Page 34 of Keeper of the Word (The Unsung and the Wolf Duology #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

TOLVAR

I t was said that once the Wolf found a place, he did not forget how to find himself there again. That was most assuredly not true—especially during the last couple of years being a drunken mess—but fortunately, he’d tracked Himmex’s mistress years ago—before that time.

The curved road he followed was dark. No torchlight to speak of. ’Twas shabbier than Tolvar remembered. Most likely, this area of town had succumbed to age and neglect—another thing to speak to the mayor about.

When he stood at her door, Tolvar listened for a bit. Himmex certainly couldn’t be there. And certainly, Crevan wouldn’t be here. What did Tolvar think he would hear? But he had a feeling Ghlee sent him here for a reason.

He knocked before pounding on the door.

Slowly, it opened a crack to reveal Marga, holding a lighted candlestick. Her face was bruised, and she had a repulsive sore on her bottom lip.

“Eh?”

“Remember me? ”

Her eyes widened, and the door opened to reveal the rest of her disheveled appearance.

“He said you was comin’, but I didn’t believe it.” She left him in the doorway, turned to place the candle on a nearby table, then rifled through a jumble of parchments and laundry that sat on its surface.

“Who?”

“Cannot say, really. A man in a hood. He was carryin’ a long, thin case.”

“An instrument case?”

Marga shrugged before returning to the mess on her table.

“Dunno. He said that when you came, if I gave you a message, you’d give me a sack o’coin.

” Evidently, she found what she searched for because she held up a sealed message.

It did not have the seal of the Order of Siria like the other message. Strange.

What are you playing at, Ghlee? Tolvar gritted his teeth.

Like her borough, Marga was in worse shape than years ago. No doubt, if he gave her coin, it would only go to ill pursuits.

Tolvar sighed and fished out a coin purse from his pocket. He took out four coins, put them back in his pocket, and held out the rest of the purse to her. “The message?”

In the doorway, Marga held out the message and extended her arm, which shook as she stretched it out.

“Wait.” Tolvar took the folded message and held the coin purse at his side. “Where is Himmex buried?”

“Eh? How should I know?”

Tolvar lifted an eyebrow and shook the coins.

“Why you want to know? Ain’t it enough that you ruined his life? Put him in a grave?” She spat out the last question.

“I did not kill Himmex, Marga. You knew what would happen when he got caught up with the Assemblage.”

Marga snorted. “What it matter what you call ’em. There’s always a new band showin’ up here ruinin’ things. Make life the abyss for everyone. That new group is rough.” She put her hand to her swollen lip .

“What new band?”

“You sure got a lot of questions for someone who’s s’pose to be in charge of everything.” She reached for the coin purse. “You ain’t payin’ me to answer every question you got.”

Tolvar took one of the coins from his pocket and let her see that it was gold. “Where is Himmex buried?”

“In the northside of the graveyard. ’Bout seven to the left from the center, I’d say. But I still dunno why you want to know. There ain’t no marker there. His brother ne’er put one there.”

“And the new band?”

“Hardly know much ’bout ’em. ’Cept they keep to themselves on the southside of town.”

“The southside?”

“’Tis all shit here now, m’lord. ” She curtsied dramatically. “There ain’t nothin’ high and mighty ’bout the southside anymore.” She snorted again. “Stars, I s’pose it has been a while since you was here.”

She grabbed at the coin purse again, but Tolvar held it above his head. She made a little jump, and he immediately regretted making her appear so degraded. “Anything else?”

Marga rubbed her hands together nervously. Her eyes shifted. “Aye. They feel strange.”

“What do you mean?”

Her apathy evaporated. Her eyes stared at the ground. “Dunno. They just do. I don’t like being in the same room with ’em.”

Stars.

Instinctively, Tolvar glanced in the direction of Askella’s border where they’d found the traces of Adrienne. Had someone made their way here after unburying the Curse?

Tolvar gently placed the coin purse in Marga’s hand. “Buy some food with this. Or mayhap passage to a new town.”

Her hands trembled in his. She wouldn’t glance at him again but thrust the message in his hand and slammed the door.

Tolvar unfolded the message and squinted at the parchment as he attempted to hold it in the tiny pierce of light escaping from Marga’s shuttered window.

But after a moment, ’twas clear he would need to wait for more light.

Tolvar stuck it in his pocket and walked the two blocks from Marga’s place to the graveyard.

He was taken aback by how quiet it was here in this borough.

No violent noises from within dwellings—shouting, items breaking, wailing—as he remembered.

Flickering lights stabbed through the shuttered windows, but they did nothing to light his way.

And the street remained deserted. Strange.

This place was as if the dead lived here.

To his recollection, the northside streets of Trysinmar had also been boisterous, to say the least. He needed to send men here when this was all over to find out what occurred.

Especially, if a steady stream of criminal bandits felt blatant enough to be here.

The graveyard was the very illustration of how rundown Trysinmar was.

Like the rest of the borough, ’twas deserted and dark.

Tolvar counted seven graves from the center of the yard.

The grave of Himmex, or what Tolvar had to assume was his place of rest, didn’t appear abnormal or consequential in any way.

He knelt and touched the hard ground, noting that the grass overran the grave markers here.

A hoax. Ghlee must have meant Crevan’s death. What else could it be?

‘Seek naught but a ghost.’ Bah.

He patted the outside of his pocket, feeling the note. Best to return to the square where at least there was light. Mayhap Gus had found a sign of Crevan. And there was the matter of the band making themselves comfortable in the southside. Tolvar patted the hilt of his sword as he stood.

He jerked and squinted. A lone tree stood in the distance, its shadow playing tricks on Tolvar’s mind. For a moment, he swore a man had stood there.

To be certain, Tolvar made his way to the tree. But the absence of a soul confirmed it’d been his imagination.

Stars.

Tolvar took a different road to the square and, after a couple of blocks, came upon an open pub.

The yammering of drunken men standing outside clashed with the eerie quietness of the rest of the borough.

A half-block closer to the pub, the men burst into laughter before one of them clapped his companion on the shoulder and began staggering away, moving in Tolvar’s direction.

The man swerved to and fro and began humming to himself.

Gripping the hilt of his sword, Tolvar stepped out of the man’s way as he approached, but the man lost his balance and tripped into Tolvar.

Lids half closed, the man burped—his breath foul—and muttered, “Sorry, sir.”

Tolvar shoved the man aside—not as rough as he wanted to—and continued on his way. A dozen steps beyond, Tolvar noticed a folded piece of parchment on the chipped, stone road.

He twice patted his pocket and felt the message there. But wait. That wouldn’t be the message Marga had given him in front of him. He picked it up. It must belong to the drunken man.

Tolvar turned. “You dropped this.”

The man was gone.

Suddenly, Tolvar noted that the group of men outside the pub had disappeared as well. Within, the lantern lights from the pub exuded. But all was quiet.

Tolvar’s feet pivoted deliberately as he scanned what hidden alleys or doorways someone might have ducked into. Nothing. The only sound was the soft sputtering of a lone torch hanging next to the pub’s doorway.

Placing the found note in his pocket, Tolvar drew his sword and stepped into the pub. Inside, he was met with empty tables and a deserted wooden bar, behind which stood a barkeep wiping mugs.

The man gazed up, his eyes widening when he glanced at Tolvar’s sword.

“May I help you, sir?”

He didn’t know who Tolvar was. If he did, he would have properly addressed his earl as m’lord.

The drunk men in the street couldn’t know either.

That would be far too coincidental. Nevertheless, Tolvar stalked around the room, peeking behind a cupboard door and peering behind the bar at the barkeep’s feet.

“Nay, nothing.”

Tolvar walked out.

He didn’t hurry to the meeting place, but neither did he tarry.

Tolvar’s knights stood in the square outside the constable’s office where the horses were hobbled, unspeaking. They did not stand in a casual manner.

Gus shook his head. “Nothing abnormal, m’lord. And no sign of an outsider.”

Tolvar nodded and stepped into the empty constable’s office with Gus while the others waited outside. “Where did he go?”

“Said he’d return in a moment and asked if we’d ‘watch the place,’” Gus replied.

Rolling his eyes, Tolvar withdrew the two parchments. He opened the one from Marga first.

Once unfolded, he stood motionless for several moments, staring at the familiar script. Like the eerie quietness of Trysinmar, this made the hair on the back of his neck stand.

Clever Ghlee. He was right to give caution in secret.

When I intercepted his message before it reached that whore, Marga, I thought to simply let you reach a dead end.

I knew it would drive you mad. But then I considered I ought to be kinder to Ghlee so decided to let you receive it after all.

Especially as it is a riddle you’ll ne’er solve.

That shall drive you equally as mad. Do try to identify your enemy before my next move.

It shall not go unnoticed. Give my regards to your little starling.

—Crevan

He’d signed it. Crevan had signed it. He was through with hiding as a ghost. Which could not be good.

Next move. Stars .

Tolvar allowed Gus to read the note and gave an unquestionable expression to say nothing. Then he tore open the other note, which he now knew was from Ghlee.

Wolf, be careful. I hear rumors of the dead walking, shadows shifting their shapes, and tales of watchdogs turning on their masters.

Crevan was correct. Tolvar read it numerous times—albeit sheer fury glazed over his vision—but ’twas such a riddle, Tolvar knew he wouldn’t understand it in his calmest moment.

He wished to believe some of it was discernible, but he would be fooling himself.

The only thing that was clear was Ghlee’s heightened mode of security.

He was desperately attempting to tell Tolvar something, but there was someone, or someones, who he did not trust. And rightly so, as Crevan had easily absconded Ghlee’s message.

Marga’s words about this new band feeling strange made sense.

Stars, ’twas most likely Crevan who’d delivered the message.

Crevan was here . If Tolvar had a dozen men, he could extract him out of one of the darkened bolt holes in this hole of a town.

But he didn’t have a dozen men here. And ’twas evident that the Wolf—not Crevan—was the mouse at present.

“Damn it.” Tolvar would not risk these men in a muddled scenario with terrible odds. That was what Crevan would count on.

But if he didn’t discover him now, then what?

Crevan had obviously made new “friends.” And his words “ next move ” were terrifying, at best. Could Tolvar afford riding all the way back to camp for reinforcements and all the way back here?

Bernwald had all but emptied Trysinmar when he’d gathered knights from Lessio, leaving this place with naught but an idiotic constable.

Tolvar had not thought on it at the time, but why had Bernwald taken all the knights from this town? ’Twas clear in only one hour’s time here that Trysinmar needed protection and order.

“What are your orders?” Gus said, his mouth a firm line. If Tolvar sentenced them to scour Trysinmar in the shadowed, witching hour, Gus was ready.

Tolvar stepped out of the constable’s office; Gus followed.

The deserted square sent a warning coursing through the Wolf.

Tolvar exhaled, fighting his knight’s sensibilities. “We’re leaving.”