“Really? Gee, we wouldn’t have figured,” Lieutenant Doyle remarked.
“Where in Hiline, Astrid?” Leer continued.
“The east.”
Leer sighed. “Alright, what is it you do, then?”
Astrid smirked. “You mean, besides thievery?”
“Aye.”
“Nothing worth discussing.”
“Surely there is.”
She glanced toward him. “Well, I can assure you, there isn’t.”
“Well, there is your peculiar dress.”
Astrid laughed. “You try trekking through the wood in a skirt.”
Leer grinned. “Can’t say I’d like the challenge.” He looked over at her, studying the profile of her face. “So, what of your family?”
Her tone shifted. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me about them.”
“Why should I?” she asked, her tone shifting.
“I just figured it would pass the time.”
Astrid stopped in place, Leer pausing with her. “I don’t wish to be the topic of your conversation,” she said, peering up at him.
“Look, lass—there’s no need to be cross.”
“Astrid. And there’s no need for me to answer your endless questions.”
Leer watched as Astrid continued ahead, her hand tightly gripped around her walking stick, her strides long and purposeful.
“Well, that went well, eh?” the Lieutenant smirked, passing Leer on the left.
Astrid’s abrupt answer didn’t sit well with Leer. “Wait,” he called, jogging past Lieutenant Doyle to catch up to Astrid’s side. When he reached her, he took her upper arm to stop her.
“I also don’t wish to be handled,” Astrid noted, eyeing his hand.
Leer released Astrid’s upper arm. “Aye, my apologies.” He cleared his throat. “You resent this arrangement, is that it?”
“No, I think it’s just lovely,” she replied, eyes narrowing.
“Well, it’s better than the box, aye?”
“Do you forget I’m carrying a knife?”
“I mean you no harm,” Leer assured, his voice soft.
Her nostrils flared a little as she studied his face. “Sure.”
“I…” Leer sighed. “Look, if it was up to me, you’d be off doing…whatever it is you do. But I’ve orders to keep. There’s more at stake than just me.”
Leer watched Astrid’s expression change. “Your princess,” she murmured.
“She’s…not mine.”
Astrid laughed under her breath, looking away. “So that’s why you’re sore.”
“Come again?”
“The Lieutenant. You’re fitbloached over his relationship.”
“Surely not,” Leer scoffed.
“And I’m the Queen of the Forest.” She sighed. “I can see a man smitten from miles away. I’ll help you both get back your princess, but don’t think of me as a midway opportunity to warm your bones.”
“I…hadn’t thought that,” Leer stammered, a simultaneous cool and hot rush flowing through him at the statement.
She examined him for a prolonged moment. He stared back at her delicate face, admiring the freckles dotting her cheeks, and her ice-toned eyes, which seemed to spark an unwanted flame inside him. From the moment he saw them, they intrigued him. They seemed mystical, like carefully cut gemstones inlaid in the king’s crown.
Unnatural.
Leer looked away, keeping his eyes on the snow, listening to her footfalls as she continued ahead alone.
“Well,” Lieutenant Doyle remarked, coming to his side, “I suppose your charms extend only toward women of the paid variety.”
Glaring at Lieutenant Doyle, Leer followed behind Astrid, keeping distance between them. He watched the swirl of her cloak hem against the snow, the pit growing in his stomach. He caught a glimpse of how a lock of her hair escaped from under her hood and danced in the growing winds.
He blinked, scanning the area as he tried to shake away his curiosity. He took in the profile of her face, relishing the curve of her nose. He knew his appreciation of her was foolish, disgusting even, in his current situation. Still, it was as if the lithe woman in front of him gave him little choice.
Alright, then. Blame the thief for it like a dirty javit.
It sickened him; he clenched his fist inside his mitten in an attempt to deflect his attention, but it merely dulled it.
Leer pushed forward, remaining resolute despite his exhaustion.
Why does she intrigue me so?
The air turned more bitter with each passing hour as the three trekked north toward the Eyne Wood. Leer grew worried as the darkening skies grew grey with the still brewing storm.
“We can’t risk being caught unprepared when this storm begins,” he warned, turning toward the others as the growing winds assaulted his back. “We need to seek shelter. This storm is going to be far too great to weather outside.”
“Do you know how far Prijar is from here?” Lieutenant Doyle asked Astrid, who was struggling to keep her hood pulled over her head.
“It’s about five miles over the ridge,” Astrid shouted over the surging gusts of air sweeping between them.
Leer shook his head. “It’s too far. We’ll be caught in it. We need to find something now.”
“There might be cottages on the outskirts,” Astrid suggested, wrestling to keep her hair out of her face. “We might be able to rest in a barn until it passes.”
“A barn?” Lieutenant Doyle asked, shaking his head. “Oh no, I’m not sleeping in a barn.”
“Look, we haven’t got a choice,” Astrid snapped. “Either you sleep in a barn for the eve or freeze. I don’t particularly care either way.”
With a snarl, Lieutenant Doyle turned away, stomping ahead through the snow.
“Pansy,” Astrid muttered.
“Do you know any of the peasants living in this region?” Leer asked, watching Astrid clutch at her hood to keep it over her.
“No,” she admitted. “But I imagine all of the animals are already sheltered away from the storm, so we shouldn’t encounter anyone if we’re subtle.”
Leer looked up at Lieutenant Doyle, who cursed to himself as he forged ahead. “Subtlety isn’t his best trait.”
Warmth rose from deep within as he caught how the corners of Astrid’s mouth turned up in a genuine grin. “I should say not.”
Smoke wafting from a chimney drew the three to a cottage at the edge of Prijar. By the time they reached the small barn on a plot of hilled land, Leer was chilled to the bone, and the bitter cold intensified the pain in his foot.
Leer quietly lifted the latch, opening the weathered door. Inside, two black driving celks pawed the ground, a few anxious reews bleated, each with a single short, knobby horn and thick, ashy winter coats, and a honey brown-eyed milking stotseen chewed cud.
“I suppose this will do,” Astrid murmured with a nod.
The Lieutenant’s forehead creased as he examined the space. “It smells like the trenches,” he scowled.
“Don’t worry,” Leer assured, shutting the door against the wind and moving past him. He slid his pack off his shoulders and tossed it near a pile of golden straw. “They only relieve themselves in their pens.”
“Had we not become sidetracked earlier,” the Lieutenant reminded, “we wouldn’t have to sleep in this filth.”
“Aren’t you an army man?” Astrid asked, her hands on her hips. “Surely you’ve camped somewhere before.”
“Of course I have.” The Lieutenant froze, lifting his boot with a grimace. “But not with waste lying about.”
“We’d all do best to get some rest,” Leer interrupted, trying to contain his amused expression. “I’m rather pooped myself.” His smile spread when he heard Astrid’s muffled giggle.
“Yes, yes,” Lieutenant Doyle answered, rubbing the sole of his boot clean on some straw. “Enjoy your laugh.”
Leer watched as Lieutenant Doyle made himself comfortable in a far
corner. With a sigh, Leer found a seat along the wall of the barn, propping his back up as he covered himself with the blanket from his pack, watching as Astrid gathered loose straw around her in the darkened back corner. The wind grew in strength outside of the barn, whistling as it swirled against it, bringing bitter gusts that seeped between the cracks.
Leer took off his right mitten and withdrew Finnigan’s journal from his pack, thumbing through the pages to find where he had left off. The last of daylight was fading fast, but there was just enough for him to make out a few lines.
Earlier pages only bore little snippets of information, none of which connected together to form a coherent thought. As if Finnigan blatantly avoided divulging information on purpose, and instead created a mosaic that wasn’t yet assembled.
Perhaps to protect what he knew.
It seemed to make no logical sense otherwise.
Two divided
Maloden—suppression
Conditional transformation, subject to intent
Enter the gates, but do not fall
Eyes of stone
Gems within, power inherently possessed
Some incomplete sketches filled the spaces in between the fragmented lines; a set of claws in particular grabbed Leer’s attention. The claws’ splay wasn’t like the padded foot of a tragurn or a willet. Instead, it was a hand, nearly the same as his own, except for the peculiar digits.
Leer breathed a sigh of relief when he happened upon a section containing an almost complete sentence, but once again disappointed with the results:
Luke Foreman, dillyburt farmer, Junivar
Accounts of Vei influence seen; quite possibly a tainted source,
as he is fond of nursing the bottle each eve.
“Well?”
Leer looked up, meeting Lieutenant Doyle’s eyes. “Well what?” he responded.
“What does it say? Anything of importance?”
With a shake of his head, Leer turned back to the pages he held. “None that I can ascertain. Only a mention of a farmer residing in Junivar who might have information. The rest isn’t clear.”
“Perhaps I can help deduce it.”
Leer’s brow arched as he looked up, meeting the Lieutenant’s gaze. “You?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” Lieutenant Doyle smirked, straightening up and leaning forward. “I was promoted to Lieutenant for reasons other than my devilishly good looks.”
They heard Astrid’s groan over the winds, which made Leer smile a little to himself. “Alright,” he said, taking a deep breath. “What do you make of this: ‘Two divided?’”
“Two divided?” The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated on some straw near his feet. “Hmm…Could it have something to do with insurgents?”
Leer nodded. “Aye, maybe. Hiline, and insurgents.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m thinking.”
“But what relevance would that have?”
“History, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.” Leer paused. “What do you make of, ‘maloden—suppression?’”
The straw rustled as Astrid leaned forward toward them. “Maloden, did you say?” she asked. Even in the dim light, Leer couldn’t help but notice the brightness of her eyes.
“Aye,” he replied. “Maloden.”
“Why does it bloody matter to you?” Lieutenant Doyle interrupted, turning toward Astrid. “You should mind your own affairs, thief.”
“Excuse me?” Astrid replied, mouth agape.
“Come off it,” Leer objected, glaring at the Lieutenant. “She’s a right to speak.”
“She’s a liar by trade,” Lieutenant Doyle argued. “You wish to trust her with intimate knowledge? For all we know, she could lead us into another trap with whatever she says.”
Astrid scoffed. “Fine,” she replied, leaning back in the straw. “I’ll keep it to myself. If you wish to act like a child, so be it.”
“I’d like to hear what you have to say,” Leer interjected.
“No.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve nothing to say on the matter.”
“And I’m acting like a child,” the Lieutenant muttered.
With a growl, Leer snapped the journal closed, pushing to his feet and taking a few paces away. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils in an attempt to lower his racing heart, but it seemed to fail.
Silence washed over them, while only an occasional shift in the straw, a muffled bleat, or a snort from the animals permeated the swirling gusts of winds. It was too quiet for Leer. He craned his neck to stretch the muscles in it as he tried to make sense of the information Finnigan had left him.
An ache built above his temples; Leer kneaded at the skin under his curls with his fingertips, wincing as his fingers found the fresh gash from earlier.
As he massaged the area, tiny painful bolts of light flared through his closed eyes. Sharp strings of stinging energy made him nauseous.
I have hit my head quite a bit in the last week.
Still, the suddenness of the pain made only a little more sense than Finnigan’s rambling.
Stress, perhaps?
Hunger?
He sighed, opening his eyes as he tried to take account of where the others were. Lieutenant Doyle was fast asleep in a rather unsightly manner, while Astrid was missing.
Leer scanned the darkness, attempting to spot her. The barn wasn’t large, and had one entrance. Soon he saw her, standing next to a celk and scratching its ears as the beast munched on hay.
Swiping up his blanket, Leer approached her. “I apologize for the Lieutenant’s behavior,” he said when he came alongside her. “I suppose he’s under a great deal of stress.”
“And we’re not?” Astrid countered, still petting the celk.
“Of course we are as well.”
“Then why would I pardon him?”
“Pardon him or not, it’s your choice. I just wish you to know that I don’t share his sentiments.”
She turned, looking into his eyes for a few beats as she lowered her hand from the celk’s head, and reached toward Leer’s. He closed his eyes, feeling her soft, warm fingertips as she investigated the cut in silence. He opened them again after she withdrew her hand. “It needs some herbs,” she stated.
“I’ve yeran bark ointment,” Leer offered.
She nodded. “That’s good.”
“I would still care to hear what you’ve to say about maloden,” he whispered.
Astrid blinked, then spoke. “It’s a stone.”
“Aye, I’m aware.”
“It’s mined where I grew up,” she continued. “It was said to have healing properties.”
His brow wrinkled. “Healing?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I thought it might help for you to know that for your journey.”
He nodded. “It does.”
Astrid remained silent, staring at him. He cleared his increasingly parched throat. “…You’re cold.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He winced. Wonderful. “No, I meant, are you cold?” He offered up the blanket.
“I’ll be fine without it,” Astrid replied.
“Please, I insist.”
With hesitance, Astrid took it, her fingers swirling over the wool. Her eyes turned toward Lieutenant Doyle for a brief moment. “I’m surprised either of you would consider sleeping in my presence.”
“We haven’t anything to worry about,” Leer replied.
“You’re the one who suggested I might deem it necessary to kill you in your sleep,” she admonished with a shy smile. “What makes you so sure you aren’t right?” She looked up at him, the shadows failing to dull her brilliant eyes.
“You would’ve left by now if you didn’t have a taste for adventure.”
Astrid cocked her head to the side. “So that’s your game, is it? Is that why your bonny king pays you so well? Because you’re a snoop?”
Leer laughed. “Who said I was paid well?”
“Well, it
is your game, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Knowing a person.”
“I suppose, aye.”
Astrid’s lips pursed as she eyed Leer. “And what would you conclude about me, then?”
“That you don’t care for games.”
She smirked. “Is that all?”
He paused thoughtfully. “That, and you’re missing something…or someone. It’s why you live the way you do.”
Astrid’s face changed; she lowered her eyes. “Good night, Private Boxwell.”
Leer became pensive, watching Astrid take her corner opposite of Lieutenant Doyle, cocooning herself in his blanket among the straw. Even with his vagueness, he had obviously struck a nerve.
Don’t, he told himself as he considered approaching her. Let it be.
With a sigh, he turned and returned to his now cold spot near his pack.
Propping his head against a bale of hay, Leer fiddled with his position, becoming irritated as he found it increasingly difficult to settle in. He sat awake for quite a while, staring into the darkness and listening to the wind hiss through the slats.
Rest wouldn’t come easily; there were too many questions, too much to consider. The cryptic journal entries and events of the recent days swirled around in his mind more violently than the storm outside the barn.
He sighed in defeat. It was going to be a long journey.
-9-
“Private, get up.”
Leer stirred, blinking his sleep-crusted eyes open to find Astrid expectantly crouched down in front of him. The barn was still dark, and he swore he just fallen asleep moments before. “It can’t be time yet,” he mumbled, still trying to focus.
“It is, if we don’t wish to get caught.”
With a groan, Leer stood, Astrid rising to her feet beside him. “Where’s the Lieutenant?” he asked, rubbing his jaw as he yawned.
“Attending to business,” was her response. She folded the blanket, and gave it back to him in a neat pile. “Thank you,” she added softly.
Leer nodded, taking the blanket. “My pleasure.”
“Well,” Astrid adjusted her cloak, pulling up her hood, “now that you’re awake, I’ll be off.”
“To where?” Leer asked, brows wrinkled.
“Does it matter?” she countered, appearing confused. “I don’t believe that’s your business, Private. Only mine.”
The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1) Page 8