The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1)

by Lyndsey Harper

  “The first Grimbarror,” Leer concluded.

  Luke nodded. “Naetan’s anger helped him to grow more powerfully evil each day, the darkness turning even his body into a monster. He wanted his father’s and brother’s deaths, so he could possess the amulet. Naetan soon returned to the Fell with Emelda, where he slayed his father, and she, her daughter. However, Tyne’s Vei was greater, and he killed his brother.”

  “So, then how could there be another Grimbarror now?”

  “That is a mystery only Emelda could reveal. She hasn’t been seen since Tyne slayed his brother.”

  “But you saw her, aye?”

  Luke nodded. “That I did. One night at the edge of the Vale, not far from the castle. I had traveled south to trade Finnigan some fur.”

  “How do you know it was her?”

  “I just did.”

  Leer pursed his lips. “You can’t possibly know in the dark of night unless given reason.”

  “Reason,” Luke muttered. “So that’s what you need, eh? Reason? Proof?” He shook his head. “Nary a thing like your mentor, you are. Everything you require is all Finnigan despised.”

  The familiar heat of anger tinged the skin of Leer’s neck. “You know nothing of Finnigan,” he growled.

  Luke pushed to his feet with a huff and a slight unsteadiness. “You know much,” he sneered, “but you know nothing at all.” His face twisted with a grimace he tried to conceal the downward curve of his bent spine. “My eyes may be fading, but it is you who cannot see.”

  Leer felt panic mix with his rage as he watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ettie approach the counter. “I’ve more questions,” he stammered.

  “And I’ve no more answers to give, Boy.”

  He turned away, swiping his cloak and knotted wood walking stick from where they rested against the counter. Leer watched Luke pull the cloak over himself, the old man never once looking back in his direction before he left through a side door.

  Leer was quiet as he thought, his heavy gaze shifting back to the wall behind the counter. He silently absorbed the story he’d just heard.

  “So tell me,” Ettie began sweetly as she leaned in, her fingers trailing up Leer’s arms, “why isn’t there a pretty thing on each of these arms of yours?”

  “Perhaps because I haven’t the sense to maintain such things at the moment,” Leer replied, still distracted.

  Her fingers began to descend down his sleeves. “Sounds like you need a woman who can understand the troubles of a man, not a girl who needs maintenance.”

  Leer smirked, shaking his head. “Won’t waste time beating around the bush, aye?”

  “Why be subtle?” Ettie countered, her fingers coasting over his knuckles. “Life is short.”

  “Terribly so,” Leer said, moving gently away from her reach.

  “Hmm,” she pondered with a grin, watching him, “alright then, Blondie—what is it you do care about then?”

  Leer shook his head. “I would doubt you’d care to hear the topic of my fascination.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  “There is no joy in it.”

  Ettie smirked, shimmying closer. “Try me.”

  The sound of the front door banging shut distracted Leer, while a gust of cool air whipped across the room. He caught sight of Astrid slipping out of the door, the Lieutenant already missing from his seat.

  “Thank you for the stew,” Leer said to Ettie, glancing back at her. “Though I think it best if I retire for the eve.”

  She pulled away from the counter with a knowing look of disappointment. “G’night then, Blondie.” She leaned back as he shrugged his thick coat over his back and shoulders once more. “Perhaps you need to let go of whatever it is that troubles you so,” she added.

  He paused for a moment to contemplate what she suggested. “I can’t,” he decided as he walked away.

  The candlelight didn’t offer much guidance for Leer’s fingers as he scooped the yeran bark ointment from the small jar. He applied it to the still sore wound on his foot before pulling back on his thick sock. He shivered in the cold room; the firewood was too saturated with fresh snow to be very effective at completely catching fire.

  He sat on the edge of the straw mattress, resting the candle down on the small bedside table. The ambitious trek and other events thus far had irritated his aching body. He peeled his evergreen sweater off and tossed it across from himself in the pile of other discarded clothes near the tiny fire. The air from the flying shirt made the fire dance, the light of the flames glinting off of the blade of the sword propped up next to the bed. Leer watched the flickering choreography and lost himself in thought.

  An unexpected knock on his door startled him. Leer stood, creeping curiously toward the room’s entrance with the candle in hand. “Aye? Who might it be?” he asked, his voice gruff from the long period of silence.

  “Open the door, Private.”

  Leer slid the bolt of the door open. His right hand gripped the candle as he held it up and examined his visitor.

  Blue eyes stared back at him, the owner of them clutching a large hunting knife.

  -11-

  “Astrid,” Leer breathed, seeing the knife she wielded.

  “Back in your room,” Astrid ordered, looking over her shoulder. Leer hesitated, confused. She turned back to him. “Back inside,” she whispered, shoving him backward.

  She ducked into the chilly room and shut the door behind herself. Pressing her back against the door, she raised the knife toward Leer. “Don’t approach me,” she warned, her hand shaking, “or I’ll gut you like a poncher.”

  “Steady, Astrid,” Leer whispered, glancing briefly at the out-of-reach sword leaning near the cot. He met her wild, unpredictable eyes. “Just tell me what is wrong.”

  “I need you to answer me two questions with truth,” Astrid snapped, grabbing the candle from Leer’s hand and setting it down on a surface adjacent to her without concern.

  “Aye,” Leer agreed gently, “I shall. Just be at ease.” He watched her heavy breathing, her cloak hanging on her narrow shoulders, as if it had been thrown on in haste.

  She narrowed her eyes. “First question: Why did you offer me as a prize to be had for the game?”

  Leer shook his head, exhaling with a bit of relief. “You were never at risk. I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist the possibility of winning you, but believe me when I say that you were never in any danger.”

  “Should you have lost, what then? Part ways with me and never look back, is that it?”

  “Astrid, it was impossible for me to lose,” Leer argued.

  “Impossible?” she repeated. “It’s never impossible to lose, Private.”

  “Listen, lass, you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  “And neither do you,” Astrid snapped, stepping forward as she raised her knife. “I’m not a ‘thing’ that you own or that you can just freely give like that. And if you were that stupidly sure of yourself, you could’ve offered the sword.”

  “Aye,” Leer agreed with gentle reluctance. “‘Twas a poor decision. I apologize.”

  Astrid was silent for a moment, then took another step toward him. “Second question: Why do you seek the heart of the Fell?”

  “To save the Princess of—”

  She stepped forward again, raising the knife. “The truth, Private,” she warned.

  Leer held his hands up, exhorting her to be still. “Alright,” he surrendered. “I haven’t lied to you regarding my intentions, but I do confess that I haven’t told you everything.” He saw how she waited for his answer. Silently, he tried to figure out the reason for her sudden skepticism and anger while simultaneously preparing himself for her reaction. “I seek the Grimbarror in the heart of the Fell,” he explained,

  She began to move forward, and then froze. The thick cloak she wore fell from her shoulders with the sudden pause. It pooled around her ankles, the cool air flowing through her tunic and vest.

  “W
hat did you say?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

  “I said,” Leer repeated, not moving, “it is the Grimbarror that I seek in the heart of the Fell.”

  Astrid’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I asked you to tell me the truth,” she growled.

  Before he could respond, she lunged at him with her knife, swift and agile in her attack as she knocked Leer to his back in front of the fire. With her blade pressed against his throat, she panted, pinning him to the ground with her body weight.

  “I did,” Leer insisted, knowing he might need to hurt her in order to protect himself. “It has taken the princess. I seek its evil face for justice for Hiline.”

  She remained on top of him, their proximity close as the silence surrounded them. With the light of the small fire, Leer could see her nim-like cornflower eyes in detail, noting their truly strange the hue.

  He couldn’t ignore the softness and warmth of her body, the weight of it stirring heat inside of him. Not merely the familiar heat of desire, but another, one he couldn’t explain. It enveloped him, if only for a moment, with the sincerest comfort. Then, it tried to destroy him.

  The rapid-fire lights struck his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, groaning as he cowered within himself against the pain. He felt Astrid move to his side, faintly hearing the clatter of her knife as it dropped to the ground. Her echoed call was shrouded in fog, a swamp like thickness choking his sight and hearing.

  Pockets of time slipped in and out of his internal view, his pulse pounding against his temples. Each beat was a slice, a burn, each image an assault.

  He heard voices, indistinguishable tongues.

  He felt the surge of his bloodstream in his veins.

  Just when he was ready to scream, it stopped.

  Leer swallowed back the painful dryness of his throat as his eyes flickered open, resting on Astrid’s craned neck. Her skin glowed in the firelight.

  Her hand rested on his stubbled left cheek, her palm concealing the scar as her fingertips brushed across his lower lashline. A few small callouses roughened her cool skin.

  Leer blinked heavily, looking up toward her face. Her lips parted in wait.

  “Private, speak to me,” she whispered. “Are you alright?”

  He stared at her for a moment. “I don’t know,” he whispered back.

  “What…What has been happening to you?”

  He chose not to answer, only because he was unsure himself. Instead, he sat up with a grimace, his ribs still quite sore. He took Astrid’s hand and pulled her up with him as he stood.

  “But what—”

  “I can’t answer that,” Leer snarled, letting go of her hand. He shut his eyes. “I haven’t the slightest.”

  “You speak the truth,” Astrid remarked after a moment of silence.

  “I take it you expected something else.”

  “You mean to tell me that you believe in the Grimbarror?”

  Leer chuckled. “Not only do I believe in it, but I know it to be true.”

  Astrid’s mouth fell open. “I don’t believe this.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

  “It’s just…the Grimbarror?”

  “Aye.”

  Leer stooped to pick up Astrid’s knife, keeping it out of her reach as she tried to take it from him. “Nay, lass,” he corrected, tossing it onto the mattress beside them. “I’ve answered your questions.” He snatched her wrists. “Now you answer mine.” He kept her close, feeling both the heat of her body and of the fire next to them radiating over him. “What has you frightened like this?”

  “Let me be,” she screeched, yanking at the restraint.

  “Nay, not until you tell me.”

  “I owe you no explanations.”

  “And neither did I.”

  “I disagree, Private,” Astrid argued. “It is you that has forced me on this suicide mission of yours for a belief in a creature of fairytales and legends.”

  “Nothing was forced on you,” Leer argued back, not flinching in his grip. “You had a choice.”

  “A choice? You honestly believe yourself and your Lieutenant to be noble in your actions, then?”

  “Don’t speak to me of nobility. After all, you’re the thief.”

  She glared at him. “I wouldn’t have need to steal if it weren’t for your bonny king.”

  “Blaming the royalty for your troubles now?” Leer asked, pulling her a bit closer. “As I recall, since you’re living here in Hiline, he’s your bonny king too, lass.”

  “You know nothing of me,” she reminded through a harsh tone.

  “And you know nothing of me,” Leer agreed.

  They faced each other for an instant, the silence ringing in their ears as they stood in front of one another. Leer’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his pulse racing.

  “I don’t wish to handle you in this manner, so please,” he said with an angry sigh, “tell me what has you troubled so I might be able to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help,” Astrid retorted. “I can handle myself. I have for all my life.”

  “Please,” Leer whispered, keeping his grip firm. “Allow me to help you as I know you shall continue to help me.”

  Leer waited through Astrid’s silence, continuing to study her face in the stillness between them.

  How old was she? She appeared as young and as fresh as a nimling, but was shouldered with burdens of a person far beyond her years. A flurry of unfounded lust swirled within him as he watched her inhale slowly through her opened mouth. She drew her bottom lip inward and as she released it, he found himself examining it, taking note of the moisture on it.

  “You’ll think me mad,” she objected, shaking her head.

  “I know a bit about people thinking me mad,” he reminded gently, his hands adjusting over her wrists. “I can assure you that I’m the least of your worries.”

  He watched her draw another deep, contemplative breath. “I’m not sure what it was,” Astrid whispered, looking away from him to the fire. “I…I was in my room and it was as if it came to me all of a sudden. I…” She glanced back up, seeing Leer watching her with patience. “I heard a voice.”

  “A voice?” Leer asked.

  She nodded. “Inside my mind. Telling me to…”

  He leaned in a bit when she stopped. “To what?”

  “To fear you…because you are evil,” Astrid whispered, swallowing. “I-I had no such thoughts before, but it was as if in that moment that…that I couldn’t not fear you. As if my life depended on it.” She peered up at him with wide eyes. “It all sounds mad, I know. I fought the suggestions with every bit I had in me. I swore it was the ale or the stew or—”

  Leer released one of Astrid’s hands, his fingertips sliding down her wrist as he kept his eyes fixed on hers. The back of one of his hands found the skin of her forehead, pressing against it gingerly.

  “You’re warm,” he said, his dark eyes flicking over her facial features. “Do you feel ill?”

  “No,” she replied, motionless under his examination.

  “And you said it was as if…”

  “As if every negative thought I had was somehow so much larger and more powerful. So much more…frightening. It was as if I wasn’t in control of my own self.”

  In silence, Leer withdrew his hand from her forehead, lowering it. He slowly released her other wrist, thoughts racing through his mind.

  He, too, had heard the voices, the ones that had tried to tell him things. But would she think him mad, or perhaps a liar, if he admitted it? The coincidence was hard to ignore.

  Could it be, then, that there was a force attempting to speak to him? And to her? A power trying to break through?

  “And now how do you feel?” he breathed, peering down at her. His hands had found her waist, hovering across the sides with careful curiosity.

  The fire hissed beside them, the wood popping as it burned. They remained still, his hands on her unchanged with the passing time desp
ite the growing sear he felt within.

  Astrid inhaled, hesitantly releasing it. “Fine,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I’ve felt better since the moment you touched me.”

  He glanced away, his eyes coming to rest on the shine of her dark curls. Bits of Looney Luke’s story of the Vei filtered through his mind, dissipating as he searched the depths of Astrid’s eyes. He examined her, his grip tightening around her.

  Let go of her, he warned himself.

  Still, he couldn’t. The pads of his fingers dug a tiny bit deeper into their grip around her; he drew her closer to himself, engrossed. He saw her, but didn’t see, felt her but couldn’t feel anything as black smoke rose around his vision, fogging his awareness.

  This is madness, his consciousness rang in his mind. You’ve a sickness.

  His right hand crept to the small of Astrid’s back as he held her, tracing the dip of her spine. He felt the contact of her hand brush across his pants on his upper thigh with the adjustment. The wind howled against the wall of the room, but was still not as deafening as his pulse in his ears.

  “…Private!”

  Leer blinked, the haze descending to reveal Astrid’s frightened expression. He moved his mouth to speak, wordless as he saw he had been holding Astrid the entire time.

  “I said, let me go,” Astrid demanded, a shakiness to her voice.

  With a sudden awareness, he rejected her like a hot pot handle, taking a step away from her. “I—I’m sorry. I—”

  “Save it,” Astrid interrupted, giving him an icy wave of her hand. “I should’ve known a madman like you would be inclined to abuse herbs at leisure.”

  Leer’s pulse was thready, his throat painfully dry. Not even his saliva could relieve the ache of it. Mouth gaping, he watched in perplexed silence as Astrid swept her cloak from the floor and draped it over herself as she scurried toward the door. With realization, he moved from his place, snatching the hunting knife from the mattress. He strode to the doorway with purpose, meeting her.

  “Astrid,” he said, gaining her attention. “Your knife.”

  He pressed the knife’s grip into her bare hand, gritting his teeth as he felt the scorching heat of her flesh briefly make contact with his own. She wordlessly took it and slipped out of the room, shutting the door as she left Leer to feel his own hand in stunned confusion.