Page 39 of Keeper of the Word (The Unsung and the Wolf Duology #2)

Chapter

Thirty-Four

TOLVAR

“ M ’lord?” said Sir Bernwald. Dressed only in his inner tunic and hose, standing outside his tent shaving in the first light of dawn, Bernwald did not hide his surprise at spotting the earl ride up to camp. “What are you doing back here so soon?”

Tolvar had had a long ride back to mull over the events of the evening.

Stars, the events of the last moons .

Ghlee’s words: “… tales of watchdogs turning on their masters ,” repeated in his head.

Watchdogs kept close to their masters. ’Twas someone close.

Ghlee had taken an abundance of caution in giving this message, so much so that Tolvar had to ride a half day to receive it.

Tolvar had burned it along with Crevan’s message when they’d halted to rest.

“You were right, Bernwald. Trysinmar was a wild boar chase.”

“I am sorry, m’lord. I know you had high hopes that your errand would be successful.” His focus went back to his reflection in the small looking glass he was using to shave.

A thought escaped. It couldn’t be Bernwald, could it ?

But Tolvar had not been suspicious enough in the past.

And he did try to talk you out of going.

“What news here?” Tolvar asked.

“Quiet, except for midafternoon, a scout of Anscom wandered into camp. He said that he was lost. I sent him packing, of course. Told him that he had no business here.”

“Was he informed I was in Trysinmar?”

“Nay, m’lord.” Bernwald gave Tolvar his attention. “Why would you ask that?”

Tolvar shrugged. “Trysinmar has become a hole. Think you we can spare three dozen knights to comb the town for the band that lurks there and drive them out? Or better, run them through.”

Bernwald methodically ran the shaving knife over his neck. “If that is your wish, m’lord. We are not doing much here. Might as well take care of our own. When do you wish them ready?”

“In two hours.”

Bernwald did not blink at the order. “I can be ready then.”

Tolvar didn’t reply.

“Are you all right, m’lord?” Bernwald had his attention on Tolvar now. “You do not look well.”

Tolvar narrowed his eyes. “Why did you empty Trysinmar in the state it’s in?”

Bernwald frowned. “Because you ordered me to, m’lord. Is that what vexes you?”

“Aye.” Tolvar rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Nay.”

“M’lord, about what I said concerning Lord Crevan. I hope you know I’m only thinking of your well-being.”

“Aye.” Tolvar’s tone was flat.

Bernwald gave a curt nod. “I shall be ready in two hours, as you instruct.”

Had Bernwald’s eyes shifted when he’d spoken.

Was he surprised to see me or surprised to see me alive?

That thought was preposterous. Suddenly, the exhaustion of being awake for the last twenty-four hours washed over Tolvar.

“Actually, make that three hours. I need to sleep for a moment, or I shall be useless. And, I need you to stay here. Manage things. ”

“Of course, m’lord.” Bernwald sloshed his knife in the bowl of water as he ran his finger over his neck.

He didn’t seem out of the ordinary.

All he waited on was for his sword to be returned. Usually, Tolvar preferred to sharpen his own weapon, but he’d required rest more and had given the sword to a page. He did not feel rested, but at least he no longer felt blurry.

Where was that page?

“Everything is ready, m’lord,” Gus said, leading his horse beside him. “And we’ll have four hours of sunlight when we arrive.”

Tolvar nodded. “Good,” he said, before yelling to a passing knight, “Blast it, Hert, find that page and find my sword.”

Hert gave an involuntary yelp before recovering and jogging away. “Aye, m’lord, without delay.”

“I think you need to see this, m’lord,” came Bernwald’s voice behind. He strode up to the two, carrying a spyglass in his hand.

“At least that page will not have to face you now,” Gus said. ’Twas something Ghlee would have said.

“Blast.” Tolvar took in a breath of patience.

Tolvar followed Bernwald up a small hill to where they had a better vantage point. Five knights stood there, three of them surveying the battlefield, two taking notes. No doubt Tolvar could guess what transpired.

Through the spyglass, Tolvar spotted Anscom’s army readying themselves with plate and armor. Horses were being saddled, and the otherwise great commotion left naught to the imagination.

Tolvar shifted the spyglass toward Greenwood’s camp and noted a similar scene.

“Stars’ shadow, these two blockheads are actually going to scrap again?”

“What are your orders, m’lord?” Sir Bernwald asked.

Well, this is convenient right as I am to depart .

“Mayhap I should go to Trysinmar in your stead?”

“Stars, let me think.” Tolvar marched down the hill. His demeanor must have warned the others not to follow.

Let’s see. What was the best course of action? Was there honestly an indication that Bernwald worked against him? Nay. Tolvar was being paranoid again. He was being…

“Stars, now what?”

A commotion had sparked here in his own camp. Dozens of knights grouped together, conversing loudly. Next to the cluster of men, a few pages held a dozen horses. Not the horses of his men. Ashwinian Lusters.

It took a moment’s realization to notice that half the knights wore black-and-gold Order of Siria uniforms.

Siria’s skirt.

Tolvar exhaled a long breath and strode to the group.

Someone shouted, “There he is! There is the earl.”

“What’s this?” Tolvar rolled his shoulders back. If the Order was here to pick a fight, they should know better than to think the Wolf wasn’t always ready for a fight.

One knight stepped forward. He appeared only slightly older; his clean-shaven face and arrogant blue eyes made Tolvar want to throw a punch. He was not in the mood.

“Lord Tolvar, you have a guest.” The man’s voice rang in a churlish tone.

Was it Goodsell? It’d been only a few days since he’d sent his message to Ashwin about the crack.

“Who?”

“If you’ll follow me, m’lord,” the knight said, striding to Tolvar’s tent.

Tolvar shoved past him. “I need not directions to my own quarters. Hert, find Gus!” He stepped into the tent, his lips tightening, his jaw locked.

“Why, Sir Tolvar, what an awful face.”

Again, Tolvar found himself collecting his bearings. Standing before him was not Commander Goodsell, head of the Order of Siria, but a small woman. Her tight bun had nary a hair out of place, although on her Ashwinian steed, she must have come at a neck-breaking speed.

“Lady Kyrie?”

“Ashwin received your message, Sir Tolvar. Lead me to this trace of the Curse.”