short hair on his chin and asked, “Who was this man?”

“He didn't give his name, just that he was a local miner,” Milea replied.

“What about the servant, Hilda? She recognized your voice as the kidnapper's,” Varg explained.

Milea stopped pacing, faced Varg, and said, “She made that up, and the only reason I can think of is because she's the real killer. If not, she's lying for whoever is.”

Varg took a deep breath. While it seemed unlikely someone would go to all this trouble to frame an innocent woman, he had to admit that Milea's story held more water. He couldn't imagine why someone like Hilda would kill Lionel, but with Milea's story brought to light, he felt it was time to examine the victim's body.

The guard came in, breaking Varg from his thoughts, and said, “Time's up. Leave the prisoner and be on your way.”

Varg shrugged and turned to Milea. “Thank you, Milea. I'll be seeing you around.”

When he turned to leave, Milea said, “If you have even a shred of the skill you claim, you will find the truth. My execution is at dawn, so don't dally.”

Varg looked back to her and nodded reassuringly, then continued out of the barracks as the guard sat back down with his ale. Varg emerged from the corridor into the entrance chamber to find Count Greenwood and several guards waiting for him.

“I thought I made it quite clear that you were to leave,” Edric barked.

“I'm not causing any harm,” Varg argued.

“You are trespassing in my keep,” the Count said. “Either you leave of your own accord or my guards will gladly drag your body out.”

“I'd like to see them try,” Varg dared him. “Fortunately for you and them, I'm done here anyway.”

“If I ever see your face in Rivershire again, you will spend the rest of your life in chains,” the Count threatened.

Varg began to walk past the Count, but was sure to shout back, “I doubt you have centuries to wait for my death.” He only wished he could see Count Greenwood's puzzled expression before he strolled out of the keep without another word.

There was a time when Varg grew attached to someone. It was a time when he was still innocent to the dangers in the world both to the body and heart. Since those days had come and gone, he vowed to never grow attached or become personal in someone's affairs again. This was the nature of a bounty hunter; complete the job no questions asked, then take your leave and never see the people you helped or hindered ever again. He had to wonder why, then, did he feel the need to help Milea.

Surely the half-elf wasn't just an innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time. Such coincidences didn't happen in Varg's line of work. Then again, this would mean that meeting another half-breed like himself wasn't coincidence. He never took a fancy to believing in fate, but he didn't want to believe that the only other half-breed he'd ever met would be a cold-blooded killer. In spite of his gut feeling, he decided that if he found no evidence that she was innocent or that anyone else was guilty, he would solemnly continue his way in perpetual solitude.

After he left the Count's keep, Varg walked back into town and began his search for the mortuary. He didn't ask anyone since none of the townsfolk would want to speak to him anyway, but he also wanted to avoid the watchful eyes of the guards. He noticed a building to his left that had empty coffins littering the ground outside and he knew he'd found it. He crept up to the door and waited until he was sure no one was around before he began to examine the lock.

Night had fallen, so it came to no surprise that the door was locked. Varg heaved a breath that included a silent plea for the mortician to be asleep, then he grabbed his lock-picking tools from his belt pouch. He carefully worked the pick and took care to peek around to make sure no one could see him. When he heard the click of the lock opening at last, he gently pushed the door open.

Varg heard no signs of life, so he thanked his own fortune and entered the building. The first room held only a desk and paperwork, but there was a doorway that led to another room in which table covered by a thin sheet lay. He took a chance and ventured inside, which was when he realized that something lay under the sheet on the table, which was undoubtedly a body. Since no other bodies were in the room, he was sure it was Lionel's.

When he removed the top of the sheet, Varg nearly vomited.
Though the sight of Lerington's stiff, discolored body alone made him want to avert his eyes, the terrible smell of the Count's rotting flesh was enough to sting his eyes and send chills down his spine. He noticed that the sheet had been soaked in a rich fragrance in an attempt to hide the smell, but he knew all too well that it wouldn't last long.
He had to act quickly before anyone outside noticed the smell or before he fainted from it. He lay the sheet near the corpse's navel—at least where he thought the navel should be—and started to examine the body.

Lerington appeared to be an older man, possibly sixty to seventy years of age. Under his thinning hair, Varg spotted a gash on the back side of his head. This confirmed what Hilda said about the abductor striking Lerington, but the wound made no sense. It was near the back of his head, rather than the front. When a man knows he is in danger, the last thing he will do is turn his back on his attacker. Though it was peculiar, he needed more than this to go on if he had any hope to prove Milea's innocence.