The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1)

by Lyndsey Harper

  Leer glanced down at the uneaten chunk of bread in his hand, then back up at Aldred, who ate quietly across from him. He took a bite, chewing it as he watched Aldred through the turmoil in his mind. He hadn’t noticed when Tana left, too consumed by Aldred’s words.

  “What did you mean when you said I haven’t yet seen?” Leer asked, swallowing his bite.

  Aldred’s body shook as he continued eating. “There is much to know,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to serve you like Tana?” Aldred snapped, looking up at Leer, blinking. “If the truth is what you’re looking for, then seek it, Boy.”

  “I am, Sir,” Leer replied stiffly, squeezing the bread between his fingers. He sighed. “Yet every time I seek it, it leaves me with more questions.”

  “Some truths are not answered simply. Some truths require more than a sacrifice of time.”

  Leer bit his lip, finding the scab with the tip of his tongue. He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. Garren’s and the Lieutenant’s footfalls made him open his eyes, his blood pressure still racing from the lack of answers.

  “So northeast of here is Sortarian territory, aye?” he said to Garren.

  “It is,” Garren replied hesitantly as he took a seat across from him to Aldred’s right.

  Leer nodded. “Right. Has there been any unexplainable phenomena as of late?”

  Garren shifted in his seat. “Such as?”

  “White hot fires in the middle of rain storms, unidentifiable sounds deep within the wood. Irrational behavior. The people of Junivar claimed to have seen such things in the woods in this area. Any insight as to what might be happening?”

  “Perhaps it’s nothing more than their own misinterpretation,” Garren suggested. “Woods catch fire, the weather is nature’s business, and more often than not, men behave irrationally without any magical influence.”

  Leer leaned back in his seat. “Perhaps its significance is tied to the Vei,” he challenged.

  “Oh, please,” Lieutenant Doyle groaned.

  Garren met Leer’s eyes and laughed. “The Vei died a long time ago, if it ever even existed,” he argued.

  The Lieutenant gave Garren a small nod. “As would any sensible man know.”

  “Vei magic might explain the things we witnessed,” Leer argued; silence followed. “Was the wood where you found us Sortarian territory once?”

  “I wouldn’t classify it as territory, really. Anyway, might we discuss something else? I’ve just returned from weeks of scouting Roach Country. I’d rather be spared of the history lesson.”

  “And that’s why you’re a fool,” Aldred sighed.

  “Because I’d rather not give into the idea of Sortarian witchcraft willy nilly?” Garren retorted, eying Aldred. “The fools are those who store the entirety of their goods in one basket.”

  Aldred waved him off. “The remains of some of the Sortarians killed in the Junich War were buried in the woods below Cabryog,” he said to Leer.

  The Junich War.

  It was before Leer’s time. King Gresham was a Lieutenant, much like James Doyle, who led a raid against the infiltration of Babrystians from across the Sea of Zita into Sortaria. It was the war that sealed Hiline’s superior power in the region of the trinations, and the victory that made Calvin eligible for king.

  “That might explain it,” Leer noted.

  “Explain what?” Tana questioned as she entered with a hewen board full of roasted skimmers.

  “The voices,” Leer replied with growing realization.

  Were the ghosts crying out?

  Tana sighed as she set down the board. Malin and Ricker rushed in, eagerly taking seats at the far end of the table near Beval and Edgar, who helped themselves to food.

  “Enough talk of magic,” Garren warned, his eyes narrowed at Leer. “I’ll not have you speak of such madness in front of my nephews.”

  “It’s what makes sense, whether or not it is what you wish to believe,” Leer argued.

  “I believe in real things,” Garren replied. “I believe in things I can see.”

  “Men have seen, but you deny their experiences.”

  “Men only see what they wish to, mostly.”

  “You’re wrong,” Leer snapped in a dark tone, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop. “The kidnapping of the Princess, the fires, the insensible deaths—all of it is in response to the power of the Vei.”

  Malin and Ricker stopped chewing, their round dark brown eyes shifting to Garren as their mouths hung open. Leer felt everyone staring at him, the silence choking the room.

  Garren licked his lips, nostrils flared. “Tread carefully, Boxwell. Tossing out possibilities of Vei influence is a sure way to put yourself in a scrape.”

  Leer ignored the advice. “The Grimbarror is an embodiment of Sortarian magic. It is a vessel, purposefully created both in the past, and now again.”

  “And the source of the Grimbarror’s power lies in the beast itself,” Aldred finished, leaning back and staring in Leer’s direction. A small sad smile curved his lips. “The blood in its veins is dark magic, crafted by those with the power of the Vei.”

  Garren pushed away from the table, slamming down his mug. “I won’t stand for this any longer,” he snapped. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, Boxwell. I won’t have you or your friend here poisoning my nephews with your filth.”

  “I’d just like to take this moment to say, I don’t believe him either,” the Lieutenant noted with a raised finger.

  “Garren!” Tana exclaimed. “You’re—”

  “No, woman,” Garren snapped, glaring at her; Tana became quiet. “So long as this is my roof, I’ll say who enters.” He looked back to Leer. “And who leaves.”

  Leer stood, his eyes on Garren. His fingers flexed beside him. Steady and balanced, he tried to remind himself as a familiar warmth bloomed behind his ears. Stay steady and balanced.

  His gaze shifted to Aldred, drinking in the familiar face that brought to mind images of Finnigan. “I still fight for Finnigan. You have my word,” he pledged, silent for a moment before turning away, moving toward the door.

  Leer heard the Lieutenant’s reluctant grumble and approaching footsteps as he gripped the handle, his back to the others. He paused, turning to Tana. “Thank you for the bread,” he mumbled, giving her a small nod. “I wish blessings on your family.”

  Despite the sun that shone on him as he left the cottage with Lieutenant Doyle, Leer could feel the invisible grip of darkness tighten around him, pulling him further into its depths.

  -16—

  The bustle of the Cabryog market became white noise, the cold air a familiar blanket as Leer wove his way through the dirt walk to the large inn he was promised was at the south end of the town. He barely checked whether the Lieutenant kept up with him. His company was the furthest thing from Leer’s mind in that moment, the passageways instead clogged up with Aldred’s words:

  “Your eyes…You see much through tunnels, through narrow paths, but you ignore the abundant fields that surround you. And when you finally do see them, you’ll be as helpless as I am.”

  “Must have been nice to have stayed long enough to get some bread,” Leer heard the Lieutenant say near him. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the pleasure.”

  “You’ll get your bread soon enough,” Leer grumbled, rolling his eyes.

  The sight of the thick stone building relieved Leer. A small wooden plaque flapped above the entryway, its name burned into the face of the hewen.

  Kicking off the snow from their boots, they ducked inside. Leer breathed in the heady scent of ale and roasted meat as he prepared himself.

  This is what you need to do. Do it, and be done.

  Still, the idea of letting Jarle’s sword go made his stomach knot.

  With a quick prayer, he crossed to the counter, nipping at his lip as the keeper approached.

  “Good day,” Leer said with a friendly smile. In his peripheral sight, he saw
the Lieutenant come to stand alongside him. “Might I interest you in a barter?”

  The innkeeper, a stout man with thin rimmed glasses, eyed Leer. “What would you like to offer?”

  “My sword, in exchange for a hunting knife, and rations and board for tonight for both of us.”

  “Hmm. Must be a fine weapon to assume it carries that much value.”

  Leer unsheathed his sword, laying it down on the counter. “Double weight steel, crafted in the Vale with milkwood.”

  The innkeeper’s brow rose as he examined it, the blade glinting in the boonwax candlelight. “It is a nice piece,” he confirmed, a smile spreading on his face. “Deal.” He held out his hand, waiting for Leer to grip it.

  “No deal!”

  Leer and Lieutenant Doyle spun around, matching the voice with a familiar face.

  Astrid.

  Astrid strode through the threshold, the door slamming behind her. “No deal,” she repeated, watching Leer as she stepped to his side. He noticed two packs slung over her narrow shoulder. She drew her hood down, looking at the innkeeper. “I’ve enough pence here for three rooms, three meals, and three washings.” She fished in her waist belt and retrieved a satchel, tossing it with a nod to the innkeeper, who let go of Leer’s sword and snatched it. “Count it.”

  Leer’s nostrils flared, his pulse rising as he watched the innkeeper dump the coins on the counter. “I don’t want your dirty money,” he argued.

  Her eyes met his. “I came by it honestly.” Before he could object, she looked to the innkeeper. “Are we settled, then?”

  The innkeeper shook her head. “No, lass. Only enough for two of everything.”

  “Impossible,” Astrid scoffed. “I made sure of it.”

  “Price increase.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since you spoiled the deal on the sword.”

  Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Why you—”

  “Easy, feisty,” Leer whispered, taking hold of her shoulder.

  “We’ll make do with it,” the Lieutenant announced as he noticed Leer’s disapproving look. “What? You need the sword, and the wench owes us.” Astrid narrowed her eyes at him as he snatched his pack from her shoulder.

  “Very well, then,” the innkeeper nodded, scraping the coins into his palm. “Two rooms, two meals, two washings. I’ll have the maid bring you each a plate. The washtub is up the stairs to the left.”

  As the innkeeper left, Leer snatched up his sword and stalked away, squeezing his eyes shut. “We don’t need your help,” he argued.

  “Then what were you planning on doing with a hunting knife? Nicking the beast?”

  He turned, facing her. “You don’t even believe in it.”

  Astrid nodded toward Lieutenant Doyle, who made himself comfortable at a nearby table. “And neither does he. But I believe that you do,” Astrid countered, taking a step closer to him. “And I can’t rightfully let you go into it all without the proper weapon.”

  “So you thought I could do without the last of my rations, aye? Or that taking the only thing I care about was a good course of action?”

  Astrid sighed, handing him his pack. Leer took it, grateful to feel the familiar weight of Finnigan’s journal in it. “I forgot the journal was in there until it was too late. I just meant to delay you. I hoped you’d come to your senses.”

  “Losing a bit of jerky isn’t enough to change my mind.”

  “Which I realized. Hence why I’m here.”

  He swallowed, watching how her long dark hair glinted in the low light as she removed her cloak. Sighing, he took a seat at the table with Lieutenant Doyle, shrugging off his coat. “You needn’t waste your pence on me, nor your breath trying to redirect me.”

  Astrid took a few small steps toward the table. “I won’t be. And it isn’t a waste if it means you’re sheltered and fed this eve.”

  Leer paused and looked into Astrid’s eyes. “Then I’m in your debt,” he concluded before gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

  She took a seat, shaking her head. “No, you’re not.”

  “Aye,” Leer argued. “I am.”

  “Please,” the Lieutenant mumbled. “She stole our supplies from us twice. If there’s any debt outstanding, it’s hers.”

  “Perhaps for you,” Leer corrected, taking a seat. “But not for me.”

  The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I forgot ol’ Private Undue Nobility’s station in life.”

  The bar maid approached the table, placing two plates in front of them, and filling two glasses with ale, slipping Leer an extra fork before she left. Leer pushed the plate toward Astrid.

  “Take your fill,” he said with a nod.

  “There’s plenty to share,” she said, sliding it back to the middle between them.

  The aroma of roasted skimmer filled Leer’s nose, reminding him of his tense meeting with Garren, Tana, and Aldred.

  Aldred.

  Why hadn’t Finnigan ever told him of his brother? And how could his belief have separated them so?

  Leer drove his two tined fork into the skimmer, slicing off a section. The meat nearly melted in his mouth; his stomach groaned and churned, happily accepting the much needed fuel after all of the miles his body accumulated on the journey thus far.

  He almost finished his half of the meal before he resurfaced from his thoughts, aware once again of Lieutenant Doyle and Astrid’s presences.

  “Well, I’m stuffed like a springtime tragurn,” the Lieutenant mused, leaning back a bit with a contented sigh.

  “Have you no shame?” Leer asked, tilting his head toward Astrid.

  “Regarding?”

  “Perhaps not having enough decency to share with a lady?”

  “Lady?” The Lieutenant chuckled, looking over at Astrid. “That’s an awfully generous title you’ve bestowed on her.”

  Leer tensed in his seat, palms flat on the table as he readied to stand, but Astrid’s gentle touch on his forearm halted him. He paused, nostrils flared as he tried to swallow back his bitterness. He watched Lieutenant Doyle stand, tossing his rag on the table.

  “I’ll be taking a room for myself. Enjoy your evening together,” he smirked, winking at Astrid. “Perhaps your generosity will reward you, Private.”

  Leer remained silent despite his desire to reply. Astrid’s gentle touch lingered as he watched the Lieutenant climb the stairs to his room. Leer blew out a breath, shutting his eyes.

  ‘Tisn’t worth it.

  Quietly, he turned back to face Astrid, who withdrew her hand from his arm, looking down at the plate. Leer watched, examining her. She seemed burdened, worried.

  “What troubles you so?” he asked.

  Her gaze rose to meet his, her crystalline eyes round. “Nothing.”

  “Surely something must. I can see it.”

  She swallowed, pushing away the plate. “If you must know, I’m still worried for you, for your insistence on this quest.”

  Leer picked up the last crust of his bread, taking a bite as he continued to look at Astrid. “Nay. ‘Tis not what plagues you.”

  “So you claim to know my thoughts now?”

  “I know a thing or two about the look on a person’s face.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Then tell me—what does my face say now, Private?”

  He smirked, observing her for a moment. “I’m not sure you’d like me to say it aloud, Miss Browne.”

  “You’re an imbecile.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  She rolled her eyes, putting her napkin on the table as she rose from her seat. “Take the mattress. Your ribs will appreciate it more than mine, I’m sure. We leave at dawn.”

  Leer’s brow arched. “We?” He shook his head. “No, lass. If I’m indebted to you, then I choose to repay it through sparing you the trip.”

  Astrid scoffed. “First of all, you owe me no such debt. Secondly, I do right well as I please—I’ve no patience for you to tell me where I can go. Or for
you calling me, ‘lass.’”

  Leer sighed, standing and tossing his napkin on the table. “As I’ve told you before, this is far too dangerous.”

  “Do you consider me delicate as a lowe, then?”

  “Nay. I’d just rather not have your blood on my hands.”

  “You won’t,” she stated, stepping away from the table toward the stairs that led up to the rooms level.

  Leer inhaled deeply, watching her as she walked up the stairs and out of view. With a grumble, he turned and eyed one of the buckets of water near the fire that burned in the center pit of the tavern. One should at least somewhat cut the chill of the wash water in the barrel, he imagined.

  He crossed toward the fire, relishing the brief, sharp warmth of the open flames as he lifted the bucket and carried it toward the stairs. He assumed Astrid’s failure to take one meant she’d likely bathe later, and he wanted nothing more at the moment than to clean up and rest.

  The water in the large tub behind the fabric curtain was mild, even after the addition of his hot bucket. Still, Leer stripped and sank into its depths with relief, the harbored chill of his skin eased into remission as it flooded over his body.

  He sat motionless for quite some time, unmotivated to begin the task of scrubbing off the layers of soot and dirt that clung to him. The wall in front of him was decorated with an oval looking glass, his reflection examining him in return as he stared. Leer squinted, analyzing the way his blond locks drooped over his forehead, a subtle curl playing at the ends of them. It had been quite some time since he had apprised himself with such scrutiny. It was an uncomfortable task that he now couldn’t seem to refrain from.

  Why does Aldred believe I’ve been blind? he wondered, looking at his reflection. His dark eyes narrowed in on the cut on his left cheek; it was healing nicely, though sure to become a permanent reminder of his jail escape. He looked down at his hands where they rested on his thighs, the water lapping over him in gentle strokes.

  He had always viewed himself as smarter, wiser, one step ahead at all times. His nearly flawless ability to appraise the validity of people and their motives was a constant—he relied on it both professionally and personally. Had it finally failed him?