Page 30 of Keeper of the Word (The Unsung and the Wolf Duology #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Five

TOLVAR

T he meeting with Greenwood had been as unpleasant as the one with Anscom. What had been a tolerable working relationship, at least the first few days, ended in Tolvar and Greenwood almost coming to blows.

Tolvar had tried to squash his temper. But it was well known he only had so much patience to go around. Besides, there were his own questions, too. “What about Greenwood’s attack on Askella lands?” he’d asked.

Greenwood had feigned ignorance, saying he knew naught about any skirmishes on the border nor the message sent from his steward.

Tolvar’s quiet annoyance had exploded as he rose from his seat.

What did Greenwood mean by saying he knew nothing of it?

Didn’t an earl know all the goings-on of his own province?

When Greenwood stood, Tolvar was reminded that his height was not an advantage against the older man.

“I think ’tis time you and I paused our meeting,” Greenwood said.

“A wise idea,” Tolvar said over his shoulder as he exited the tent .

Gus fell into stride with Tolvar while he did mindless circles around the camp’s perimeter.

“Any news from Asalle?” Tolvar asked when he’d slowed his pace.

“None so far.”

Tolvar did not wish that things would go poorly for Elanna and the others, but it certainly would be nice to have a reason to ride away from this infernal place. And he couldn’t search for Crevan while playing nursemaid.

The two overheard a few soldiers talk about collecting firewood. Mayhap taking an ax to something would be a good way to relieve the Wolf’s temper.

“You there,” Tolvar said to one. “Sir Gus and I shall collect firewood. Tell your commander to allot you other duties.”

After the three recovered from gaping at the Wolf, one uttered, “Aye, m’lord.”

Tolvar and Gus were bringing their third bundle to camp when Tolvar paused.

“What is it, m’lord?” Gus asked.

“Footsteps,” Tolvar said. Not coming toward them. Leaving them. Was someone else gathering firewood, also? Shirking off duties?

He caught sight of the familiar man trodding away. He recognized that build. A tuft of red hair was visible under his cap.

Crevan!

Tolvar tossed away the bundle of wood and raced toward the figure, strangely going unnoticed until Tolvar jerked the man’s shoulder to face him.

The man’s hands flew up to cover his face, but Tolvar had already landed his first punch into his nose.

The man fell back, his nose streaming blood.

Tolvar hauled him up, only to strike him again, knocking him down once more.

He was about to attack him a third time when, through the man’s sobs and pleas, he heard Gus’s shout. “M’lord! M’lord, cease!” Gus dragged him off the man, who, Tolvar noted as the clarity in his vision returned, was clearly not Crevan .

The man curled up on the ground. “Hurt me no more. But I warn you, my father?—”

“Your father?” Stars. The man on the ground was Greenwood’s piddly son.

“M’lord,” Gus said, offering Greenwood’s son a hand. “What? Why?”

Tolvar ran his hand through his hair. “I mistook him for…” Siria’s skirt, he hadn’t even been thinking about Crevan in the past hour.

Was that all it took? Seeing a man with red hair?

In all his years as a knight, Tolvar had never harmed a man without cause; he’d never attacked without knowing who his opponent was. His hands shook.

So much for the pause in the meeting with Greenwood.

A group of men rushed to them. “Lord Dillard, what happened? Lord Tolvar, do you know who his attacker was?”

“Aye.”

Surrounded by an entourage, Dillard recovered some, taking a kerchief handed to him to stanch the blood pouring from his nose. “I hope you have an explanation, Lord Tolvar. My father will hear of this.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Tolvar said, ignoring the glares that morphed onto the faces of Greenwood’s men.

Walking through Greenwood’s camp back to the Askella camp felt like a parade. The news of Tolvar accosting Greenwood’s son had unfurled faster than a sail in a strong wind.

Tolvar was accustomed to being gawked at, loathe it though he may. He wasn’t quite so familiar with disgusted glares thrown his way, although, in the past four years, he certainly was not impervious to them.

What would Sir Bernwald say?

When Tolvar and Gus arrived at their camp, he was glad to be halted like any outsider trying to enter, although his men went red as they realized they’d detained their earl. Their embarrassment gave Tolvar hope that the news had yet to breach his camp.

“Where is Sir Bernwald?” Tolvar asked, waving off their apologies.

“Meeting with the scouts who’ve just returned, m’lord.”

Tolvar nodded and found Bernwald sitting at a makeshift table fashioned from a slab of wood across two barrels.

At first, his lips upturned, wondering what Greenwood and Turas would say.

War wasn’t a time for luxury. Tolvar pictured the contrasting camps, flaunting opulence. They were both immersed in this.

And he supposed that after today, insulting both earls, he better find a way out of this. Tolvar searched for a sign from Sir Bernwald that the news of Greenwood’s son had reached his ears, but he gave none. He was intent in his conversation, so Tolvar stood behind one of the scouts and listened.

“We tracked the Jora River to the problem point, sir, and you were right. The issue is coming from across the Anscom border, but the problem appears not to be man-made. ’Tis?—”

“What problem with the river?” Tolvar interrupted.

Sir Bernwald glanced up from the place on the map the scout had his index finger on.

“The Jora River’s current began to slow yesterday afternoon.

This morning, there was a noticeable difference, and it has not improved all day.

But the slow of the spring runoff shouldn’t be making the river level this low.

Like during the time of the Prodigal Moon. ”

Tolvar lifted an eyebrow. And that certainly wouldn’t happen overnight.

“What have you found?” Tolvar asked the scout.

“’Tis difficult to explain, m’lord, but surrounding the problem point in the river appears to be sunken earth.”

“Sunken earth?”

“Aye. And trailing away from that location resembles a crack in the earth.”

Tolvar heard Elanna’s voice: “ I have Seen…cracks. ” But they were hundreds of leagues from Asalle.

“Show me. ”

When Tolvar, Sir Bernwald, and the scouts arrived at the place, a small clearing in the trees covered with mossy undergrowth, they found a group of Anscom soldiers crouched, examining the spot. Immediately, the soldiers went on guard, standing and drawing their swords.

Tolvar held up a hand and kept his sword at his side. “Peace. We come in peace. We are here for the same reason as you.”

Anscom’s men shared a few glances and words in low tones before nodding and sheathing their weapons.

Tolvar crouched and ran his hand over the ground.

As described, there was a two-arm’s length circular divot in the earth at the river’s edge.

While a sinkhole in the earth may have spilled the water off course and flooded this area in other circumstances, a crack in the ground that stretched from pinky to thumb was at the divot’s center, and river water drained into it.

The crack then stretched from here to a few dozen feet away, growing smaller as it led away.

Tolvar peered up at Anscom’s men. “How did you discover this? This shouldn’t be affecting your water supply.”

“There is a second phenomenon similar to this closer to camp, m’lord,” one spoke. “This is nearly identical to the other.”

Odd that Turas had not mentioned it. Especially after babbling about the North Forest.

“Mayhap it flooded earlier this spring, and it made the ground soft,” someone suggested.

A few nodded.

Tolvar was unaware if his border guard navigated here. There was no Askella village in the direct vicinity. He gave Bernwald a questioning look.

Bernwald shook his head. “I received no word of flooding this spring, m’lord, but I will follow up with my Lessio guard. Can your lord speak to flooding?” he asked the Anscom guard.

No one could confirm flooding.

Sir Bernwald crouched as well, further inspecting the divot. He whispered, “I heard you’ve had an eventful afternoon. Mayhap we can speak of that later? ”

Tolvar gave a short nod.

“What do you think, m’lord?” Bernwald continued to whisper.

“This earth is solid,” Tolvar said. Having no spade, he dug his hand into the crack and tried to scoop up the surrounding dirt. “Water is running into this crack, yet the earth here is hard, not soft or even muddy.”

“That makes little sense.” The Anscom knight, who was obviously the commander, knelt next to Tolvar and tried to scoop up dirt, bringing up only a small palmful of earth as Tolvar had.

“Erny, fetch some spades,” Tolvar told one of the scouts.

“Aye, sir.” Erny ran off into the trees.

“You’d better come inspect this, Sir Jenz,” an Anscom man said to the commander. His eyes glued to the ground, he hunched over where the crack ended some yards away.

The group joined him and peered down.

“What?” Sir Jenz knelt with a puzzled expression.

Tolvar stooped, unable to detect what made the man’s voice quaver. Then he identified it.

Sir Jenz trailed his hand over the miniscule crack that, in this spot, was no bigger than Tolvar’s thumb.

“Do not touch it!” Tolvar said, tugging Sir Jenz’s hand back. So forceful was he in his effort, he shoved the man into the dirt. Two of his men drew their weapons.

Sir Jenz righted himself, dusting off his hose. “Lord Tolvar, explain yourself!”

Behind him, someone remarked that it was not the first time today Tolvar had done damage to a man.

Tolvar pretended he hadn’t heard and scanned the crack again. What he had glimpsed was gone. Or hiding. But ’twas there. And suddenly, he sensed it. The back of his neck itched. The spot where the dregs of Adrienne’s would-be curse had left its mark.

“’Twas there, sir,” said the first who’d called them over. His face was pale. “Lord Tolvar must have spied it, too.”

“Spied what?” Sir Bernwald’s voice was lined with agitation.

Tolvar steadied his eyes on the crack. A frown crossed his face. An insignificant shadow flickered over the crack. Nay, under the crack. No bigger than a strand of thread. But ’twas there. Hiding.

“The Curse of Adrienne,” Tolvar said, ignoring the profusion of shudders that waved through the group.

Sir Jenz seemed like he’d come face to face with a banshee from the Hoarfrost Moon. “You cannot be in earnest, Lord Tolvar?”

Tolvar stood listening to the quiet through the trees. No spring hatchling peeped above in the branches. Attuned to it now, Tolvar could almost swear that the river’s babbling sounded wrong. Beyond, there was the tell-tale sound of Anscom’s men readying themselves for battle.

Battle.

So much for their parley.

He swallowed. Anscom, Greenwood, and now, Askella, had been foolishly drawn here.

“We must cease this fray and flee from here.”

“How did this happen?” Sir Jenz inclined his head toward the crack.

“And what do we do about it now ’tis here?” Bernwald added.