No matter, Leer reminded himself. Company or not, you’ve a job to do.
He wriggled his shoulder until the strap slid, the pack swinging around toward his front. He plunged his mittened hand into it, retrieving the small journal nestled between rations and a woolen blanket. As he replaced the pack strap, he began walking again, flipping through a few pages awkwardly. The Lieutenant’s steps resumed alongside him.
Their simultaneous crunching of boots through snow was the only sound made between them for quite some time. Reading and walking proved to be quite difficult, and the sun’s bright rays bouncing off the pearlescent landscape made it more of a challenge. Leer squinted his eyes, the small swirling script of the journal barely legible.
“Sightings of Vei strength noted around eastern wood just south of Prijar. Locals recall unexplainable events, including strange lights and sounds.”
“So,” Lieutenant Doyle said with a sharpness that broke through Leer’s concentration, “by my calculations, we ought to reach Prijar by nightfall.”
“Aye,” Leer affirmed, distracted.
“You’ve your nose in that book for quite some time. Anything you care to share?”
Leer’s brow furrowed as he stopped walking; he looked up from the page to the Lieutenant, who paused alongside him, lifting his chin toward the journal.
“There must be something regarding direction,” he remarked.
“Nothing of immediate use,” Leer replied.
The Lieutenant’s brow arched. “But of use later, I gather?”
“Depends on what your interest is.”
“My interest, I assume, is the same as yours, Private. Finding the princess.”
Leer gave a small nod. “Of course.”
Lieutenant Doyle stared at him for a beat before he continued forward through the snow. Leer remained still for a moment, watching his back as he closed the journal. With a deep sigh, he continued after the Lieutenant.
“Tell me more about your beast, Private?” Lieutenant Doyle asked.
Leer’s eyes narrowed. “What do you wish to know?”
“What any man would if he were to go on a hunt—qualities, feeding, habitation, and the like.”
A small knot formed in Leer’s stomach with surprising haste. What has him so curious?
“Well,” he began, “it isn’t so much a beast as it is a man.”
“So, it’s a man who lost his sense?”
“Nay, it’s a man with the mind of a beast.”
“And he lives in the Fell?”
“Aye.”
“For what purpose might he have to attack during peace?”
“…I can’t say. I need to learn more about the power of the Vei it uses before I can conclude.”
“Ah, yes,” the Lieutenant murmured with a nod. “The Vei. A terribly corrupt influence long since dead.”
“If it were, then how did the beast gain its power?”
“Surely you don’t believe he’s anything more than a man parading around behind the mask of lies?”
“The Vei isn’t a lie.”
Lieutenant Doyle pursed his lips. “I must say, you’re quite a strange man. Did your mother not nurse you at the breast long enough?”
“The Vei exists,” Leer continued. “Its power is still attainable.”
The Lieutenant laughed. “Of course it is.”
“Then how do you explain the Grimbarror?” Leer countered, a heat rising behind his scarf covered ears.
“‘The Grimbarror’ isn’t anything more than a rebel with an army to help do his bidding. A poor excuse for a court magician’s cloak and dagger trick.”
“I saw it,” Leer argued, his jaw flexing.
“Look,” Lieutenant Doyle interjected, pausing as he turned toward Leer, “I know you think you saw it, but I can assure you, you didn’t.”
“You believe me to be dishonest, then?” Leer asked, eyes narrowing.
“I believe you to be disillusioned as to what the truth really is.”
Leer’s grip tightened around the journal. “I know what I saw.”
He brushed past the Lieutenant, grinding his molars together to shove aside his irritation. He paused briefly when he saw in the distance the thickening underbelly of storm clouds overhead. Being labeled as a lunatic was the least of his worries.
A storm was brewing.
“How about we call for a ration?” the Lieutenant asked a while later, freezing in place as he scanned the area.
Leer grumbled as he noted how the growing clouds shrouded the lingering midday sun high above them. They were still some distance from his intended goal of the Monu River. The swirling icy air pushed against the bits of warm, bare skin on Leer’s throat as he paused to consider the proposal.
“I’d wait until we get to the edge of the Monu River,” he advised, adjusting his scarf. “That way we can refill our canteens at the same time.”
“That might be the most rational thing I’ve ever heard you say.” The Lieutenant sighed, shielding his eyes from the blinding rays of sun bouncing off the crystalline landscape around them. “And where might the river be?”
“That way,” Leer pointed a mittened hand, as he moved around the Lieutenant.
When they reached it at the base of a hill, the Monu River was solid on the surface, the flowing waters under it concealed by a layer of ice.
“Wonderful,” Lieutenant Doyle mumbled. He skidded down into the valley, tossing his pack from his shoulders onto the ground before rooting through it. Moments later, he produced a pickaxe. “I think that as the lower rank, you should do the honors.” He held it out to Leer expectantly, his eyebrow arched while he waited for Leer to take it.
“Aye,” Leer said with a grumble, sliding his own pack from his shoulders. “We wouldn’t want to break protocol, would we?”
With a firm grip on the handle, Leer rammed the sharp tip of the axe into the frozen river. “Tell me, Lieutenant,” he asked between huffed breaths as he splintered the thick ice with relative ease, “if you had taken this journey alone, would you have waited for a private to come crack the ice for you?”
The Lieutenant shoved him aside from the water’s edge, snatching back the pick. “I’ll take that,” he growled. “I needn’t a private to do my work for me.”
Leer stretched upward with a smirk concealed under his wool scarf. He scanned the perimeter, drawing a deep breath through his nose. The scent of the air as it weaved between hewen and lingan trees’ needles exhilarated him. Despite living the majority of his life in the upper class territory of the Vale, Leer always felt most at home in nature.
“You say you’ve journeyed through these woods before?” Lieutenant Doyle asked between pings.
“Aye,” Leer confirmed, his back to him.
“For what purpose?”
“Hunting. My father sold furs.”
“Ah. So I gather that’s how you met Lance, then?”
A heavy weight descended on Leer’s chest at the thought. “Aye. He and my father were friends.”
“Your father,” Lieutenant Doyle swung the axe between puffs of breath, “was a furrier for the army, yes? He, Bilby, and Lance?”
Leer’s brow wrinkled. “Aye.” What does this have to do with anything?
“So, your father spent quite a measure of time with them.”
“I suppose he did.”
“I see.” The Lieutenant paused as he watched the ice begin to split. “You didn’t wish to take up the family business, I gather?”
Leer scoffed. “His business was the drink, not furs.”
The Lieutenant laughed softly. “Sounds like my father.”
Leer glanced behind him, watching Lieutenant Doyle work on the ice for a moment. “I suppose we have more in common than we knew.”
“Don’t get too wetbacked, Boxwell. I don’t quite feel like tossing my rations.”
As the pickaxe’s ping rang through his ears, Leer listened to his surroundings. It was otherwise silent—perhaps too silent.<
br />
“Say, it’s been a bit since we’ve heard wildlife in these parts, hasn’t it, Lieutenant?” he asked as he continued surveying the area.
“The less wildlife, the better,” the Lieutenant replied.
“Could be the sign of a pack of tragurns.”
“Lovely.” Leer heard him slam the axe once more and triumphantly gloat when he broke through the surface. “Hah! Come on, then. Fill your canteen, Boxwell.” Leer’s focus remained on the woods. “Boxwell. We haven’t got all day.”
“In a minute,” Leer murmured, his back still turned, eyes narrowed.
He saw something.
“Private!” Lieutenant Doyle yelled.
Leer’s brows wrinkled as he ignored him and moved forward, squinting as he examined a hewen’s knotted trunk. The bark bore a freshly gouged angular crescent moon line with three distinct slashes across the center. Leer traced the erratic cuts in the tree trunk with his mittened fingertips.
Insurgents.
The woods were likely an extension of territory, their symbol a warning to those who might enter its depths.
“Insurgents,” Leer called back to the Lieutenant, still feeling the grooves in the wood. “Be on your guard.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Lieutenant Doyle replied. “Now I’ve to add rebels to the list of things intent on killing us.”
“The cuts in the wood look fresh,” Leer mused. “No more than a month or so old.”
“Quit dawdling and fill your canteen.”
Leer ignored him, studying the tree line just beyond the tree trunk. He paused, his stomach sinking as he heard branches snapping in the distance.
“Draw your weapon,” Leer hissed back to Lieutenant Doyle, creeping backward toward the river as he unsheathed his sword.
“I don’t take orders from you,” the Lieutenant objected.
“Draw your weapon,” Leer repeated hoarsely, pausing when the air went silent. “It stopped,” he whispered.
“What stopped?”
“Perhaps if we remain still for a while, it will begin again.”
A moment of silence passed; Leer’s brow furrowed as he studied the forest’s edge.
“Do you hear anything?” Leer whispered.
A flying rock collided with the side of Leer’s head, knocking him to the ground, the ice scraping against his face as he slid toward the frozen river. The world went black around him.
A moment later, Leer blinked heavily, his eyes opening to find his face in the snow. He groaned, feeling the tenderness of all of his still healing injuries as he slowly pulled himself to his knees, snatching up his sword. He noted the blood left behind in the area where he fell. With a cautious hand, he touched his hand to his forehead, finding fresh blood on the wool of his mitten.
Trying to ignore the throbbing of his head, he scanned the perimeter.
Damn.
He was alone.
“Lieutenant!” he called, clumsily shifting his weight to his feet. As he picked up his sword, he looked down and noted the disturbance in the snow, multiple footprints visible. The path of the tracks stretched toward the woods.
“Blast,” he growled, darting toward the trees.
The sun spliced in thin rays through the thick blanket of evergreens overhead that dimmed Leer’s surroundings. The cold air stung his lungs; he paused to catch his breath, coughing as he shuddered from the chill.
“Lieutenant!” he called, hoping to hear something in response. Say something.
He hadn’t expected the warm whisper of a feminine voice in his ear:
“Come with me.”
-7—
The owner of the voice was hooded and masked. Leer couldn’t see anything but a set of sharp pale blue eyes belonging to a small young woman, who searched his face for a moment before she grabbed his hand and began racing with him deeper into the woods in the opposite direction.
Her nimble feet caressed the ground with respect and delicacy as she weaved between tree trunks and over exposed roots. Her firm grip challenged that of most of the men he knew.
For a few moments, he followed without question, a fog settling around his mind as if his choice was not his own. He stopped abruptly, the woman’s hood falling back slightly to reveal a swatch of shiny dark hair.
“Stand back,” Leer warned, readying his sword.
“Come on,” the woman sighed with frustration, not seeming intimidated by his display of aggression. “We’ve got to keep a move on.”
“From who?” Leer demanded, still holding his sword out in front of himself.
The woman scoffed. “Are you joking?”
“Why would I be?”
“So what, you believe a village boy aimed that rock for your head?”
“I think it was you,” Leer corrected, raising his sword.
The woman pursed her lips. “Are you blind or just daft?” she accused.
Leer’s brow wrinkled. “So, it wasn’t you?”
She looked baffled. “You’re an imbecile.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look,” she said, her hands finding her hips, “do you wish to live, or to do you wish to die like your friend?”
“He’s not dead,” Leer insisted.
“Like you’d know even if he was,” she murmured.
“Well…if he is dead, then you’re the one who got him killed, because I never said I had a travel companion.” Leer eyed her. “So you must have arranged this.”
The woman gaped. “Me? First of all, I can’t help it if he’s a weakling, so it’s not my fault what happens to him. And by the way, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m attempting to save your life.”
Leer took a challenging step closer to the woman, whose cloak had spread open from the haste of running. He examined her, realizing with surprise that she wore tight riding breeches, a cream tunic and a silver-hued willet fur vest under it instead of a dress, as usually worn by women in the Vale.
The unusual sight both startled and mesmerized Leer, his gaze resting on her toned legs. He felt his chest tighten at the view; his palms grew sweaty in his mittens. Heat rose around his neck, making his scarf almost immediately unbearable.
For the love of Hiline, don’t stare at her, you blithering fool.
Leer shifted his eyes to her boots with a hard swallow. “He’s a Lieutenant, you know,” he noted, still trying to recover.
“And what does that mean to me?” the woman asked indignantly.
“That if he dies,” Leer said, looking up at her, “then the blood of King Gresham’s army is on your hands.”
Her mouth gaped open. “You’re absolutely insane.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Leer muttered to himself with a shrug.
The pitch of the woman’s voice raised. “How do you suppose you can blame me for all this?”
Leer looked her in the eye. “Well, this was your set up, aye?”
The woman’s mouth dropped open as she put her hands on her hips. “I don’t believe it. Forget it. Die then—you and your daft Lieutenant.”
As she whirled around in the opposite direction, Leer caught onto her arm.
“Unhand me,” she warned, tugging against his hold. “I won’t be making the mistake of trying to save your useless life, you can bet your fancy sword on that.”
“Who are you?” Leer demanded.
“Who are you?” she asked back.
“Private Boxwell. And now you, lass.”
She shrugged him off her, glaring up at him. “First off, don’t call me ‘lass.’ Secondly, I don’t recall agreeing to divulge my name.”
Before he could let out his upset reply, the woman covered Leer’s mouth with her mittened hand, yanking him down with her behind the cover of brush.
“Shhh,” she warned, her eyes looking over his shoulder. “They’re close.”
“How close?” Leer asked when the woman’s hand slipped away from his mouth.
“Too close for us both to run any further without being seen.”
“They want a trade.”
“Of course they want a trade. They’re insurgents. Which is why I was trying to run.”
“Then why ‘save’ me?”
She hesitated. “I felt sorry for you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re in insurgent camp territory. Alone. Hit in the skull with a rock.” She squinted for a moment. “Quite a gash you’ve got, but you’ll live. And you reek of the guard, which means you’re likely daft or slow. Call it charity, I suppose.”
“How did you know I am a guard?”
She scoffed. “You’ve practically got it branded on you with your stupidity of entering the area without an escort.”
The sound of approaching footsteps snapping crunchy snow underneath quieted them both. Leer’s stomach sank with dread.
“Come on out, sprite,” a booming voice called through the wood, equally harsh steps accompanying it. Instinctively, Leer’s hands gripped around the woman’s wrists, one of her brows arching in surprise as response. “We saw you with the towhead, so show yourself. We know your style—I’m sure these two loons weren’t traveling without a purse. Can’t keep it all for yourself.”
A few more resounding paces sunk into the earth. Leer shifted position, causing snow to rattle from the brush, dusting both of them as they hid behind it. As Leer looked back from the approaching insurgents in the distance to the woman he still gripped, his eyes locked on hers, and his stomach sank.
“Let me go,” the woman whispered, her eyes piercing as she looked at him. “I’ll settle this and get you your Lieutenant back.”
“No,” Leer argued. “They’ll kill you. Or worse.”
The woman pulled her hands free. “For the love of Hiline, they don’t care a mite about me, you or your friend.”
“He’s not my friend,” Leer corrected.
“Well, whatever he is, they won’t hurt him if they don’t know you’re both guards. They’re just big bullies with a hunger for coins—harmless, really.”
Leer’s eyes widened as the woman snatched the small velvet bag of coins from his belt.
“Hey,” Leer hissed as the woman stood, her chin tilted up.
“Over here, boys,” she beckoned, jingling the coins in the bag.
“What are you doing?” Leer demanded under his breath, reluctantly coming to stand in view next to her.
The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1) Page 6
