Page 1 of Keeper of the Word

Chapter

One

IN THE PROVINCE OF ASKELLA OF THE CAPELLA REALM: TOLVAR

Tolvar was home. The sight of Thorin Court gave him a sense of lightness he hadn’t experienced in over three moons’ time. He could scarcely fathom that he was gazing upon the stone curtain wall that surrounded his family fortress. It was like a dream but was all as Tolvar remembered. Two towers stood at attention on either side, the white-washed gatehouse in its center, open and welcoming.

At this moment, he did not recall the screams, the blood, or the failure so acute it knifed him open. Nor the last four years of banishment. Nay, Tolvar simply reveled in being home.

“From your description, I thought it would be bigger,” Hux said next to him from astride their mounts as they gazed at the castle, the city of Thorindale visible in the distance behind it.

Tolvar ignored Hux, an art at which he was becoming more adept. He still questioned his sanity about allowing Hux, a known outlaw from Deogol, the kingdom Tolvar had just journeyed from, to accompany him home. But then, Hux had nowhere else to go. Ghlee, Tolvar’s closest friend, who was more like a brother, had found the most irritating way of guilting Tolvar into bringing Hux along: he had reminded Tolvar how important a life could be.

Tolvar exhaled. Stars, he was not at all certain what was in store for him here. He was welcome, of course. The Wolf. The hero. The reclaimed title of Earl of Askella. Yet it had been four years since he’d crossed the threshold of his family’s home.

“Lord Wolf? You dowantto go home?” Hux’s smile was all too knowing.

“Aye. Come. Let us see if a feast awaits us. Stuffing your face will fill that mindless mouth of yours.”

“After you.” Hux gestured a bowed, and they flicked their horses across the last span of the field to the main gate.

What awaited them as they rode into the inner bailey was every blasted servant at Thorin Court. Three lines of people stood staring.

Siria’s skirt, thought Tolvar.

Being the Wolf, the knight’s title he’d been given eleven years ago after earning his spurs at the exceptionally young age of fifteen, he was accustomed to the occasional spectacle, hundreds of eyes ogling, but in his own home? This could not last.

Tolvar glared around the bailey’s courtyard as he dismounted. The steward, Conall, at least, did not back away as others did. Conall was a stout man, both in stature and in demeanor. Just the person Thorin Court had needed in Tolvar’s absence.

“Does not everyone have something better to do?” Tolvar asked Conall.

“Aye, m’lord, but upon your arrival, the whole of the castle wished to be present. We bless the day the Earl of Askella reigns here once more.”

Behind Tolvar, Hux snorted. Tolvar would never hear the end of this.

“Well, they’ve looked their fill. Back to their tasks.” Tolvar turned and headed for the inner keep’s main entrance; Hux followed. Conall, a wiser man, did not.

Had his father been here, he might have reprimanded Tolvar for not acknowledging the servants or making a speech or some other blather that would have been important to him, but Tolvar was a knight first. He did not make time for prattle; his concernwas the state of Askella’s defenses. Four years. What had occurred in his province during that time? Any news of Askella that had reached his ears while exiled had been vague and worthless.

Realizing Hux still trailed him, Tolvar found a passing maid, who pointedly kept eye contact off him, and told her to take Hux to the Great Hall for nourishment.

“But will you not feel odd that we’re separated after all this time together?” Hux laughed before Tolvar could retort. “I jest! ’Twill be pleasant to have time to myself.”

“Do not make yourself too comfortable,” Tolvar warned. “And do not even think about wrapping your fingers around something that does not belong to you,” he added, referring to Hux’s past as the former leader of the Ravyns, a band of Deogolian highwaymen.

Hux dramatically put his palm to his chest. “Never.”

Tolvar scowled, pivoted, and went in search of Sir Bernwald, Thorin Court’s Commander of the Guard. As he walked through the corridors, the familiar smells of home greeted him. His mother’s most beloved pastime had been turning dried flowers and plants into a fragrant potpourri. Cloves mixed with the fresh scent of dried dew fruit embraced him in nostalgia. Until now, he’d never thought about how the housekeeper, Janka, had kept up this tradition in Thorin Court after his mother’s death. The words would never be uttered aloud, but he’d dearly missed this taken-for-granted fragrance. He ducked briefly into rooms he knew by heart: the family library, the small dining hall, the ladies’ solar. One room he did not venture into was his father’s study;hisstudy now, he supposed. Tolvar was not ready.

Sir Bernwald and three other knights stood waiting for Tolvar in the commander’s office. The office, attached to the knights’ barracks, was a stone-walled room with a window that faced the training yard. Tolvar was pleased to see one of the knights was Joss, one of the few female soldiers in Thorin Court who’d worked up the ranks over the past six years. Her hair was short in a no-nonsense style, and her alert eyes matched. The way Joss stood with her shoulders back, Tolvar concluded she was second in rank here, mayhap even knight-captain. Later, Tolvar would have to observeher in command to ensure her orders were followed. He’d have no insolence amongst his guard.

The other two knights were new to Tolvar. Both were dark-haired, in their twenties, with eyes forward and dutiful.

“Welcome home, m’lord,” Sir Bernwald greeted. The older man’s beard had greyed since Tolvar had seen him last. His crow’s feet had become more distinct.

Before Tolvar could halt the thought, his mind’s eye saw the last moment they’d been together. He banished the memory of Sir Bernwald holding his prior second-in-command’s bleeding head in his lap in this very office.

Sir Bernwald clasped Tolvar in a knight’s embrace, then stood back at attention. Tolvar had always admired Sir Bernwald, and his presence immediately put him at ease about the state of Askella. Sir Bernwald wasn’t one for gibberish and was certain to have kept peace and order during Tolvar’s exile.