All Downhill From Here

By Erin Ptah

Leif is a groundskeeper at a mountain resort, in a country where they drill you on wilderness-survival skills from grade school. He respects the local vampire aristocrats, keeps his head down, and always follows the rules – even rules that servants aren’t technically supposed to know about.

Thorn is a knight from a neighboring superpower, visiting as part of a diplomatic summit. He has a magic sword, a passable knowledge of the local language...and, now, a concussion. Buried together in an avalanche, he and Leif must figure out how to work together, in spite of cultural differences, international mistrust, and hilarious mispronunciations.

Fantasy survival hurt/comfort, with romantic tension in between the mortal peril. Combines magic crystals and flying reindeer with social media and protein bars.

If you buy it here, contact the author via leifandthorn.com for a free copy of the illustrated version!

(Content notes: moderately graphic violence/injuries.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Ptah
• Release date: Dec 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370978199

Erin Ptah

Erin is a cartoonist, mostly. Also a geek, a fangirl, and a cat person. So far all of this is standalone companion stories to the webcomic Leif & Thorn, available at leifandthorn.com

Book preview

All Downhill From Here

an alternate universe of

Leif & Thorn

copyright 2017 by Erin Ptah

Table of Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

More by Erin Ptah

- 1 -

Consciousness nips around the edges of Thorn’s brain like a small dog circling a buffet table, trying to decide what to nab first.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. That’s a red flag. Even in the disjointed grey haze that’s passing for his mind at the moment. Accident? Injury? Is this a hospital situation, or a hostage one?

The only sound is vague rumbling noises — inconclusive. He’s really cold. Lying on his side. Boots on his feet. Really really cold. All of which means: probably not a hospital.

On the other hand, there’s something heavy and blanket-y wrapped around him. And someone’s gone to the trouble of elevating his feet. Could mean he’s among friends.

Cautiously, Thorn cracks his eyelids...and tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. Lots of white, like a hospital room, but he can’t be staring at a normal wall because the angle is all wonky. Not to mention the scale. There’s a shadowy blur that takes its time resolving into...a person, sitting a few feet (?) away and hugging their knees, unidentifiable under a padded coat with a fur-lined hood shadowing their face.

Hooded coats. Piles of white stuff. Cold. Snow! They’re still in the mountains. The diplomatic retreat must still be going on, unless he’s been out way longer than he wants to think.

Did somebody kidnap him? Kidnapping a Ceannic knight...even though their countries aren’t, technically, at war anymore...maybe Sønheim has agitators who really don’t like tariff negotiations.

But no, he’s getting some vague-but-helpful memories back now. He was out on the snowy slopes...off-duty, trying to ski, or at least trying to learn to ski...and then the mountain decided to change shape over his head. An avalanche. He got caught in an avalanche.

The world didn’t manage to kill him with fire, so now it’s trying to end him with ice.

That morbid line of thought is cut short when the other person leans forward. Their hood shifts, and the light — coming from a lantern, Thorn realizes, resting on the snow/ground next to his companion’s hip — falls on a familiar face.

It’s the Sønska servant he’s talked with a little. The one who tends the plants, and has a cute shy smile, and was curious about why all the Ceannic knights were unarmed.

Leif? rasps Thorn, trying to move.

Don’t get up, says Leif in brisk, authoritative Sønska. Can you tell me your name?

Not a trace of shyness. Huh. Leif either has a long-lost twin, or hidden depths.

§

Leif has to prompt the knight twice before he mutters, correctly, Thorn Estragon. On the guest list it was spelled thorn, like the letter, even if he pronounces it thawn, like the cartoon character.

What’s the President’s name? asks Leif next.

Thorn’s brow furrows. Olive Romarin.

That doesn’t even sound like a...no, wait, she’s Thorn’s president. Kind of a weak one, as far as Leif can tell. Barely puts any critics in prison. How many fingers am I holding up?

He holds them against the lantern, the steady yellow-tinted glow of a light crystal. (It’s the pricey kind. Even enchanted to switch itself off, if its owners die while the spell is still running.)

Thorn counts them out loud in Sønska: One, two, three. How long...I sleep how long? Where are we?

Curiosity, that’s a good sign. Are the language struggles an effect of the concussion, or does the knight just not understand enough Sønska to keep up? You’ve been out for almost four minutes. We’re down the slope of Black Peak from the Glitter Trails retreat. Under some snow.

In a standard snowshield cavern, though