The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1)

by Lyndsey Harper

  “Keeping us all alive,” the woman replied matter-of-factly.

  He scoffed. “By stealing from the king to satisfy insurgents?”

  She frowned, exasperated. “You are quite the details man, aren’t you?”

  The groan of the crushed snow and vegetation under the feet of the two approaching insurgents interrupted Leer, his focus shifting upward to take in their burly forms. The two men seemed taller than average, though the one in the front was also far broader.

  “Got yourself a nugget with your coins, eh sprite?” the front one asked with a hearty laugh as he eyed Leer, gripping Lieutenant Doyle’s sword in his fat hand. “I say, he’s not much meat on the bone. Not like me.”

  “Please,” the woman laughed. “I already told you, I don’t court insurgents. And anyway, this one doesn’t belong to me. He’s the other’s slow page. Felt sorry for him.”

  “I’m not slow,” Leer objected. “Nor am I his page.”

  “Shut it,” the woman hissed, glaring at him.

  “What about this one?” the front insurgent asked. Leer’s brow rose as he saw the Lieutenant bound and gagged by vines, and in the clutches of the insurgent toward the rear. “Why would you want to stick your neck out for ‘im? He a night time companion?” Both the insurgents cackled.

  “Certainly not,” the woman emphatically replied.

  “You meant to take the coins without sharing,” the front one tsked. “Not a very cordial way to treat those helping you.” The large man took a step forward. “You tried to cheat us.”

  “If I did,” the woman snapped, “then why would I’ve stopped to offer you two the purse? I could’ve made off with the slow one and the coins myself.”

  “I’m not slow,” Leer argued.

  The front insurgent lifted his chin. “How do we know you’re not keeping some already?”

  The woman rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “I’m not. But does it even matter if I’m willing to give you a remaining portion?”

  The two men glanced at each other, then shrugged. “Suppose not.”

  “Right, then,” the woman nodded. “A trade. The purse for the dark-haired one and his weapon.”

  “Not the weapon,” the front man replied, shaking his head as he twisted the sword around, the purple hued blade glinting in the sun. “I like it.”

  “Both, or no deal,” the woman challenged, squaring her shoulders.

  “Is that right, now?”

  “Yes.”

  The insurgent in the front laughed after a long moment of silence, his chuckle shaking his thick chest. “You know, sprite, you amuse me. Perhaps I’d let you keep some of the purse if you’d change your mind about courting your own kind.”

  “Look,” the woman eyed him with a sigh, “I’d really like to get on with my day, so either you take the purse or not.”

  Leer heard the muffled protest from Lieutenant Doyle. He looked to the woman expectantly, seeing her still staring ahead at the brooding, husky figure in front of her.

  The insurgent wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You first,” he said, nodding in reference toward the bag she held.

  The woman smirked. “I’m no fool, Rahjin. Let the dark-haired one and his sword go at the same time as I toss the purse. On my count of three. Have we got a deal?”

  Rahjin, the front insurgent, pondered the proposition for a moment. “Fine,” he finally said, scratching his large stubbled chin. He flexed his gnarled hands thoughtfully. “But if you try anything sneaky, I’ll have Teshi snap his spine in half.”

  “Done,” the woman said, eliciting a groaned protest from Lieutenant Doyle. “One…two…”

  As promised, on the count of “three,” the woman tossed the blue velvet satchel toward Rahjin’s far left, who tossed Lieutenant Doyle’s sword near her. Teshi shoved Lieutenant Doyle carelessly onto the thick snow covered brush as he bounded after the purse with Rahjin. Leer shut his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “You were truthful, sprite,” Rahjin called triumphantly as he examined his prize while pacing away. His laugh chilled Leer and haunted his ears. “There’s enough here to be shared, if you change your mind.”

  “I don’t always cheat, boys. But I always refrain from courting insurgents,” the woman replied with a wink as Rahjin and Teshi scurried out of sight.

  Sure they left, Leer bolted toward the Lieutenant, working furiously with his sword to slice away the vines.

  The Lieutenant gasped, “Detain her!” when he was finally ungagged. He stood on shaky feet with a glare. “She’s an insurgent who’s stolen money from the king!”

  “First of all, I am not an insurgent,” the woman replied sharply. “Secondly, I saved both your lives. And thirdly, I’ve stolen more than just coins.”

  “Excuse me?” the Lieutenant asked with disgust.

  She smiled, sliding their two packs off her shoulder from under her cloak, holding them up. “Uh-uh,” she warned, raising a dagger clutched in her hand. “I’m going to assume these are at least somewhat important to both of you to survive wherever it is you’re going, right?” Leer saw in his peripheral the Lieutenant reaching for his sword. “Oh, and your sword.” She nodded over toward the weapon to her rear.

  The Lieutenant lurched forward. “Why you little—”

  “Hey,” Leer interrupted, stopping the Lieutenant. He calmly took a step forward toward the woman, examining her still masked face. She trained her bright blue eyes on him with reservation. “Fine,” he said to the woman as he approached. “Suppose we agree to another even exchange, just like the one you did with Rahjin and Teshi.”

  “So you want a deal, then?” the woman asked with a smirk.

  Leer nodded, taking another step closer, as if approaching a skittish nim. “Aye. Our packs and his sword for your freedom.”

  She was silent as she considered his proposal. “I already think that I’m rather free at the moment, Private Boxwell.”

  “Aye,” he murmured. “For now, you are.”

  “For now?”

  Leer shrugged. “You won’t be much of a chase.”

  She laughed. “I could kill you to avoid the trouble of running.”

  “You could,” Leer agreed. “But you won’t.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What game are you playing?” she asked.

  “No games, lass,” he replied confidently. “I can just sense it in you.” He took another step closer, his grip still firm on the sword lowered at his side. “Do you suppose we can arrange a deal now?”

  “You don’t negotiate with her, Private,” Lieutenant Doyle interrupted from behind. “Stand down.”

  “I told you,” the woman said through clenched teeth, “don’t call me ‘lass.’”

  “Then at least tell me your name so I might address you properly,” Leer offered with a smoldering grin.

  “That smile of yours might work on other girls, but it bears no weight with me,” she replied, with her own small smirk. “Have we got a deal?”

  Leer stepped forward, tucked his sword away, and lifted his hand to the woman. “Shake.”

  “Are you mad, Boxwell?” Lieutenant Doyle asked behind him. “Oh wait, I forgot—you are.”

  Leer continued to approach despite the Lieutenant’s exasperation. He kept his hand out, waiting once he closed the gap.

  “Alright, shake,” the woman agreed with obvious hesitance, stowing her dagger and lifting her small mittened hand and gripping Leer’s, keeping her eyes on his. He held her gaze as she peered into his burnished irises; he watched her lips part and admired their scarlet hue in the moment.

  With little hesitation and a slick turn of his wrist, Leer wrapped the woman into a tight lock that she couldn’t escape, the packs dropping to the ground as her back pressed into his chest. She growled, wriggling against him as he pinned her arms down.

  “You whoreson,” she snarled as he held her in place.

  Leer inched his mouth close to her ear, catching the faint scent of hewen need
les and something else he couldn’t place in her hair. It was a bit smoky, a bit sweet. “Never make a deal with someone you don’t know,” he said in a husky tone.

  “I tried to save you.”

  “You used me,” Leer corrected, wincing as the woman’s protest irritated his still sore ribs. “I know you were traveling with them.”

  “So what? And you’re not using me now?” she argued.

  “This is different.”

  “How?” she demanded. “How is this different?”

  “Because it’s not my skin I’m protecting.”

  “Well, you’re one of the king’s dogs, so whose skin is it then?”

  “The Princess of Hiline’s.”

  Leer was thankful when the woman stopped wrestling. “What has happened to her?” she whispered.

  “Have you been in these woods that long?”

  “I don’t cross into the Vale if I can help it. I can’t stomach the place.”

  “She was taken on the eve of the averil,” Leer explained with a short sigh, dipping his mouth to her ear. “Look,” he whispered, “if you return the packs and sword to us to without a fight, we’ll forget your debt.” Leer paused, his warm breath blowing against her neck. “You’ll have my protection. Of that I can vow on my mentor’s grave to be truth.” He took a lingering glimpse of her supple mouth while she thought over his proposition. Focus. “What say you? Shall we let him handle it,” Leer nodded to Lieutenant Doyle, “or handle it this way?”

  “Fine,” the woman replied, still compressed against Leer’s chest. “Now, I want you to let me go, alright?”

  “Not until the Lieutenant has his sword,” Leer replied with a grin, walking forward with her.

  She stiffened in his arms. “Sure, you’re just enjoying the experience.”

  Leer laughed gently. “It’s certainly not terrible, but I’d just rather have him sated first.”

  “I hope your princess finds you more charming than I do,” the woman retorted.

  “My princess?”

  “Why else should a man go through all the trouble to retrieve her without an army if he wasn’t seeking the crown?”

  The Lieutenant interrupted Leer before he could respond, crossing to retrieve his sword and the discarded packs. “Good work,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Now we will have you detained by the men at the nearest Keep immediately.”

  “Nay,” Leer argued, still holding the woman close. His objection got the attention of Lieutenant Doyle. “Her debt is squared. No need to delay us from the Fell by traveling to the Keep. It’s a half day’s journey east of here one way and frankly, I haven’t got the extra energy for that sort of thing.”

  “The Fell?” the woman asked, aghast. “Are you both mad? Going to the Fell by yourselves, and in the dead of winter, no less?”

  “We’ve business there.”

  “What business could you possibly have? And anyway, travel on the northern road is bound to be treacherous.”

  “So then you know the way?” Lieutenant Doyle asked, taking a step closer.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe, but why would I tell you?”

  “You should if you value your freedom.”

  Leer interjected, “She’s of no consequence to us at all.”

  Lieutenant Doyle lifted his chin in thought. “The insurgent will accompany us,” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked her over. “After all, she has proven herself to be a…suitable guide for these woods.”

  “I’m not an insurgent,” the woman argued, her eyes narrowing.

  “Oh excuse me, the thief.”

  “I steal only when I deem it necessary.”

  “And what if she deems it necessary to kill us while we sleep for this arrangement?” Leer argued, eyeing the Lieutenant. “This isn’t a trip I wish to subject someone to by force.”

  “I remind you of your place, Private,” Lieutenant Doyle warned. “You’ve no allowance to question my orders.” He looked down at the woman as Leer held her. “What say you? Would you rather be taken to the Keep, imprisoned and possibly hanged, or join us and live a little longer to prove your merit?”

  “I refuse either,” she argued. “I’m not some sort of thing you two can tote around like property.”

  “Pick one,” the Lieutenant growled, his finger snatching her chin and turning her face to force her to look at him.

  The woman stiffened, looking down for a moment before replying. “Fine. I’ll take you.”

  “Good,” Lieutenant Doyle replied with a growing smirk. “I’d like to get a bit further north before nightfall. But first, we should at least introduce ourselves. I’m Lieutenant James Shelton Doyle.” Leer felt the woman suppress a shiver. Her disguise couldn’t conceal how her eyes rounded as she looked at him. “And the man clawing at you like a tragurn is Private Leer Boxwell. Now, we should at least know your name, shouldn’t we?” He took a step forward, taking hold of the woman’s chin and tilting it up to force her to look at him. “And perhaps even see your face?” He paused, the bottom corner of his mouth turning up into a small smile. “You’ve the most…exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of seeing.”

  “How is either necessary?” she asked with challenge as she tried to turn away from his hold.

  The Lieutenant accepted it. “We wouldn’t want to have to call you ‘sprite’ for the next few days, should we?”

  “I could live with it, I suppose.”

  Lieutenant Doyle clearly wasn’t amused. “Tell me your name.”

  “Mildred O’Malley Flannigan,” the woman smirked.

  “Bloody little—”

  “Easy,” Leer warned the Lieutenant, pulling the woman back instinctively.

  “Stand down, Boxwell,” Lieutenant Doyle instructed, his voice dark. “Your name,” he demanded, shifting his focus to the woman.

  “Gerta Strude,” the woman mocked, her lie obvious through her angry tone.

  With strength Leer hadn’t expected, Lieutenant Doyle grabbed the woman and ripped her hood from her head, exposing her dark wavy hair as it fell over her shoulders.

  “Your name,” he yelled at her.

  “Lieutenant!” Leer protested, surging forward.

  “It’s alright,” the woman breathed, pushing Leer away with an outstretched arm, her mittened palm pressing gently against his chest. After a beat, she lowered it, shaking the Lieutenant off herself and studying the dark-haired man. After removing her mittens, she slowly raised her hands to the back of her head to undo the ties of her mask, revealing her face.

  Leer swallowed as he caught a glimpse of her freckle-dusted ivory skin. Her features were pale and soft, delicate. Understated.

  “Astrid,” she whispered. “Astrid Browne. Are you satisfied?” She tossed the dark felt disguise at Lieutenant Doyle, turning away as it dropped to the snow.

  “Quite,” the Lieutenant replied with a smirk. “Well, let’s be off, then,” he added, nodding to Leer. “I’d like to get that hot supper in Prijar.”

  -8—

  The lilt of the Grimbarror’s voice haunted Leer. With each burdened step through the snowy wood, he rehashed the fateful eve of the averil over and over in his mind. Still, it wasn’t the fearsome events that made him push forward for hours as he trudged through the snow. It was the mystery of the beast’s words, the rhyming puzzle laced with gruesome promise that drove Leer mad.

  This past week was the most chaotic period of his life. Stress and strange occurrences mounted at incalculable speed. First, he discovered Finnigan’s body after the prince was killed. Then, he witnessed the attack of the Vale that took so many lives but somehow spared his own, not to mention the peculiarly accurate compositions of his mind during his escape from Bilby, or the demon’s haunting yellow-rimmed eyes plaguing his sleep.

  Guilt spread over him as Leer caught the orange rays of the setting sun through white-tipped hewens.

  Nearly seven days, now.

  Could she be…?

  He squ
eezed his dark eyes shut with a low growl that rumbled in his throat.

  Maybe this is without merit. After all, why would the beast keep her alive?

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Astrid and Lieutenant Doyle walking a few paces ahead. He could hear the tension in their voices.

  “Quit dawdling,” the Lieutenant snapped over his shoulder at him. “I won’t have you slow our pace.”

  Annoyed, Leer lengthened his strides to come alongside Astrid. He caught a glimpse of her from beneath her hood. She stared straight ahead, her expression chilled like the air that reddened the tip of her nose.

  “All I’m saying is, you should consider the possibilities, Lieutenant,” he heard Astrid argue.

  “I have,” the Lieutenant snapped, pausing next to her. “And I have concluded that I will keep going until I know for certain.”

  “Know what, exactly?” Astrid asked, his lips pursed.

  “As I’ve said before, the truth regarding the princess.”

  Astrid protested, “It’s not my fault you wish to deny what is obvious.”

  Lieutenant Doyle eyed her through a moment of thick silence. “You should tread carefully, breedbate,” he growled.

  “Hey,” Leer interjected, stepping forward. “Leave her be.”

  “Please,” Astrid sneered, “He doesn’t frighten me.”

  The Lieutenant shifted his focus to Leer. “Mind your tongue, Boy,” he warned, his lips twitching. “I’d just as easily have you imprisoned at the Keep with the thief.”

  “Then why fight your urge?” Leer challenged,

  “Because under that sad excuse for a hairstyle lies a brain that has information I need. So long as our princess is missing, you will serve your purpose under me. Am I clear?”

  Not waiting for a response, the Lieutenant passed them both. Leer turned his head toward his right shoulder and blew out the excess spit that lingered in his mouth. In silence, he stalked away toward the slices of amber setting sunlight, a chill deeper than the air flooding his lungs.

  “So where are you from, Miss Browne?” Leer asked, breaking the thick silence that had grown between them.

  “Astrid,” Astrid corrected in reply without stopping. “Hiline.”