Page 68 of Keeper of the Word
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,underthe 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.
Chapter
