Page 76 of Keeper of the Word
“I do not wish you to.”
He knelt. “I must. Besides, you are too pure for me, even were you not a Seer.”
“I told you?—”
“I do mean it. Elanna, glad I am you See goodness in my fortune, but I fear I do not deserve it. I do not wish to speak of my past—and I do try to make amends—but my past is too befouled for you.”
“Nothing in your past can be that ill if you are here.”
“I would very much like to believe that, but for both our sakes, let me be honorable.”
He strode away until he was out of eyesight. He was still there. A silent sentinel. But he did not speak to her again.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
TOLVAR
Tolvar’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. ’Twasmore 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 howthe 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.
