The Crystal Wood (Half-Breed Book 2)

by Brittany Comeaux

  As he did, Milea explained more about the centaurs. “They usually keep in the denser parts of the forest,” she said, “but our entering must have alerted them and that's why they attacked us at the road. I am so sorry Varg. I should have known this would happen.”

  “You...had no...way...of knowing,” he muttered through each breath.

  “Well, what's done is done, but don't worry, the elves know how to cure the poison.”

  “How do you know?” Varg asked.

  “They cured the poison inflicted on a few soldiers when I still lived in the city. They know all about avoiding and defeating the centaurs,” Milea explained.

  “I take it they've always caused trouble here?” Varg said.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” Milea said. “Centaurs don't exactly like elves, because they used to be mistreated by them for their barbaric ways. Elves often look down on creatures they deem below them.”

  “They sound marvelous,” Varg said.

  Once Varg was rested and the pain was gone again, Milea helped him to his feet and continued forward. Varg didn't know how long they traveled, but every half hour or so he had to stop and rest so that Milea could tend to his wound. Varg hoped that this meant she truly did forgive him.

  From what Varg could tell, the sun was setting and night was falling. It was then that he noticed the crystals dotting the ground were glowing even brighter, no doubt to help light their way. It was a beautiful sight, although he wished he were in better condition to truly appreciate it.

  When Varg sat down to rest again, he began to think of all those they left behind in Fellen. As Milea checked his wound again, he said, “Do you think the others are faring well?”

  Milea pressed the new leaf onto Varg's wound and waited for the burning to stop. Once he calmed down, she answered, “I'm sure they're fine. For now, you need to focus on staying awake long enough for us to get you help.”

  Varg nodded, and then asked, “How far away do you think we are?”

  “It will take us another hour to get to the city, I think,” Milea said.

  She helped him to his feet again and walked forward, but something stopped her. She searched about for something, and she looked worried.

  “What is it?” Varg asked.

  “I heard a noise,” Milea said.

  “Not again,” Varg muttered, “I can't deal with any more centaurs right now.”

  When whatever made the noise stepped out of the brush, Milea said, “Those aren't centaurs.”

  Varg looked up to see a troop of tall, fair-haired warriors, mainly women, in silver and green armor. Their weapons were drawn and pointed straight at them, and it was clear that they weren't happy to see outsiders. A woman in full armor stepped forward armed with a gracefully thin sword. She said something in Elvish, to which Milea responded the same way. The two of them argued as Varg's vision darkened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice had left him and his body became heavy.

  Varg fell to his knees, at which point Milea started frantically shouting in Elvish. He couldn't understand a word anyone was saying, and lost consciousness before he could ask.

  CHAPTER 14

  It was nearing evening as Catrina made her rounds about the castle, checking on news from Conley. A scout returned earlier that day with news that Alastor's forces had not yet advanced, and Conley's forces were growing agitated as the days rolled by.

  “Milord fears that Alastor is planning something, and he's afraid that there's more to this invasion than meets the eye,” the scout said.

  Catrina had nodded and said, “I agree. And I fear that if the Count makes the first move, it might leave Ironbarrow open to attack.”

  “That's why he ordered his troops to wait for movement from the enemy to strike,” the scout confirmed.

  It had been several hours since she held that conversation, and she began to worry that something was amiss. She desperately hoped for some answer, some sign of what Alastor's intentions were. Surely he couldn't do anything with his troops just sitting and waiting to advance. How would he benefit from just waiting like this?

  Catrina was startled by a sudden knock at the door to her chambers. The sharp rapping indicated urgent news.

  “Enter,” she called quickly.

  A page entered, bowed before the Countess, and said, “Milady, Miss Erril has returned from Whitspire and has requested to speak to you immediately—AAGH!”

  Catrina had to only hear the name Erril before she was darting out of the room and nearly knocking the page onto the floor as she passed him. She shouted a quick apology as she gathered up her dress and ran through the castle corridors with no intent for being ladylike.

  Catrina finally entered the Great Hall to see Erril, filthy and weary, sitting at one of the tables gobbling up a turkey leg as though she hadn't eaten in over a year. When the girl spotted Catrina, however, she dropped the food and ran to her.

  The two embraced and then Catrina grabbed Erril by the shoulders and said, “What news Erril? Is the king sending reinforcements?”

  “Catrina,” Erril began with barely any breath, “Greenwood is in Whitspire, and he's sending troops to overrun Ironbarrow while Conley and the others are distracted by Alastor!”

  “What?” Catrina exclaimed. “How can that be? What about King Reman?”

  Erril then relayed her tale of her capture, escape from the dungeon, finding Tollack and the King, and her escape from the city to warn them.

  “That explains why Alastor has been biding his time,” Catrina said. “If Greenwood gets here before Conley can help fend them off...”

  “We have to get a message to Conley,” Erril gasped. “We-”

  The girl collapsed before Catrina, and before she even gave the order, several guards came forward to help her to her feet. Erril mumbled again as her head dangled from her shoulders, but Catrina rested a hand on her shoulder and said, “Dear child, you need to rest. You've done enough. I will send a message to Conley.”

  Catrina ordered the guards to take Erril to her room. She then summoned the acting guard commander, since the captain was aiding the battlefront, and said, “We need to get word to the Count that the city is in danger. Tell him to return to Ironbarrow immediately to defend the city!”

  “At once, My Lady,” the guard said with a salute. He then darted through the double doors and left Catrina to do nothing except pray.

  Night was falling and Conley stood over a table in his tent with Oliva and Tain to his right and his guard captain on his left.

  “Alastor's forces are positioned here,” the captain said as he pointed to a spot on the map just east of their position. “You can see their flags over the range, and our scouts have observed their camps, but so far they have yet to make a move in our direction, yet they appear to be ready to move out at a moment's notice.”

  “Alastor is waiting for something,” Conley said, “otherwise he would have moved by now.”

  “With all due respect, My Lord, perhaps we should just make the first advance and wipe them out before we give them the chance-”

  “No, I already told you that's out of the question,” Conley retorted. “If we attack first, we leave Ironbarrow open to attack. I have no doubt that the forces we've been observing are merely a diversion and that Alastor is waiting for us to move further away from the city.”

  “That sounds a bit paranoid,” Tain remarked.

  The guard captain stared at him for daring to speak to the Count in such a way, but then he relaxed when he realized that Conley paid no mind to it. “Nevertheless, we cannot just sit here and wait for the enemy to advance.”

  “What if we run out of provisions?” Tain pointed out.

  “Then we send for more,” Conley said in a matter-of-fact tone. “We already have enough to last a week longer, and the city has plenty more.”

  “But Uncle,” Oliva said, “surely you cannot expect your men to wait it out like this?”

  “They are trained for situation
s like this,” Conley argued. “They know the risk of allowing the enemy to take their homes.”

  “It's true,” the guard captain said, “the issue is not with the men. They are willing to wait as long as it takes.”

  Just then, the flap of Conley's tent opened and a foot soldier entered. He looked as though he had just run a marathon and was covered with sweat as he stammered, “M-milord, you must come quickly!”

  Conley straightened up. “What is it, soldier?”

  “It's the city, it's...”

  Conley's heart sank. “What is it? Speak!”

  The soldier took a deep breath, then said, “The guards at the front gate have lit the distress signal, Milord.”

  Without a word, a pale Conley darted outside into the evening and upon the horizon, just before the sunset, a cloud of smoke was coming from the faint outline of Ironbarrow. The signal was indeed of distress and not an accidental fire, because there were gaps in between the smoke indicating that someone was deliberately controlling it. The method in which it was done indicated that there was exactly what Conley was dreading: an imminent siege on the city.

  “Dammit!” cried the Count. “They must have come from another side! That's what Alastor was waiting for!”

  Oliva and Tain appeared beside him.

  “What should we do, Uncle?” Oliva cried.

  “We have to return to the city and fight off the invaders,” Conley said.

  “But if we do that, we risk Alastor flanking us,” Tain pointed out.

  “We have to take that chance,” Conley said. “What good is defeating Alastor if we don't have a city to return to?”

  “I'll give the orders to move out right away, My Lord,” the guard captain said as he darted off into the gathering crowd of soldiers.

  As the guard captain barked orders to the soldiers, Conley returned to his tent to ready his gear. Oliva and Tain entered as well.

  “Conley, are you sure this is wise?” Tain asked.

  “The alternative isn't any better,” Conley admitted. “I know I'm taking a risk here, but we cannot allow the enemy to enter the city. At least if we can drive out the invaders before Alastor arrives, we can hold him off until reinforcements arrive from Whitspire.”

  “Then there may be hope after all, right Tain?” Oliva asked.

  She and Conley both looked at Tain, who then answered, “Sure.”

  But the way Tain looked just then, Conley could tell he didn't mean it. He even wondered himself whether or not he believed that.

  “Gather your things,” Conley said. “We march within the hour.”

  As Varg's vision began to return, he became acutely aware of the pounding in his head, which was his only prove that he wasn't dead. He felt a softness around him, and as soon as he was able to move his arms that he realized that he lay in the softest bed he ever imagined.

  Varg opened his eyes and scanned the room, but all he could make out were strange, abstract shapes. Before long, he could hear muffled voices, but he couldn't make out the words. He could hear just fine, but for some reason his mind wasn't comprehending what the people surrounding him were saying. It took some time for him to realize that there was nothing wrong with his head, but that the people were speaking in a foreign language that he didn't know. Varg tried to think of what language it was, and before long he remembered that he and Milea had entered the Crystal Wood, so they were no doubt elves speaking in their native tongue.

  Milea!

  Varg tried to sit up and see where Milea was, but several hands pushed him down. Several gentle voices spoke to him, yet he could tell that they were giving him orders, probably to not move or try to get up. After his vision returned minutes later, he saw several women with long, flowing hair and white robes standing over him. Their ears were pointed like Milea's, only longer and their features were softer and more feminine. To his dismay, he could see no sign of Milea, nor did the women seem to be focused on anyone else in the room besides himself.

  “Where is...Milea?” he groggily asked.

  The women stared at him with blank expressions, and it dawned on Varg that they had no idea what he was saying. One of the elf women said something to someone in the corner, then there was another woman who approached them. This one had a much more elaborate robe and had long black hair and crystal blue eyes. She carried a staff, and Varg deduced that she was likely a mage of some kind. The new elf approached him and lay her forefinger and middle finger on his forehead, then she chanted something, and a warm surge went through Varg's head, making his headache even worse.

  Varg instinctively brought his hands up to grasp his throbbing head, and that was when he heard a woman's voice say, “Can you understand me now?”

  Varg opened his eyes to see the mage elf staring down at him with a smile, and then he uttered, “I think so...”

  “Good,” she said, “you now speak the tongue of the elves.”

  Varg blinked. “Wait a minute, you mean I'm speaking Elvish right now?”

  The mage nodded. “I cast a spell to give you full understanding of the language.”

  Varg was stunned. “So how do I speak my own language again?”

  “When you speak to one who shares your own language, you will speak it again. In fact, though you understand what you say as your own tongue now, your mind will slowly adapt to our dialect and you will understand it both in oral and written format without the use of the spell,” the mage explained.

  “Well...thank you,” Varg said. He then remembered what he needed to find out. “What about Milea? Where is she?”

  The mage cocked her head to the side and answered, “If you mean the woman who was brought to the castle with you, I'm afraid she isn't here.”

  “Where is she?” Varg pressed.

  “She is in conference with Queen Shalia.”

  Varg turned his head to face the woman who spoke, who was an elf with long, white blonde hair and green eyes. She was covered head to toe in armor the same color as the crystals in the Wood, and it didn't take long for Varg to see the delicate details carved in the armor that resembled the very crystals that they saw.

  The elf woman spoke again with a voice so soft and silvery, yet regal and commanding, and said, “You will have to wait if you wish to see her.”

  “What do you mean?” Varg asked the woman.

  “I mean exactly what I said,” the armored elf said. “Your friend demanded an audience with the queen and that you were to be healed of your affliction. I threatened to throw her in the dungeon for her insolence, but fortunately for both of you, the queen was gracious enough to comply with her demands. If not for her, you would not be sitting there profaning our language with your vile tongue.”

  Varg had never felt the urge to hit a woman before, but he gritted his teeth and said, “I want to see Milea.”

  “You aren't entitled to make the demands here,” the elf said. “And you won't be going anywhere until you answer a few questions of mine.”

  “With all due respect, Lady Shara,” the mage said, “I don't believe that interrogating him would be a good idea. Centaur poison is quite traumatic on the body-”

  “He is an outsider who made it through the barrier and trespassed on our sacred land. I don't care if the centaurs left only his head. I will get to the bottom of this,” the woman named Shara said.

  “But my lady-”

  “You have no business to argue,” Shara interrupted. “Now return to the queen and inform her that I will be along as soon as I am done speaking with him.”

  At the last word, Shara gestured to Varg with a jerk of her head.

  The mage bowed and said, “Yes, my lady. At once.”

  The rest of the women, whom Varg presumed were healers, left the room as well, but not before he offered his thanks to them. Once they were out of the room and Varg was alone with Shara, he was able to prop himself up on his elbows and face her.

  Varg couldn't help but be taken in by the beautiful architecture of the room he was in.
He lay in a canopy bed made of some kind of shimmering metal, and if he didn't know any better, he would have sworn that the entire room he was in was made of marble. The walls were pale gray and white, and the trim was painted with shimmering green and gold.

  Finally, Shara walked over to the bed and began, “Now then, anyone with eyes can tell that you are most certainly not an elf.”

  Varg huffed and said, “What gave me away?”

  “Mind your tone if you don't want to wind up in the dungeon,” Shara said with a glare. “The only reason I'm even allowing you the luxury of recovering is because the queen insisted.”

  Varg didn't know why this queen he'd never met was being so gracious towards him, but he wasn't foolish enough to question her motives when she was clearly helping him, an outsider.

  “Now then,” Shara continued, “I'm going to presume that you know about the barrier surrounding our sacred forest that prevents those without elf heritage from entering. Since you are clearly no elf, my first question is simple: how did you, a human, enter the Crystal Wood?”

  Varg realized that this elf had probably never seen a human in her life since she did not so much as raise an eyebrow to his white hair and silver eyes when just about every human he encountered at least did a double take when he passed by. He didn't feel like correcting her, so instead he replied, “My...friend helped me. She's...an elf.”

  Varg almost said “half-elf,” but decided against it for the time being.

  Shara evidently didn't buy it. “She resembles an elf, all right, but there is something off about her. Care to elaborate? And furthermore, how did she smuggle you in and why?”

  “One question at a time,” Varg said. He then told her about how Milea drew her own blood and wiped it on Varg's hand so he could pass.

  “So she used her own blood to fool the barrier into thinking you were an elf?” Shara asked. “I'll admit that she's clever, but that doesn't change the fact that you are both trespassers. Also, you still haven't told me why the two of you came here.”

  Varg was getting tired of her attitude, but he saw no benefit in avoiding her questions or arguing with her at this point. “We've come here to find information about an artifact that a dangerous cult is after, known as the key to the Crystal Wood. Apparently it allows a non-elf to enter the Crystal Wood.”