A few beats passed before it registered with Leer. “Oh,” he said with an awkward nod. “My apologies. Go…Go right ahead.”
She nodded. “We’re meeting on the ridge. I’d be gone within a few minutes, if I were you. Dawn is approaching and you don’t want to risk anyone seeing you.” She turned and left through the door, not bothering to close it. True to her nature, she soon slipped out of sight. Darkness still covered the land outside, but the sun was beginning to rise beyond the ridge.
She’s like a little willet, he mused to himself.
Was she inherently sly and deceptive like one too?
Leer stuffed the blanket into his pack. He drew the satchel over his shoulders and tightened the straps before leaving the barn, latching the door behind him as inconspicuously as he could.
A few minutes later, he stood at the top of the ridge, the small barn appearing even smaller with the distance. He moved a few paces closer to Lieutenant Doyle, who wore an impatient scowl.
“Well?” He looked to Leer expectantly. “Where is she?”
“How should I know?” Leer asked.
“You mean you didn’t accompany her?”
Leer scoffed. “Certainly not.”
The Lieutenant threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, that’s rich. Wonderful. That’s great.”
“She has no thoughts about running,” Leer insisted.
“Are you joking? A thief with no intention to deceive?”
Leer sighed. “You really should stop doubting her, or else she might live up to your expectations.”
“I’ve no reason to trust her.” Lieutenant Doyle put his hands on his hips. “And neither do you.”
“She won’t run.”
“So say you.”
“She won’t.”
In a huff, the Lieutenant turned away from Leer, releasing a long breath with a hint of dramatic flair. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if she’s not here within five minutes, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” a voice behind them asked
Both men turned, finding Astrid with a small smirk on her face. Lieutenant Doyle’s mouth opened, then he rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s be off.”
“How do you do that?” Leer asked her as they all began to head north.
Astrid shrugged. “It’s not hard to sneak up on two men bickering like feanets.”
She passed by Leer, who laughed to himself as he fell in step with Lieutenant Doyle.
“You’re just fortunate she came back,” the Lieutenant muttered, a sour expression on his face.
“I knew she wouldn’t run,” Leer countered. Lieutenant Doyle gave an unintelligible reply. “After all, she’s a thief, and there’s a reward once we’re through.”
“Might be.” Lieutenant Doyle sighed.
“Surely you have faith in us rescuing the princess?”
“I want to. It’s not easy to.”
Leer looked at Lieutenant Doyle, a new window of perspective opened about him. “We will find her,” he assured; the Lieutenant didn’t reply. “You care for her a great deal.”
“I care for the wellbeing of an innocent woman taken against her will.”
Leer drew a deep breath as he thought about Princess Maegan’s expression just before he fell in the crack of the earth:
She looked eerily calm, peaceful.
Willing.
What would make her as willing such as she was?
Perhaps the light the beast emanated?
It must have been. After all, the guard had fallen under a similar spell.
But unlike the guard, why didn’t she catch flame?
He sighed as Astrid’s revelation regarding maloden came to mind. It was laced with unexpected power. The stone was nothing extraordinary, in and of itself. Why would anyone think it had healing powers when it was never used by brewstresses?
The mere thought of maloden sent a surge of pain through Leer’s temples and deep into his skull. He held back a groan, stopping sudden as a tremor shocked him. He shut his eyes, but flecks of light filtered through his lids, and his mittened hand tightened around his walking stick as he braced himself on it.
“Are you alright?”
Although he couldn’t see the expression her face, he heard Astrid’s concern in her tone.
“I’m fine,” he forced out, eyes still tight closed.
“What is it?”
“I…”
“Bloody hell.” Leer heard the Lieutenant flop his arm against his side. “We haven’t got all day, Boy.”
“Come off it,” Astrid snapped; Leer heard her gentle footsteps through the snow as she approached. “Private, what is it?”
He couldn’t respond. The pain refused to lessen as it had before, and instead kept building pressure inside of his head. Leer moaned, his words to Astrid indecipherable.
He heard her asking him something, but he couldn’t comprehend it. Vivid images that flashed in and out of his mind’s eye replaced coherent thought and speech.
A gruesome battle had already been fought—heads severed from bodies, strings and chunks of innards strewn across valleys of blood that stained the grass. The stench was revolting, the putrid scent of decaying flesh emphasized by the summer sun.
He was walking among them, his stomach roiling with sickness as he observed the barbaric display. His boots sank into the streams of crimson blood, nearly disappearing from view with each step. There were women among the men, there were children. No one was spared from whatever horrific evil had come upon him or her.
The sun glinted off two small objects on the ground. He walked toward them, picked them up, and inspected them as blood dripped from his fingertips.
They were somehow still brilliant, but out of place.
Unnatural.
Leer collapsed to his knees, crying out in pain as he released the walking stick. He opened his eyes, panting as he kneeled in the snow. His breath came in short bursts, his heart racing.
What the bloody hell was that? he thought.
“Private, speak to me.”
Astrid’s voice was strained, but it sounded close. Leer slowly lifted his head, finding her eyes on his as she knelt in front of him in the snow.
He closed his eyes again, the images still lingering. He could still see insects landing on their lifeless faces.
“Are you alright?” she asked again.
Leer opened his eyes, unable to speak. How could he convey what had he just seen? And why did he keep seeing it?
Was this the awakening Bennett had spoken of?
Astrid’s eyes widened as she yanked off a mitten and rested her small hand on his cheek. At her touch, warmth surged through Leer as an internal flood of calm washed over him.
He blinked, and felt relieved but confused.
The images vanished.
“Private,” Astrid whispered. “Please, say something.”
Leer swallowed. “What do you wish me to say?” he replied, equally as soft.
“Perhaps an explanation would do.”
“I have none,” he answered.
He rose to his feet, finding Lieutenant Doyle evaluating him with a piercing stare.
“Are you ill, Boxwell?” he asked.
“Nay,” Leer replied, hearing Astrid stand behind him. He swept his walking stick up from the ground, giving the Lieutenant a small nod. “Let’s be off.”
He walked ahead, not waiting for a response.
Leer’s odd behavior created an awkward silence, which lasted most of the day until Astrid exclaimed, “Look!” As the sunset flared in the distance, Leer paused to search for the spot over the ridge where Astrid pointed.
“Junivar,” Leer said with a small nod as he spotted the distant torchlight.
“Never heard of it,” Lieutenant Doyle shrugged.
“It’s rather small,” Leer explained, readjusting his grip on his walking stick. “My father took me here quite a few times to peddle furs for grain.”
“Dare I say we’re close to a normal place
to rest?”
“I’ve been here too,” Astrid chimed in. “There’s an inn there that shouldn’t cost us many pence.”
“We haven’t any money for an inn,” Lieutenant Doyle reminded her.
“Right,” Astrid groaned.
“Have they got a tafl board?” Leer asked.
“A tafl board?” she scoffed. “Why would you need it?”
“I’ve my reason.”
“Yes, they do. But what about it?”
“And men who play?”
“A few. But they’re—”
“What in the blazes would you need a tafl board for, Boxwell?” Lieutenant Doyle asked with impatience.
Leer grinned. “If they’ve got a board, then we’ve got all the money we need.”
The warm, inviting atmosphere of the inn was a welcome change from what they’d endured so far. Lively fiddle music accompanied gregarious laughter and chatter. The Lieutenant disregarded any sort of manners and pushed through the door, sighing with relief. Leer gestured for Astrid to go ahead of him, which she did with hesitance.
The three weary travelers stomped the loose snow off their boots as they entered, shivering as the chill slowly left their bodies. The smell of fresh baked bread, hearty stew, and dark spirits drew Leer, his stomach growling in anticipation of nourishment beyond meager jerky rations.
“I would keep your statuses as army men to yourselves,” Astrid quietly warned as she pushed her hood from her head. “People around these parts don’t exactly have the best rapport with men of your profession.”
“Well, the blundering fools should have respect for us,” the Lieutenant testily replied, yanking a nearby chair away from a table and sitting in it.
“And that’s exactly why they don’t,” Astrid mumbled, remaining alongside Leer.
“Ah, well,” said a middle-aged barmaid, who glanced at the trio from across the room, “seems as though we’ve got visitors. Bit nippy out, ain’t it?” The small group of local men laughed, most hunched over large, steaming mugs. “You three obviously aren’t familiar with the weather of these parts.”
“Three pints of ale,” the Lieutenant demanded without a hint of manners. “And make it quick.”
“Please,” Leer added with sheepish smile, seeing the way a large man behind the bar counter began to approach. “Sorry.”
The barmaid examined Leer with an appreciative smile. “Of course, Blondie,” she said, sashaying away to retrieve three glasses. “By the way, I’m Ettie and this is Jon-Jon, the innkeeper,” she purred, gesturing to the large man behind the bar.
“Six pence,” Jon-Jon barked to Leer in a harsh baritone, his fat palm smacking against the grain of the wood counter. He paused as his eyes examined Astrid. “Unless you’re planning on bartering the wench. I need another barmaid.”
“Excuse me?” Astrid asked, glaring at the innkeeper as she stepped past Leer’s side in challenge. “How dare you, you—”
“Easy, feisty,” Leer whispered to Astrid, pulling her back toward him.
“I’m not property to be sold.”
“Darlin’,” Ettie said with a laugh, “for the right price, everything’s for sale.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Even me.”
“Well, I’m not,” Astrid replied.
“Fine then. Six pence,” Jon-Jon repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lieutenant Doyle looked at Leer, to which Leer sighed. “Have you got a tafl board?” Leer asked Jon-Jon.
“Yeah,” Jon-Jon said gruffly. “So? It’ll still cost you six pence.”
“Aye,” Leer said with a patient nod. “However, I wish to propose an exchange of goods through a challenge against the current champion.”
A hush fell over the inn; the lone fiddle player abruptly dropped his bow as he listened. A single belch echoed in the small space. Heads turned, taking in the scene with awe and shock at Leer’s bold proposition.
“My brother is the reigning champion, though his prize will come to me, since he owes a tab.” Jon-Jon crossed his arms. “What would you want to be exchanging?”
Leer replied, his voice even and confident, “Should I win, me and my lot are fed tonight and tomorrow morn, as well as put up for tonight for free.”
The room broke out in fits of laughter, the large men more than amused at the suggestion of anyone besides Jon-Jon’s brother winning.
Jon-Jon raised his hairy hand, silencing the group. “And should you lose?” he demanded, waiting for the response.
“Then you keep the girl as your new barmaid,” Leer replied, nodding toward Astrid.
“What?” Astrid gasped, shocked at Leer’s bargain. “How dare you!”
The men laughed again. “Oh, ‘tis were me, I would like that prize very much,” one cackled.
“Yeah, yeah,” another chimed in. “She’s a fine young thing. She looks so…soft.”
Astrid stood and tried to move away from the table, but Leer pinned her against it, his palms flat on the table behind her.
“Move, you dog, or I’ll gut you,” she cautioned under her breath.
“You’re in safe hands,” Leer whispered into her ear. “You’ve got to trust me.”
“Trust you?” she asked, stunned as she laughed. “I don’t even know you, and you hardly take direction well. Besides, aren’t you the man who told me to never make a deal with someone you don’t know?”
“Yes, but you’re not that someone in this case,” Leer explained patiently, his lips close to her ear as he spoke in a hushed tone. “I’ve given you my word to protect you, and protect you I shall. Now, you’ve got to trust me. Do you?”
Leer waited for her answer, feeling how Astrid’s breath swept over his neck as he blocked her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
“At least you’re honest.” Leer sighed. “Alright. Well, do you trust me more than them?”
She mulled over his words, glancing behind her at the men snickering around her. “Yeah, but not much, and you shouldn’t fail to remember that.”
“Aye,” Leer said with a small grin, “I shan’t.”
“And also so you know, Private Boxwell,” Astrid whispered, “you may have managed to twice inhabit such an intimate space without me killing you, but don’t get used to it.”
“’Tis a shame, really,” Leer flirted. “I thought you rather enjoyed it.”
“Make no mistake, Private—you’re not to confuse me with an easy Vale woman,” Astrid corrected sternly.
“Nay,” he responded, his voice turning serious as he looked at her, “I hadn’t ever thought you were.”
He felt his chest tighten as her soft breath continued to coast across his skin through her parted lips. He lost awareness of what was happening around him beyond her eyes.
A stout man with a wiry salt and pepper beard rose from a far table, his crook nose flaring as he smirked with unmistakable pride. “‘Tis me you seek, Boy,” the man said, interrupting the tense moment between Leer and Astrid. “Gorton McNeil, Jon-Jon’s brother.”
His tablemates cheered him on, heartily clinking their glasses together to salute their victor.
Leer’s concentration shifted up from Astrid, remaining in front of her. “Have you got a yen for a game then, Sir?” he asked the man.
The man laughed. “Gort will do just fine,” he corrected. “Perhaps when we’re finished, you’ll be more inclined to call me ‘master of the board.’” He shifted his attention to Astrid as she glanced at him over her shoulder. “I look forward to getting to know you better too, dear,” he goaded.
“Private,” Astrid whispered to Leer, irritated at Gort’s insinuation, “I can imagine these men won’t stand for a cheat. I’m sure they won’t hesitate to drive a blade through your chest should they figure you tricked them.”
Leer glanced back at Astrid’s soft features. His lips curled up at the sides. “Who said anything about a cheat?” He peered up above her. “So it’s settled then?” he called out to Gort, hushing the other chatterin
g patrons once more. “Will there be a challenge?”
After a pause, Jon-Jon nodded in approval toward Gort. “If you’d like to call it as such,” Gort laughed.
Some of the patrons began laying out the board at a far table near the fireplace; Leer slid around Astrid, stripping his heavy brown coat with relief as he mentally prepared himself. He snatched a hot mug of ale from the bar and stretched his neck, his steps confident as he sauntered toward Gort and the game.
He looked at the board as he took his seat across from his opponent. “So Boy,” Gort said with a grin, “which would you be liking? The white or the black?”
“As reigning champion of this inn, I say you should have first choice,” Leer replied, taking a drink from his mug. He caught Gort’s toothy smile out of the corner of his eye.
“White,” Gort chose; the men behind and around him cheered in support of his selection.
“Aye,” Leer agreed, drawing his black pawns toward him, setting each one thoughtfully in place. “To be the king is always a good choice.”
“Feeling lucky, Boy?” Gort taunted as he arranged his own pawns.
“I’ll let you know when this game is through,” Leer replied with a smile.
As he adjusted himself in his seat, he caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Doyle standing in front of Astrid. He was surprised to see her so close to him. The Lieutenant spoke softly to Astrid, his mouth mere inches away from hers. Leer couldn’t hear what the Lieutenant said, nor what Astrid replied in an equally light tone.
Leer grimaced as he noticed the Lieutenant’s hand resting over Astrid’s hip. The man’s long fingers flexed against her curves, and she looked down in response.
Leer shut his eyes momentarily, distraction flowing through his mind like a current, tearing his attention from the important task he had at hand. He couldn’t stop looking, though, and despite his better sense urging him not to, he resumed watching the intimate exchange between his two travel companions.
Lieutenant Doyle’s hand reached up from Astrid’s hip and stroked her cheek, his fingers languidly tracing up her jaw as he moved her dark hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His hand coasted downward across her neck and clavicle before departing slowly as he whispered something to her that made her full lips part.
In a flash, Leer saw the searing fire, the heat the Grimbarror had made as the castle guard writhed and died before his eyes.
The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1) Page 9
