Page 33 of Keeper of the Word (The Unsung and the Wolf Duology #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

TOLVAR

T olvar’s former commander, Sir Leon, quipped once that his knight’s title should have been the Mule instead of the Wolf.

Tolvar did not consider himself stubborn; he saw himself as strong-willed.

At present, ’twas taking all of that will to not ride away from here.

His other choice was to call for reinforcements and lay an assault on both Greenwood and Anscom, but no doubt, King Rian would not be amused by that idea.

At first, Turas had at least been reasonable. The discovery of the “crack,” as everyone was calling it, had caused the earl to give the order to his army to be ready to fall back at a moment’s notice.

But then Greenwood’s army had entered the battlefield.

Because—blast it all—Turas had entered it first.

When Tolvar reminded Turas that he’d been asked not to enter the battlefield until they’d spoken again, Turas made it plain he had no intention of abandoning his quest to hold on to his land.

Land that was now traced with the Curse of Adrienne.

Even more clearly stated, Turas informed Tolvar if he set foot in Anscom’s camp again, he’d be apprehended.

’Twas not easy to swallow his retort, but Tolvar had managed it.

Tolvar commanded his camp to fall back a quarter mile. ’Twas more difficult to keep watch over Turas and Greenwood, and currently, thanks to his little encounter with Dillard, he was also unwelcome at Greenwood’s camp.

Two messages had been sent concerning the “crack”: one to Rian and one to Ashwin.

Someone would know what to do. That person was not him.

He was reminded that had it not been for Crevan, the Curse of Adrienne would have overcome Tolvar years ago on a strange Nay Moon night during the War of a Hundred Nights.

Tolvar was still uncertain what Crevan had done to pull the traces of the Curse from his neck.

He knew of two ways that one could unbury the Curse of Adrienne, although Tolvar suspected there were more.

One came by accident, the Curse clutching onto men consumed with greed and arrogance.

Another—and Tolvar had never seen one, thank the stars—was with a Mortah pick.

But Mortah picks could only be handled by witches. Couldn’t they?

Could the Brones have had a Mortah pick? Tolvar had never given thought to how the Brones had unburied the Curse in Deogol in an attempt to control the Befallen. But they had unburied it.

The memory came back of Clive and Kek, Deogolian knights from the Order of Siria, writhing in the swamp water, black ooze pouring from their mouths and eyes after they’d been shot with arrows laced with traces of Adrienne. Aye, the Brones had traces of the Curse.

And now, someone else did, too—all the more reason to hunt down Crevan.

“Sir?”

Tolvar came out of the daze he’d fallen into while at his desk, which, stars, had a newly carved line dragged through it. Tolvar dropped the knife he held.

“Aye?”

“Commander Bernwald has received a message. From Deogol, m’lord.”

Tolvar was off his chair and shoving the man out of the way before he could say anything else .

“Is it Ghlee?” Tolvar asked as he entered Bernwald’s tent. Bernwald held the message out to him. The message contained no salutation but went straight into one of Ghlee’s diatribes.

I leave you alone for five short moons and already you’ve kidnapped a StarSeer, made an enemy of the Order of Siria, and now I hear others as well. Wolf, I fear I should board a ship.

As Ghlee went into the news from Dara Keep, Tolvar skimmed to the end to see if the message held anything more interesting than an unwelcome lecture. There was far too much information about Alvie and a tale of him returning Kenn, Sloane’s horse, to the Cibil of the Nay Moon.

Who cared about some tale?

The Cibil of the Nay Moon is certainly interesting. He gave Alvie a note that I am still mulling over.

What did that mean? The postscript was even more infuriating.

By the way, I was reflecting on that time years ago when you and I, along with your brother, pursued Himmex the Hand not far from Trysinmar, only to find he was dead. Most inconvenient when his mistress showed us the body. Would it not have been wild to discover that ’twas all a hoax?

Stars, Ghlee. What nonsense was that at the end? Who cared about the criminal, Himmex?

All a hoax.

His heart quickened. Could Ghlee be sending a discreet message about Crevan? Ghlee wasn’t one for riddles, and what reason would he have to not be forthright in a sealed message traveling via trusted messenger?

“Who brought this?” Tolvar asked.

“A page from the Order of Sira, m’lord.”

Ah. That made more sense. Ghlee may have sworn oaths of the Order of Siria in Deogol, but if he’d received word that Tolvar and the Order here had clashed, Ghlee was no dimwit. They were brothers. A bond stronger than any he had to the Order.

Tolvar reread the message.

Ghlee had specifically mentioned an incident that included Crevan and the town of Trysinmar. ’Twas only a half-day’s ride from here. Could Crevan be hiding in plain sight in Trysinmar? Well, Tolvar’s “assistance” certainly wasn’t making much difference here.

“Saddle Valko and find Gus and three others to ride with me to Trysinmar.”

“Aye, m’lord,” a soldier said, before exiting Bernwald’s tent.

Tolvar gave the message to Bernwald and tried not to study the decanter of wine that sat on the corner table.

“M’lord, I am not certain what to make of this. Do you think it wise to leave?” Bernwald asked. “Tensions are high, even without the ‘crack.’ Tell me what you think you’re to find in Trysinmar, and I shall go in your stead.”

Tolvar opened his mouth and then closed it. He trusted Bernwald; of course, he did. But what about others around them?

You’re being paranoid. All this sitting around feigning diplomacy, finding traces of the Curse. All this business with Elanna and Crevan and the prince. ’Tis making you paranoid.

“Thank you, Bernwald, but I doubt anything interesting will happen while I’m away. Try and hold affairs together until I return tomorrow.”

“Tolvar,” Bernwald caught him off guard by using his name. “Is this ‘hoax’ you seek…? Is it Lord Crevan?”

Tolvar didn’t answer right away. “And what if it was?”

“M’lord,” Bernwald paused. “You have not been behaving entirely as yourself since your arrival. Lord Dillard?— ”

“Stars, man. Let us not bring that up.”

“Very well. But is it possible that in Trysinmar you seek naught but a ghost?”

“Bernwald—”

“Hear me out, and then I shall hold my tongue. The weight of the Capella Realm is not entirely placed upon your shoulders.”

Stars. Would that those words felt true. “I shall return tomorrow.”

The evening had turned into a quiet night when Tolvar and the others entered Trysinmar. The first place they stopped was the constable’s, a rickety office two doors down from the town’s gate. Tolvar made a mental note to have the office repaired as he tied Valko to the post outside.

They caught the constable in the middle of a lazy dinner, two women scantily dressed, keeping him company.

“M’lord! My earl!” The man began choking on his porridge. The two women, eyes wide, slithered past him and out the door.

“Do you find that company helps you keep your post better, constable?” Tolvar said, his voice a soft growl.

“Nay, m’lord. First time. This is the first time that’s happened. I swear.”

“Peace.” Tolvar held up a hand.

“Have you received any outside messages in the last day? Or noticed any suspicious outsiders entering the town?”

“Nay, m’lord. A band of musicians entered here three days ago, but they departed yesterday.”

“How many?”

“Five? Nay, four, m’lord. Aye, it was a lutist, a piper player, a singer, and a…someone else. A tall man, I think.”

“Where might your log be?” Gus asked. “Wouldn’t that information be in your log that your guardsmen keep at the gate?”

“Well, you see, sir. I’m not certain that log is up-to-date, exactly. ”

Tolvar and Gus traded eye rolls.

“Does Marga still live in this town? On the north side?”

“Well…”

“Siria’s skirt, man, what do you know? This town is the size of a tree nut.”

They left the constable stuttering and, Tolvar suspected, on the verge of blubbering. Right, repair the office and have that imbecile replaced.

Gus had been a new knight when Crevan was still at Thorin Court, but he knew him by sight. Tolvar had discreetly told him why they’d come to Trysinmar. Good man hadn’t blinked an eye.

At least someone is not mocking what I know.

After Bernwald’s words about “seeking a ghost,” Tolvar had settled on vagueness in what he’d told the other two knights.

“I suggest we start with the pubs, m’lord,” Gus said. “The man we search for may be there.”

Tolvar nodded curtly. He knew the others must be frustrated to be left in the dark, but he didn’t need their brains.

He needed their aid when apprehending Crevan, that is, if Tolvar didn’t run him through first. “You and you”—he inclined his head at two of the knights—“you follow Gus and his orders. Herry, you stand here with the horses. I’ll meet you back here in an hour. ”

“Where are you going?” Gus inquired.

“Somewhere else.”

Gus rubbed the back of his neck before giving a nod and starting off with the others.