Page 78 of Keeper of the Word (The Unsung and the Wolf Duology #2)

Chapter

Seventy-One

TOLVAR

S weat poured from his brow; his left shoulder slumped in pain. The Wolf was coming undone.

The others did not appear as bad as he assumed he did, but they’d fought for hours. The full moon high in the sky now, it illuminated the reckoning of the Capella Realm.

“Lord Wolf!” he heard in the distance.

Hux.

That meant the others were bounding toward the gate with the key. A backward glance told him this was all too impossible.

“Tolvar!”

The momentary glance cost him his alertness, and a horse struck into him and Valko. Valko reared, and Tolvar smashed to the ground. He collapsed, ears ringing, followed by the faint voices of Ghlee and the others shouting for him to rise.

Dazed, Tolvar slowly got to his feet, collecting his sword as he did. His nose bled.

Ghlee’s voice grew farther away, and through the chaos of the fight, Tolvar glimpsed them being dragged away in the hordes’ current, fighting for their lives .

Tolvar ran his hand through his hair, astounded that no one attacked him.

Then, he peered straight ahead, face to face with Crevan.

Do not be afraid.

The thought was like catching skin on a loose nail.

Afraid? The Wolf hadn’t had this thought since…

since his father had lain dying in the courtyard of Thorin Court.

Do not be afraid. Tolvar had repeated these three words to himself when becoming a squire, lifting his first longsword, the other squires in the yard posed as enemies; Tolvar had been too frightened to look them in the eye.

Tolvar stared down the field at Crevan. He was not afraid to look any man in the eye now, and yet the thought had crossed him anyway.

“Do you truly believe you could kill your own brother?” Hux had asked so many moons ago.

A breeze stirred, and on the back of it, Tolvar remembered playing swords in the dirt with his brother. He remembered tending to Crevan’s wound after he fell off a wall he’d attempted to balance on. He remembered weeping with him when their mother died.

Do not be afraid. He is no longer Crevan.

“Well, brother?” Crevan’s voice was unlike the snarling monster it had become. ’Twas familiar, as it had been. So many years ago.

The two lifted their swords in unison.

Crevan’s sword struck Tolvar’s with a resounding clang . Tolvar deflected it, but that first advance told him this would be difficult.

Tolvar lunged forward, and Crevan pivoted out of harm’s way. Crevan pounced, and Tolvar retreated to change his stance. Men engaged in clashes of their own surrounded them. The battle still carried on.

Crevan laid assault after assault, and ’twas not long before Tolvar found himself on the defensive more often than not.

He disengaged from Crevan as he spun, then flicked his sword at Crevan.

To both of their surprise, Tolvar drew blood across Crevan’s cheek.

Oily blood oozed out. Crevan doubled his strikes and landed a similar wound across Tolvar’s chin.

He advanced again, and Tolvar parried before beating his sword against Crevan’s.

Disengaged once more, they rushed at each other and swung their swords.

The sound of metal grating together attacked Tolvar’s ears.

For what felt like an hour, the two were gripped in a clash of swords.

“Give up, brother, I know you tire,” Crevan said, his sword driving toward Tolvar’s neck, his own sword enduring to block it.

Tolvar bared his teeth, conjured all his energy, and swung at Crevan with renewed force. Again and again, the Wolf drove his sword with all the might he had. He had to retrieve the Edan Stone.

Crevan pivoted back, his face exposing fatigue and fear.

This urged Tolvar forward. His sword cleaved into Crevan’s forearm, and his brother yelped in surprise when the blow struck true.

He jolted forward, but Tolvar sidestepped, and Crevan’s aim missed.

Again, Tolvar shoved himself forward and beat forth his sword.

But Crevan was ready this time, and not only did he block Tolvar’s strike, but he lashed his sword with an attack that sliced across Tolvar’s chest. Tolvar stepped back and found only a flesh wound as its mark, but his pause granted Crevan the offensive position.

Tolvar parried and blocked, but in a matter of moments, Crevan swung the pommel of the sword into Tolvar’s neck. He fell to the ground. Tolvar managed to get to his knees before the tip of Crevan’s sword pointed itself into his throat.

“Give me the word, ” Crevan said, the sword’s tip digging in enough to draw blood. He held the Edan Stone in his other hand.

Tolvar breathed. “Give me the Edan Stone.”

Crevan chortled. Footsteps approached, and before Tolvar knew it, Jordain stood before him, lacing two fingers around his neck as Crevan withdrew his sword. Tolvar writhed and fell to the ground.

He panted through the pain when the witch released him.

Crevan crouched. “Give me the word, and this can all be over.”

The witch gave a cackle beside Crevan .

Tolvar’s eyes found the night sky and focused on the enormity of the Falling Leaves Moon. The moon that, one year ago, he had prayed under with Sloane. Where he’d seen his father’s ghost. The goddess or the stars or whoever it had been told him to let go of guilt, regret, to have forbearance.

He gritted his teeth. More agony shot through him at the hands of Jordain.

The word was on the tip of his tongue. But he would not let them have it!

“Cease!” With one last burst of power, he unsheathed the dagger from his side and hurled it in Crevan’s direction.

He missed.

But the act distracted Jordain, and she stumbled backward. He rose, seizing his sword, and bashed it into Crevan. The blade ripped halfway through Crevan’s sword arm, and his brother dropped the weapon.

Jordain shouted, “The Seers. I see them!” With that, she staggered off.

Tolvar spit blood. He held his sword at his brother’s chest. “Give me the Edan Stone.”

Crevan’s hideous, curse-filled face smiled sourly. He took the stone in both hands as if to break it in half. “You shall have to kill me for it.”

Tolvar steadied his arm; his broken body trembled.