“You’re no challenge, Boxwell,” Lieutenant Doyle barked, grabbing Leer’s coat and shoving him down into a bank of snow. Leer hit the ground, groaning as his ribs collided with the thick mossy rocks hidden underneath the powder. Lieutenant Doyle stripped his mittens from his hands, casually tossing them aside. “You’re nothing more than an arrogant, gullible runt pretending to be something you’re not.”
“Hey, enough!” Astrid yelled behind them. Leer saw her rushing toward the scene as he stood, tossing off his own mittens, the wool flying through the air to his right.
He didn’t pause for even a moment before springing forward and snatching a fistful of the Lieutenant’s coat. “At least I’m not a flea-ridden pet of the king’s, whipped and trained like a dumb beast.” He swung his right arm and delivered a solid blow to Lieutenant Doyle’s jaw.
The Lieutenant fell to the ground; Leer jumped on top of him like a wild animal, readying himself to take another shot.
“Stop!” Astrid yelled, pulling against Leer’s arm as hard as she could.
The distraction threw Leer off balance and Lieutenant Doyle rolled out from under him, both jumping to their feet. The two men exchanged savage looks, standing paces apart when Lieutenant Doyle, growing angrier, lunged at Leer.
Astrid stepped in between him and his enemy, her hands out as she faced Lieutenant Doyle and screamed at him to stop. Leer could clearly see over her tiny shoulders. His chest tightened; time moved slowly as he saw the back of the Lieutenant’s hand viciously collide with Astrid’s face.
“Don’t you dare challenge me,” Lieutenant Doyle warned her while his other hand pushed her down out of his way.
As her body fell despite his efforts to defend her, Leer pounced on the Lieutenant with a snarl of pure, unadulterated rage.
“You churlis scoundrel,” he raged, as Lieutenant Doyle gained an advantage over Leer.
“You’re nothing but a meaningless, cheating piece of common scum,” the Lieutenant growled, throwing a punch into Leer’s still tender cheek. Leer groaned, ducking another swing from the man above him. He braced himself with Lieutenant Doyle’s body and shoved his knee into the Lieutenant’s stomach, knocking the wind out of the larger man.
Leer freed himself from the pin, standing more quickly than the Lieutenant, who crouched over as he held his abdomen. Snow cascaded from Leer’s clothes and hair as he caught his breath for a brief moment.
Leer’s dark eyes grew wide as he saw Astrid stand, wiping blood from her lip. A rush of cold dread lined his stomach. His palms grew sweaty; his pulse rose as his mind reeled with memories of his father.
His drunken father, stumbling in the door late at night as Leer watched from his hiding place behind a large basket. His mother, snapping to attention and trying to serve his every need, despite how cold and useless of a husband he was. His father, a man who never cared about anything more than himself, beating his mother as she begged for him to spare her. His mother, bruised and torn by a man who would later abandon her, leaving her to raise Leer alone.
He then began to smell the same stench of death that had once tainted the sweet floral notes of a past spring day, the one in which he found his mother in bed—still in her dressing gown, although nearly noon. Her stiffened hand clutched a small vial, a sad smile fixed on her colorless lips.
Just as quickly, his mind refocused on the present. “Are you alright?” Leer asked Astrid mere moments later, his voice strained.
“I’m fine,” Astrid insisted, squaring her shoulders, as if to ward off any show of weakness. She glared at Lieutenant Doyle, who met her look with equal disdain.
“You listen to me, you whoreson,” Leer fumed, his pulse racing and his face tightening as he stared at Lieutenant Doyle, who resolutely took to his feet. “If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I swear I’ll end your worthless life.”
Lieutenant Doyle leaned to his left, spitting at the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he smiled at Leer. “Got a weak spot for the thieving little wench, have you?” Leer watched Lieutenant Doyle fix his eyes on Astrid. “As a Lieutenant, I’ll be generous despite your insubordination and give you a piece of advice. You might think you’ve got it all figured out, all squared away just like on your tafl board. It seems as cut and dried as any calculation you can make. But hear this—be wary of who you turn your back on.” He paused; Leer saw his eyes narrow a bit as he smiled at Astrid. “And be even more wary of who you don’t.”
Lieutenant Doyle swiped his mittens from the ground and walked away, continuing to cut a path north. Leer remained still, watching him as he tasted his own blood on his tongue.
“It’s not far, now,” Astrid said. “Perhaps the two of you can stand each other long enough to reach there?”
“Perhaps,” Leer muttered.
The tension had swirled into an undeniable thickness around them, choking out any interaction between the three. Leer was far too lost in his own head to be aware of the others. Despite the overall ache that ran through his bones, the flares of light that ebbed and flowed in his mind seemed more tolerable with each occurrence.
With a heavy sigh, he craned his neck to the side, stretching out the tight muscles. He needed to find both the princess and the Grimbarror, saving one and proving the existence of the other. It was all that mattered now.
“Private,” Astrid murmured.
“Not Private,” he quickly corrected, raising his head and looking at her. “Leer. Just Leer will do.”
Astrid nodded. “Alright, Leer…I’m sorry.”
He peered down at her. “You needn’t be sorry.”
“I do,” she insisted, pulling her cloak around herself against the chill of the air. “I needn’t make you feel responsible for me.”
“I gave you my word to protect you,” Leer corrected.
“I don’t wish for that burden for you.”
“‘Twas mine I gave myself, lass.”
He heard her grumble. “Astrid.”
“You know,” Leer said, a small smile threatening the corners of his mouth, “being called ‘lass’ isn’t a bad thing.”
“It is if you’re not fond of it,” Astrid snipped.
“If I meant you any harm, I certainly wouldn’t have stuck my neck out back there for you.”
“I suppose you can just ignore my wishes, then, because you’re noble?”
Leer scoffed. “It didn’t stop you from letting the Lieutenant ‘handle’ you last night.”
She stopped, her mouth opened. “You child. Surely you’re not trying to imply that you think I favored him before.”
“Didn’t you?” Leer asked back, pausing in front of her.
“Of course not.”
“Not even a mite?”
“No!” Astrid exclaimed, her hands on her hips. “Not that it’s any concern of yours even if I did.”
Leer looked into her eyes. “It isn’t. I just noticed the looks you exchanged with him since the moment we first met.”
“You mean since all of days ago?” Astrid asked, rolling her eyes.
“Then you deny what I’m referring to?” Leer challenged.
She shook her head in disbelief. “Perhaps you should redirect your aggression, Private. You’re growing petty over things not concerning you.”
He then turned and continued down the northern road toward the Fell. He could hear Astrid’s shorter strides nearing him from behind, trying to catch up to him.
“You should go, you know,” Leer reminded when she came alongside him. “I doubt the Lieutenant will be willing to share any potential reward with either of us.”
“I’m no longer motivated by money,” Astrid replied quietly.
He glanced over at her. “What’s your drive, then?”
“Seeing that you don’t die before you get there.”
Leer grinned. “You think me that fool-born when it concerns the woods, Astrid Browne?”
Astrid shook her head. “No—I know the woods aren’t your e
nemy, Leer Boxwell.”
“Oh really? Who is my enemy, then?”
She looked somewhere between hopeful and solemn, meeting his gaze.
“You,” she replied, continuing ahead of him as he paused, taken aback by her answer.
-13—
Dusk settled over the Eyne Wood as the towering mountainous landscape concealed the day’s final rays of sun.
“It’s getting dark,” Astrid noted to Leer; Lieutenant Doyle was a bit ahead of them, his form a silhouette against the setting sun.
Leer read between the lines of her suggestion. “Aye. We might be making a house of hewen branches soon.”
“We’ll waste too much energy wrestling with hewens,” she argued.
“Perhaps you’d like to wrestle with frostbite instead?”
“Don’t be facetious.”
“Not that I particularly care,” the Lieutenant interrupted, shouting from up ahead, “but are either of you coming this eve, or should I keep the cave I spotted to myself?”
Despite his desire to not share close quarters with the Lieutenant, Leer was relieved to hear they had a shelter to rest in. “Aye, we’re nearly there,” Leer called back.
“I do hope it’s abandoned,” Astrid murmured to Leer.
“We’ll just have to have faith that it is.”
“And what if it’s not?”
“Then I’ll fight whatever’s in it. After all, what’s another fight when you’ve already been in two in a day?”
“It’s a risk for you to assume that I have that much belief in your capabilities,” Astrid said with a smirk.
Leer smiled at her, then turned back toward the cave. “What’s life without risk?”
The small fire that Leer fed in the rear of the shallow cave flickered its light over the surrounding stone, shadows cast high above their heads as he and Astrid sat quietly beside the flame. Lieutenant Doyle opted to collect more wood, leaving them alone.
Leer stole a lingering glance at Astrid, noticing that the cool tone hadn’t yet fully left her lips despite the newfound heat source and consuming a serving of rations.
“You alright?” he asked, catching her subtle shiver. She merely nodded, her attention on the fire. In silence, Leer shook open the blanket from his pack, draping it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured, gratefully accepting the layer.
“Tell me a bit about yourself,” Leer said, hoping to keep her mind distracted.
“There’s not much to tell,” Astrid replied, still fixated on the fire before her as she pushed back a section of dark hair behind her ear.
“Where are you from?”
“I don’t know.”
Leer’s brow wrinkled. “How is that possible?”
“I was abandoned as a child,” Astrid shared. “I don’t know who my birth parents are, or where my blood hails from. I lived most of my life in the eastern region, in Lindone.”
“Lindone? I’m not familiar with it.”
“It’s quite a small place guarded by the Hammerfall Keep. Not much there other than laborers to work the mines.”
“For iron?”
“And maloden.”
Leer nodded. “Aye, that’s how you knew.” He leaned in with interest. “Anyway, if your parents abandoned you, then who raised you?”
“A widow at the edge of the village. She told me I was placed on her doorstep in a basket, with nothing but a blanket one eve when I was but days old. She never knew who left me there. She told me she never tried to find out where I came from because she considered me an answer to her prayers for a daughter.”
“Doesn’t she still consider you that valuable?” Leer questioned.
“She’s gone,” Astrid explained.
“I’m sorry.”
“She died when I was fifteen. I left Lindone shortly after.”
“For where?”
She shrugged. “Anywhere I pleased. I lived like a kulipe, flitting from tree to tree without any need to call one or the other home.”
Leer added another branch to the fire, carefully rearranging the already flame-consumed wood to help welcome it. “And now where might you call home?”
Their eyes met. “Why?” she asked with a coy smile, drawing her knees to her chest. “Are you planning a visit?”
“I might,” he replied with his own half grin.
“And what’s to say I’d allow it?”
“Perhaps if I brought something other than jerky you’d welcome me.”
Astrid smiled. “I haven’t a real home at the moment,” she admitted, “so you won’t have to worry about that.”
His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Then where do you sleep?”
Her head sunk down. “For a while, I was living in the barn of a tavern owner on the borderlands of the Cursed Waste. Then I came west because I heard how easy the pickings were there with the gamblers, especially for a woman.”
“‘The pickings?’”
“What I could steal,” she explained.
Leer nodded. “Ah, I see.”
“You think less of me because I’m a thief by trade,” Astrid stated, her head rising as she analyzed him.
“Nay, not true,” he objected.
“You’re a man contracted to keep order and law. Surely it bothers you, whether you’re willing to admit it or not.”
“Nay, and I shall tell you why.” Leer leaned in a little. “Because you’re not a thief by choice.”
“Of course I am.”
“You’re a thief by necessity,” he corrected. “Stealing is the means by which you not only survive physically, but mentally as well. The thrill of it draws you. The unknown outcome excites you. Perhaps having started life with a vast number of questions yet to be answered still, the unknown comforts you. It’s familiar. Yet—” Leer stopped, scanning her eyes for a moment in silence. “Yet, you detest believing in the extraordinary. Perhaps because all you’ve ever wanted was stability and to be grounded, but all you ever received was uncertainty, and you can’t bear to take on any more questions.”
Astrid quietly shifted her body, wrapping her arms tighter around her knees. “Well, what about you? Where does Leer Boxwell hail from?”
“The base of the Kibundush Mountains,” Leer replied, suddenly interested in the material of his pants.
Her soft laugh was melodic. “That would explain your arrogantly prideful nature—you’re a Vale boy.”
“Not by standard definitions,” Leer argued, relaxing when he saw her knowing smile. “My parents weren’t wealthy, like one might think based on where I was raised.” He sighed. “In fact, it was just the opposite. My father worked as a furrier to the king and army men who lived there. He was quite skilled at his craft and drew business, so we lived in a home at the edge of town due to the demand. Though, my father was never a very savvy man with money.”
“Then I assume being raised around Vale boys led you to your training in tafl?”
“It did help to pique my interest,” Leer admitted. “My mentor was the one who taught me how to play.”
“Your father didn’t care for the game?” Astrid asked.
Leer moistened his lips, shaking his head with the memories that flooded him. “Outside of furs, my father never cared much for anything besides the drink. He was a rather troubled person,” he explained. “Both my parents were, I suppose. I was too young to know why they chose the paths they did.”
“Are they…?”
“Aye, at least my mother is.” His dark eyes skimmed over to the fire. “My mother poisoned herself shortly after my father abandoned us. I was a boy at the time.”
“I’m sorry,” Astrid whispered; Leer saw the genuine emotion in her face as he glanced over at her.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he assured, his smile warm. Leer was distracted as he watched Astrid comb a thick section of her hair behind her ear. “So,” he teased, “I’ve an arrogantly prideful nature, do I?”
“You are a bit thick-headed whe
n it comes to the possibility of failure,” she agreed with amusement.
“I’m confident,” he corrected. “There’s a stark difference.”
“Well, your prideful confidence is nothing more than foolishness.”
“Really?” Leer moved closer to her, snagging a twig from the pile to his left. He held it out in front of them. “Suppose I bet that if we broke this branch at its bough together that I would surely retain the larger half.” He held the branch at the base, offering her a side of the V-shaped stick. “Care to test me?”
“An observation of your size in comparison to mine would suggest that your strength would offer you more leverage,” Astrid countered, resting her chin on her knee. “So of course you’d end up with the stronger side of the branch.”
Leer didn’t remember the last time he genuinely smiled last like he did in response to her at that moment. “You’re certainly observant.”
“It’s just simple odds.”
Leer reached over the few inches that separated them, taking Astrid’s mittened hand while keeping his eyes locked on hers. “It’s strategy,” he uttered, moving her hand to the same placement as his on the opposite side of the branch. “Take the branch here.” His hand lingered on top of hers for a moment, pressing her fingers tightly around the stick. “Now, when I pull, you remain still and true to your grip,” he instructed.
Astrid frowned despite keeping her hand in place. “Then you’ll end up with the entire thing.”
He studied her eyes, golden flecks appearing throughout the blue from the glow of the fire beside them. “Do you trust me?”
He saw her swallow, her lips moving a little further apart from each other. “I’m not sure,” she whispered.
“At least you’re honest,” Leer smirked. He moved his hand to his own side of the branch. “Would you like the honor?”
“On three, then?”
“On three.”
“One…Two…”
He knew she chose to trust him when he felt her resistance, the branch splitting shorter on his side when he pulled. “See?” he said. “If you had pulled up and out like expected, then your assumption regarding my advantage would’ve been correct.”
The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1) Page 13