The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1)

by Lyndsey Harper

  Astrid held the larger portion of the stick, examining it in thought. “So you are a master at manipulation,” she concluded. “Had you not been trying to prove a point to me, you surely first would’ve led me to believe that I actually had a chance at winning when I, in fact, never did. Then this one would’ve been yours because of my eagerness to succeed against you.” Astrid’s eyes darkened, her head tilting slightly as she studied him. “You use people’s innermost desires against them.”

  “Nay,” Leer corrected, finding urgent need to clarify his skills. “I don’t use it against them. I just make sure that I understand what they are in full detail.”

  “So you can exploit a weakness?”

  “So I can know what to expect from whomever I face.”

  Astrid tossed the stick into the fire, studying the darkened entrance of the cave. Leer couldn’t help but watch her.

  “You enjoy retaining control,” she observed. “You grew up surrounded by men who embodied control. Your own father was controlling, wasn’t he? Vicious, perhaps? He never let you be the child you should have gotten a chance to be.” She paused, glancing over at him. “That’s why you reacted as you did to Lieutenant Doyle’s actions toward me. It reminded you of him…and perhaps the relationship he had with your mother.” Leer swallowed hard as he listened. “Control makes you feel safe, but pursuing the fantastic is all that keeps you away from the memories.”

  Leer chewed on the scab on his bottom lip for a moment before speaking. “As a boy, I thought for a while that I’d surely succeed my father in his trade when I was older, then be married perhaps. Maybe even with some luck produce a son of my own.” He watched the dancing flames in front of them. “Then, when I was about nine years of age, my father began to nurse the drink from sunrise to sunset. It was an impossibly fast change, and I never knew what sparked it in him. All I know is he would take nary a step without a jug.”

  Leer paused, drawing a deep breath as he picked up a twig from the ground beside him. “He spoke very little to me and mostly screamed at my mother. I recall my mother begging to understand what vexed my father so, but he refused to speak of his secrets. I was but a boy, yet I could plainly see the war within him. Soon after that, he began beating her over nothing.” Leer squeezed his eyes shut. “I never stopped him,” he whispered. “I…I was too frightened. He somehow seemed larger than he was before, more capable. Like he could destroy us with a single glance. I failed my mother. I hid.”

  Though he didn’t look to verify it, Leer felt Astrid studying the profile of his face.

  “You didn’t fail her,” she reassured sincerely. “You were a boy.”

  “A boy who could’ve done something,” Leer interjected, tossing the small stick into the flames. “But what was there to do?” Gritting his teeth, he kept his eyes forward. “When my father abandoned us a short time later, then my mother drank poison days after that, I felt horrible. Not because I just lost both of my parents, but rather, I felt horrible because of the relief I felt from their absence.” With narrowed eyes, he looked over at Astrid. “Tell me what kind of a man that makes me.”

  “A human,” Astrid whispered with empathy. “Very much human.”

  Leer kept his eyes on Astrid’s for a while before speaking again. “Finnigan took me in to live with him and I did for many years—very happily so. His death is still a fresh wound.”

  “How did he pass?” Astrid asked.

  Leer ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, his fingers tracing the burn scar forming on his left cheek. “I found Finnigan’s body when I returned to the Vale, after scouting for insurgents. It was mauled, but still warm.” Leer looked into the fire. “And then, in the wood near him, I saw the beast’s yellow-rimmed eyes. I could feel the beast’s presence, see its grotesque shape. It just stared straight at me.”

  He looked back over at Astrid, his eyes following the gentle curve of her nose. “I’ve no understanding why the beast would have slain him in cold blood as it did, but that was the night I realized Finnigan had been telling the truth all along. I had ignored his superstitions of the Vei…and now I wish I hadn’t.”

  Leer paused as his eyes wandered over Astrid’s face. “The people of the Vale now mock me for my obsession. They call me mad. Crazy. They say my mind is gone. No one keeps company with me for fear of how people will judge them. I can hear their laughter; they barely wait until I’ve turned the corner anymore before they begin. But I know it’s out there, Astrid. I’ve heard it speak, seen its power. Soon, I shall return to the Vale with the proof in my hands. And on that day, I will be the only man left who even cares to know what that truth is.”

  “Then why come all this way?” Astrid countered, glancing back over at Leer. “Why risk so much for men who mock you?”

  He shrugged. “What’s life without risk?”

  “You say that,” Astrid argued, “but is the risk worth your life?”

  “The truth is.”

  Astrid sighed, shaking her head. “What is the truth, Leer, but words from men who lie?”

  “The Grimbarror exists,” Leer insisted, his voice raising.

  “Listen to me,” Astrid pleaded scanning his eyes, “your heart is in the right place, wanting truth to prevail and be known. But what if no matter what the truth is, they don’t wish to hear it?” Leer sighed, his head dropping down toward his lap as he rubbed small circles against his temples. “Leer, should you produce a claw or even its head, those who refuse to believe might not even care. If this beast is as dangerous as you say it is, then is it worth it? Is it worth your life to prove its existence to ignorant fools in power who would sooner do away with you than to admit their own mistake? Why does proving it matter?”

  He looked up into her eyes. “Because the truth never ceases to matter.” Leer ran a hand through his hair, breath escaping through his lips in resignation. “Tomorrow morn, you need to leave,” he uttered. “From here on out, it’s far too dangerous.”

  “I can handle myself. Besides, you clearly need me as a buffer so you and the Lieutenant don’t kill each other.”

  “Go back to your life,” Leer urged. “Just because I’m willing to pay whatever price it is for the truth doesn’t mean you should as well.”

  “What life shall I return to, Leer?” she asked quietly. “The one where I have nothing but what I take from the hands of others?”

  Leer sighed, the weight of everything pinning him to the ground in silence. He knew Astrid was right, that unveiling the truth didn’t guarantee belief in those who doubted it. Still, he couldn’t ignore his desperate desire for the truth to be known. Perhaps he was so determined to see his quest through to the end because he needed to complete it for his own sake. Perhaps he was the only one who really needed to know the truth.

  Leer drew a deep breath, shutting his eyes against the discomfort it caused. “What about your health?” Astrid asked him. “I know you’ve physically been through more than you’ve shared as of late.”

  His ribs ached, but he didn’t want to worry her. “I’ll be alright,” Leer replied.

  “I can see your pain that you conceal. What happened?”

  He swallowed. “I tried to stop the Grimbarror from taking Princess Gresham. I fell into a split in the earth and was hit by collapsing stone. My muscles suffered a bit from it.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  Leer felt his left cheek, running his mittened hand along the length of it into his forming beard. “Burned it on the iron bar of a prison cell while trying to escape.”

  Her brow arched. “A man of the law in prison, then breaking out?”

  “Aye, well, no one thought me right in my head when I said it was the Grimbarror that eve. They locked me in a cell thinking I was a daft fool. I did what I could to protect the king and princess.”

  “How did the iron become so hot?” she asked as she toyed with some small stones on the ground beside her, rather than looking at him.

  “The guard was burnt to death in whi
te hot fire,” Leer replied, bits and pieces of the night coming into his mind’s eye. “He was trapped by the light that came through the window. It consumed him.” Leer examined the material of his coat. “Fire from the light engulfed the guard, and the light’s fire grew so hot, that when the guard grabbed the iron bars of the cell door…” When he looked up at her, he saw Astrid watching him intently. “I kicked the bars apart. Not enough, I suppose. I just I didn’t want to die like the other two.”

  “The other two?”

  “The roach in the cell next to me died after debris impaled him. Then the guard.”

  Her head shot up. “The ‘roach’ next to you?”

  “Aye. A filthy roach. He wore the colors of the insurgence, but it’s still a shame the way he died.”

  “What was his name?” Astrid asked. Leer’s eyes rose to meet hers.

  “Why would you have interest in his name?” he asked, brow arching.

  Her mouth opened; she was silent as she looked down. “I was just curious is all.”

  He squinted a bit as he examined her. “I can’t remember,” he replied. “I can see his face, but with how my head was shaken, his name seems to have left me.”

  “It’s alright,” she assured, offering him a thin smile. “I suppose I’m too curious for my own good sometimes.”

  Leer nodded. “Aye, I can understand that myself.”

  Leer noticed the falling darkness outside of the shallow cave. As a scout, watching the darkness fed him, comforted him, and satisfied his restless mind.

  “Do you always watch the skies this way?” he heard Astrid ask.

  “Usually,” Leer replied. “I am a scout.”

  “But now instead of rebels, you’re searching for the truth,” she concluded.

  “Aye.”

  “What about other truths? The truths of life—do you search for those as well?”

  He grit his teeth, biting back the surge of bitterness. “The beast is a truth of life.”

  “For you.”

  “Then if it’s not for you, why do you remain?”

  Lieutenant Doyle crawled back into the cave, his arms full of timber. “That ought to do it for the eve,” he said, tossing the wood onto the diminished supply they already had. He looked at both of them. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing,” Leer growled, moving toward the opposite side of the fire, propping his head against the cave’s wall.

  The light of dawn splayed through the opening of the cave, a beam of the rising sun bright against Leer’s still shut eyes as he roused from his sleep. He lifted his head, feeling the ache in his muscles of the last week’s compounded emotions.

  With a heavy blink, Leer surveyed his surroundings. Lieutenant Doyle was still sleeping, but it didn’t stop him from expressing his rage.

  “Dammit,” he growled, rising to his feet. He scanned the area, a sinking feeling lacing his stomach.

  Finnigan’s journal.

  It was in his pack.

  With a snarl, Leer kicked the dead fire, ash and rock scattering across the cave. Lieutenant Doyle had been right, loathe he was to admit it. He sided with a thief, and it got him nowhere. In fact, it had made him lose the one thing left he had of the person he was closest to.

  In the midst of his rampage, Leer caught glimpse of the shimmering blade of his sword, still where he placed it the night before.

  It doesn’t make sense. Why leave the sword?

  Leer stooped and took hold of the weapon, examining it as he straightened.

  “Lieutenant,” he barked. “Wake up.” His tone reflected his stress.

  “What?” the Lieutenant grumbled, sitting up with a grimace.

  “Astrid’s gone,” Leer growled, scanning the woods that lay outside the cave. “And she took our packs.”

  -14—

  The northern skimming town of Cabryog nestled into the nooks and crannies of the mountains and along the powerful and plentiful Ellys River. It was a welcomed sight for Leer and the Lieutenant. Leer’s stomach groaned; with no rations, he had settled for a small palm full of finnel berries and melted snow, and that was hours ago. He hoped the people of Cabryog were as pleasant as Finnigan once claimed, and that they’d take interest in bartering his sword for a lesser weapon and some more rations. It was his last option left, aside from quitting.

  A weight settled on Leer’s shoulders, burdening his steps.

  Finnigan wouldn’t approve of his resignation.

  But Finnigan was the reason he came here in the first place.

  Sure, blame it on the dead. Coward. ‘Twas your choice, Boxwell. Nary another’s.

  Still, the doubt called out to him, taunting him with its vice-like grip. It took residence with the growing rage he couldn’t seem to shake.

  “I do suppose, if I were in the mood, that this is where I could gloat a bit,” the Lieutenant interrupted, a couple steps behind Leer.

  Leer shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense,” he replied. “Why would she leave the sword? The sword is far more valuable than the tools and packs.”

  “Who the hell knows. All I know is, Cabryog had better have someone willing to barter that weapon of yours.”

  Leer caught a glimpse of the hilt of his sword strapped to his hip, the milkwood bright in the slices of sunlight that filtered through the trees.

  Jarle.

  Jarle was the only other constant Leer had in his life, aside from Finnigan. Leer met him when he took his sword in for repairs, befriending Jarle the moment he told him his sword was embarrassing garbage.

  The idea of giving up the sword Jarle crafted made him ill. Whether Jarle would admit it or not, he made a significant sacrifice to give him the weapon he now would have to trade to survive his journey.

  A fool’s journey.

  The closer they got to the border, the less confidence Leer had in his quest.

  What if Astrid is right? What if I am fighting a losing battle? What if this is all for naught?

  Leer froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up at the sound of a voice he heard distinctly nearby:

  “Stay the course.”

  He turned back to look at the Lieutenant, who had his head down. “What did you say?” he asked.

  Lieutenant Doyle looked up, his brows lifting. “Me? I didn’t say a word, Boxwell.”

  Leer turned away, taking a deep breath as he continued forward.

  “You’ve almost got him surrounded.”

  “Alright,” Leer snapped, stopping in his tracks, his breath building into short, angry puffs. “What’s your angle?” He whirled around to Lieutenant Doyle, jaw set. “What, you like to knock a man down, then try to pep him up? Is that how you get your jollies?”

  “What in the blazes are you talking about, Private?” Lieutenant Doyle asked, defenses rising. “I haven’t spoken a word to you.” He took a step closer. “Trust me, you’d know if I had something to say to the likes of you.”

  “I heard you,” Leer retorted.

  “It wasn’t me,” the Lieutenant insisted with a hiss.

  “Then who was it?” Leer shouted, raising his hands in askance. “Who might have told me to, ‘stay the course?’”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

  The Lieutenant brushed by Leer’s shoulder as he passed him, the force greater than necessary.

  Breathe, Leer coached himself, staring down at the snow. Breathe.

  After a moment, Leer began walking again, following a few paces behind the Lieutenant, the distance between them growing larger. His heart clenched when he heard the voice a third time:

  “Steady and balanced. The truth awaits you.”

  With a surge of rage, Leer growled and kicked the snow repeatedly. Fractals and leaves he unearthed flew in the air, small twigs and rocks scattering with his fit. Everything in his way became a target, nothing was safe from his angry tantrum. His sword slapped against his hip as he destroyed the landscape around him; kulipes fluttered out of the tree branches with the comm
otion.

  Shortly thereafter, Leer stopped, panting as he caught his breath. He could feel the Lieutenant’s judgmental observation, confirming it as he looked toward him. Seeing Lieutenant Doyle’s unsuppressed smirk sparked the flame again. With a swallowed snarl, he stormed past him in heated silence, fists clenched at his sides.

  As they trekked downhill toward the valley, Leer caught a glimpse of something on the trunk of a nearby tree. He squinted, approaching it with curiosity as he withdrew one mitten. He ran his fingertips over the aged grooves in the wood with realization.

  Insurgents.

  Leer froze, pausing at the distant sound of branches snapping underfoot. He instinctively reached for his sword, his hand hovering over the hilt as he scanned the perimeter. He saw Lieutenant Doyle in nearly the same position.

  “I’ve a sure arrow aimed for the towhead, and two more bowmen readied,” a stranger’s voice boomed.

  Leer drew his sword, holding it defensively, though he couldn’t see anyone besides the Lieutenant.

  “Your weapons won’t stave off our aim. Now, throw the swords on the ground to your right and press your hands behind your heads.”

  “Show yourself,” Leer challenged, keeping his grip tight on his sword.

  “Filthy rebels,” the Lieutenant snapped. “Don’t hide like children behind skirts.”

  “Do as I say,” the voice replied, “or else meet your fate for your ignorance.”

  Wonderful. Perhaps we can outwit them if we lead them on. As Leer reluctantly bent over to lay his sword on the ground, the Lieutenant interrupted him.

  “Keep your weapon, Private,” he hissed.

  “We’re outnumbered,” Leer replied.

  “Says the coward hiding from us.”

  Leer rolled his eyes. “Oh, so now you’re able to believe in what you can’t see?”

  The Lieutenant wasn’t amused. “Shut up, you twit.”

  “Your choice will get us killed for certain.”

  “Well, yours is not leaving us at any more of an advantage.”

  “You wish to fight them, then?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Leer didn’t know. He was drained, exhausted. All sense of purpose had left him. It was almost easier at this point to be robbed than to pretend like he could succeed.