The door hung ajar; the thatched roof had partially collapsed into the cottage.
“It stands,” Leer breathed with hope.
He gripped his sword and braced himself as he kicked the door fully open, ready to challenge any looters he might encounter. When he assured himself he was alone, he allowed himself to grimace, the strike irritating his still healing burn.
He began toward his cot with a wince through the freshly fallen snow that managed to sneak in through the holes above. Leer pulled aside what roof debris he could, his muscles and head aching as he wrestled to access the underside of his bed.
Leer’s fingers brushed against the binding of Finnigan’s journal, and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He pulled the book from under the straw mattress, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on it. He opened the pack Jarle had provided and slipped it inside, retying the laces and slipping it onto his back. It was safe.
Sword drawn, Leer spun around when he heard the cottage door open, finding himself facing two guards, one portly with blotchy skin, and the other shaped like an upright trough. Leer tightened his jaw, eyes wild as he readied himself to square off.
“At ease,” the taller guard remarked, taking a casual step closer. “We would’ve killed you already if you were wanted dead.”
“Then what do you want with me?” Leer snapped, tightening his grip on his sword.
“I’m under orders to take you to the king.”
Leer paused, brows knitting together. “Of what use does he have for me?”
“Who knows,” the stocky guard to the rear muttered.
Leer tilted his chin up, examining the lead guard. “’Suppose I shan’t be trusting you?”
“Whether you know what he wants or not, it’d be in your best interest to have an audience with the man you serve under,” the taller guard replied impatiently. “Besides, it’s bloody cold out and I’d like to get a move on.”
Stiff silence spread between them for a few lingering moments. With a swallow, Leer lowered his sword, tucking it back into its sheath as he held the guard’s gaze. “Lead the way.”
-5—
Wall torches lit the southern end of the castle, the flickering light casting elongated shadows over the dark halls. The damp air was thick with the same tension Leer felt in the streets when he first returned to the Vale, the usual reckless haughtiness replaced with tangible fear.
Leer followed behind the taller army guard, the shorter guard parallel to his right. Leer could feel his eyes on him, but he kept his focus forward. Though no one spoke, Leer couldn’t stop the rush of questions from surging through his mind.
How does the king now deem me useful? Is this a trick? Does the king think me responsible for what happened to Princess Maegan?
Leer wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he walked, drawing an inconspicuous breath. Breathe, Boxwell, he coached himself. Steady. Just breathe.
“How many perished?” Leer asked, taking a glance at the guard next to him, noting his solemn expression in response.
“Nearly three hundred with the army men, we figure,” the guard replied. “Most burned to death.”
Leer’s lips parted. “Women and children, too?”
“Yes. A great deal of those attending the averil perished.”
Leer swallowed back the sickness that grew inside, instead focusing his attention on the finely detailed portraits displayed in the hall. He caught glimpses of stiff-faced people through the flickering of torch flame, each seeming to stare at him with disdain. An image of fiery red hair surrounding a much more delicate, kind face made his stomach sink.
The princess.
He remembered the way she floated above him, disappearing into thin air as he slid down with the rock, unable to save her in time.
“Private.”
Leer blinked, refocusing. He hadn’t realized the guard had stopped in front of a large sable colored door with iron handles carefully crafted by skilled hands—perhaps Jarle’s.
Jarle.
Leer squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt. Leer had trouble relinquishing control and accepting possibilities other than his own. Whether the fight Leer engaged in was needed or not, it would be fought anyway.
“Boxwell,” the guard snapped.
Leer nodded quickly, squaring his shoulders as the guard opened the door.
“Come on,” the front guard ordered, gesturing Leer forward, “and give me your sword.”
Leer froze in the doorway. “Nay,” he argued under his breath.
“You will.”
“It shan’t leave my side.”
“Enter,” Leer heard the king say with resonance from across the room, the fire silhouetting the tall man draped in an elegant fur cloak. “Private Boxwell would be more useful armed, I think.”
“Yes, Sire,” the guard obliged without question, letting Leer enter the room before him.
Leer paced himself, his nerves getting the better of him. The sight of Lieutenant Doyle standing in the darkened corner beside the flickering hearth momentarily distracted him. A fire of hatred ignited within Leer. His pulse quickened, his fingers flexing as they hovered near the hilt of his sword.
What the hell do they wish to do to me?
From across the way, Lieutenant Doyle suggestively cleared his throat. Leer grit his teeth, dropping to one knee. He lowered his chin down to his thigh, nostrils flared as he bowed his head. He half expected to feel the cold blade of a sword against his neck.
“Rise, Private,” he instead heard King Gresham instruct, to which Leer obeyed, his head still dipped downward. “Private,” the king continued, “I need to see the eyes of the man who people say must have seen my daughter last.”
Leer tensed; he ran his tongue across the backs of his teeth as he lifted his chin, glancing first to Lieutenant Doyle. Hesitantly, he shifted focus. The king’s eyes were soft, warm.
“Private,” King Gresham said, tilting his head back slightly. “Will what you speak to me be the truth sworn on your honor and your life?”
“Aye, my lord,” Leer replied.
The king nodded. “Then you shall tell me everything you know regarding my daughter’s kidnapping.”
As Leer drew in a deep breath to begin, Lieutenant Doyle interrupted him. “Sire, if I may,” he began with a scowl playing at the corners of his mouth, “this man was detained during his watch. He was manic and directly disobeyed orders.”
“I am aware, Lieutenant,” the king replied with a curt nod.
“My lord,” Lieutenant Doyle objected, aghast, “two men were found dead—a guard, and an insurgent—in the area from which this man escaped. Soon after, your daughter went missing. And we’ve only just discovered the body of Marcus Bilby, who many witnessed as a victim of Private Boxwell’s hysterics.”
“His body?” Leer asked, his brows furrowing. “Marcus Bilby’s?”
“So you claim to have no knowledge of how the man died, then?” Lieutenant Doyle challenged.
Marcus Bilby is dead. But how? And why?
“Nay,” Leer snapped. “I wasn’t near that man in recent days.”
“Can anybody vouch for your story?”
“Aye, I’ve two to do so.”
“Regardless, Sire,” the Lieutenant continued, eying Leer, “this man should be hung for treason.”
“Lieutenant,” King Gresham replied with audible irritation, “I believe decisions of law and justice are to be made and ordered through me, are they not?”
The Lieutenant bowed his head as a sign of respect to the king. “Yes, my lord.”
“Then I should like to hear what he has to say.”
“Yes, my lord.”
King Gresham turned to Leer. “Private, tell me everything you know regarding my daughter.”
Leer drew smoke scented air through his nose, the warmth of the king’s fireplace adding to his nervous sweat. “I’m afraid that what I know to be the truth is not what my lord wishes to hear,” he admitted
.
“Do you think I wish to hear lies, Private?” the king accused, nostrils flared.
“Nay, Sire. My lord seeks truth.” Leer’s gaze fell on Lieutenant Doyle. “As do each of the men before him.”
“Then speak it, Private.”
Leer swallowed. “My lord, I witnessed power beyond what Hiline knows to be considered truth, beyond the understanding of all men.”
The king lifted his chin. “What power may that be? What weapon do the insurgents hold?”
Perfect. Here we go. “It’s not a weapon, nor insurgents, Sire. In fact, it’s not of ordinary men at all.”
“Why, you infernal scum,” the Lieutenant growled as he charged Leer, who drew his sword in defense, their blades clattering as they crossed. Leer couldn’t help but notice the unusual purple hue of the Lieutenant’s blade. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.
“Lieutenant, Private! Stand down,” the king ordered with a snarl, causing both Leer and Lieutenant Doyle to freeze.
Leer panted as he tried to lower his pulse, his grip firm on his sword hilt. After a long moment, he tucked his sword away, his eyes fixed on the Lieutenant.
“Continue, Private,” King Gresham said with a wave of his hand while Lieutenant Doyle returned his weapon to its sheath.
“Sire, the creature that has your daughter has taken her through some type of willing control,” Leer began again, turning to the king. “I witnessed your guard fall victim to its manipulation. The man died from its power.”
“How?” the king asked. Leer caught the Lieutenant’s disgusted look out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m not sure I know, my lord,” Leer admitted. “The man…simply caught flame.”
“Preposterous,” Lieutenant Doyle argued.
“Aye,” Leer insisted, his eyes narrowing at Lieutenant Doyle. “I saw it with my own eyes. The man caught fire without being touched by nary a spark. And Marcus Bilby knew of what I speak.”
“Regardless,” Lieutenant Doyle interrupted with a sigh, “shouldn’t the guard who came to your box have carried a torch to view you and the prisoner?”
“Aye,” Leer replied, “but the fire that burnt the guard was hot enough to shape iron.” His mouth tightened as he turned back to look at the king. “My lord, the fire was unnaturally hot. No one in Hiline could rationalize the events which I witnessed.”
“So now you speak on behalf of, or even over, your king’s appointed researchers?”
“I know what I saw.”
“Enough,” the king snapped. A hush fell over the room for a long moment, only challenged by the snap of burning timber in the hearth. “Private,” he said to Leer, distinguishable doubt clouding his tone, “I asked you to speak to me the truth on your honor and your life.”
“And I have, Sire,” Leer pleaded, his eyes wild. With a deep breath, he withdrew his sword from its sheath and dropped to his knees in front of the king. Gingerly, he laid his sword at the king’s feet. “If my lord doubts so much as a single thing I’ve said to be nothing but true, then it’s his just decision to exact the law which I have sworn to uphold. Lest I be nothing but a deceiver, I should die by the hand of my king tonight without honor.”
A long silence stretched before Leer heard the king shift his position. “Rise, Private,” the king said in a low tone. “Retrieve your sword, for there shall be no blood shed on my accord. I put my faith in your word.”
With great hesitance, Leer reclaimed his sword and tucked it away, his entire body quivering with pent up adrenaline. He swallowed, suppressing a shiver.
“Where does your collective knowledge place the beast?” King Gresham asked, glancing toward Lieutenant Doyle, then back to Leer.
“My mentor, Finnigan Lance, recorded all of his research in a journal. It contains everything he knew about the beast,” Leer replied.
“A journal?” Lieutenant Doyle asked, his brow arching.
“Aye.”
“We will need to see this journal, then, to see what information we can ascertain.”
Leer studied the Lieutenant. “I can tell you the beast’s lair is said to be in the heart of the Fell.”
“The Fell?”
“Aye.”
Lieutenant Doyle crossed his arms over his chest. “So essentially, you suggest going to Sortaria with reduced numbers while insurgents hold the upper hand? Traveling to the Fell in the dead of winter, no less? It’s nothing more than the plan of a madman.”
“Private, is this where you believe my daughter to be?” the king asked, ignoring the Lieutenant’s remarks.
“Aye, it is, my lord,” Leer confirmed.
“Then I shall send men there to scout the area and retrieve her.”
“My lord,” the Lieutenant interrupted, “with most of our scouts at the eastern wood, we have but a few to spare. If we send them to the Fell, should the Vale need protection, we would surely fail to give her it.”
Leer watched King Gresham turn to the fire; his own eyes fell on the hypnotizing flames as he drew courage silently.
You needn’t an army behind you, Boxwell. This is your chance—avenge Finnigan. Deliver the proof.
“I wish to go, if it pleases my lord,” Leer finally announced. He felt the bitter glare of the Lieutenant on him, but kept his focus on the fire. “It’s where I meant to travel to before speaking with you tonight.”
“For what reason?” the king asked, still watching the fire.
“The same as my lord’s.”
King Gresham turned, examining Leer. “You plan to go to the Fell alone?”
“Aye, my lord.”
The king’s boots clicked on the marble as he paced away from the others. “No,” King Gresham challenged, looking out through the window near where he stood. “You should not, Private.”
Leer shook his head. “My lord, I wish to seek the princess and bring her to safety.”
“And you shall,” the king agreed. “Though,” he added as Leer sighed in relief, “you shall not go alone. The Lieutenant shall accompany you.”
“I should very much wish to retrieve the princess from harm,” Lieutenant Doyle said with a slight bow.
Leer felt cool dread spread through his veins as his stomach sank. “My lord, I would think one man should be sufficient.”
King Gresham faced Leer. “You challenge my command, Private?”
“Nay, my lord,” Leer mumbled.
“Then it’s settled. You’ll both leave at dawn. Private, see to it you have packs readied on two driving celks.”
“If I may, my lord,” Leer interrupted, “the way to the Fell is certainly not one which a celk of any caliber can manage for too long in the snow.”
“And now he speaks for the capability of animals,” Lieutenant Doyle remarked.
“You suggest traveling on foot, then?” the king asked, baffled.
“Aye, my lord,” Leer confirmed. “We’ll be forced to abandon the animals once we’ve reached the Eyne Wood.”
“Then you’ve been the way to the Fell?”
“Nay, Sire. I have only been as far as just east of Cabryog.”
“Perhaps Finnigan Lance made the trip to the Fell before and recorded it within his journal,” Lieutenant Doyle suggested.
Leer paused, the weight of the pack he carried heavier than it had been before.
“Did he make the trip, Private?” King Gresham asked.
“Aye,” Leer replied after a pause.
“For what purpose?”
Leer thought it an odd question, given the circumstances. The genuine curiosity with which the king inquired rattled him. “Furs, my lord,” he replied, holding the king’s gaze. “But I’m afraid all the journal holds are records of legend, not a map.”
With a soft nod, King Gresham returned his focus to the fire momentarily before walking away toward a rear exit. “Get rest, then. Dawn comes in but a short time.”
-6—
First light bore a crimson and purple sky the next morning, the hues majestic
as the sun slowly peeked over the tops of the tall hewens. Leer trekked through the snow, the tragurn-skin pack shifting between his broad shoulders with each step north.
Inhale, exhale. The cold air invigorated his lungs as he hiked, the prospects of the journey ahead adding to the excitement that ran through his body. Four days on foot to the base of the Fell, he figured—should the Lieutenant be able to keep up with the ambitious pace he set. Only another half day’s journey after that to the heart.
“Mind telling me what you’re planning on doing for camp this eve?” Leer heard Lieutenant Doyle ask.
Judging from the softness of the tone, Leer assumed the Lieutenant lagged behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder proved him right.
“The day’s just begun, and you’re already worried about resting?” Leer paused and asked with a smirk.
“I’m trying to plan ahead so at least one of us can be sensible,” Lieutenant Doyle replied as he closed the gap between them. “My guess is, this area is filled with wild beasts, perhaps tragurn, and the winter would seem a time for them to become awfully hungry.”
“Well, there are always the trees to nest in. They aren’t known for climbing without making a ruckus.”
Lieutenant Doyle stopped. “The trees? Surely you must be joking.”
“Unless you have a better suggestion, Lieutenant.”
“My suggestion would be to have taken driving celks.”
Leer watched as Lieutenant Doyle fell in step beside him, his strides firm through the powder. “Tell me, Private,” the Lieutenant began, “how is it you knew of Princess Gresham’s whereabouts?”
“I went toward the light,” Leer replied, adjusting the scarf wrapped around his neck and over his mouth.
“To confront your supposed beast, yes?”
“Isn’t that a guard’s duty? To protect the kingdom?”
The Lieutenant laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
Leer inhaled deeply, pausing as he scanned the vastness in front of them. He hadn’t imagined being accompanied on the trek, let alone with someone like Lieutenant James Shelton Doyle. He pursed his lips at the thought of how the next few days would unfold.
The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1) Page 5