Page 100 of Keeper of the Word
He was about to extricate himself from the bush when he noticed something. Something that mayhap not everyone would notice, and mayhap Tolvar only did because of his own surprise visitor today. Tolvar’s head tipped to the side. Horses. Not horses from Anscom. Those horses were in an enclosed pasture toward the opposite grove.
Four horses hobbled outside a large tent. Turas’s tent.
Visitors at this hour, Turas?
Treading silently to the edge of the trees, Tolvar crouched and waited. His heartbeat quickened. In the dark ’twas impossible to be certain, but the skirt of the horses’ tack certainly did appear to have a green hue in the moonlight.
Mayhap Turas and Greenwood were finally coming to a reconciliation?
Had Kyrie’s sealing the crack made this come about?
He was considering joining them when the terrible noise sounded—the blare of the herald’s horn. A horn used only when there was danger or trouble. And it came from his camp.
Stars.
Tolvar sprinted away, cursing himself that he’d walked instead of ridden.
When he arrived, everything was in a state of upheaval. Torches had been lit, and soldiers were everywhere.
“What’s happening?” Tolvar shouted.
“Lord Tolvar, finally, we’ve found you. Sir Bernwald is in your tent.”
“Sir Bernwald?” Tolvar stormed into his tent where Bernwald sat, his face blackened with soot, a healer bandaging his arm.
“Trysinmar burns! We tried to get some citizens out. Not nearly enough. And the men. ’Twas a trap, m’lord.”
“Slow down. What happened?”
“Trysinmar had been set aflame before we arrived. Many of the townspeople had been trapped in the pub in the square. Bolted in, they were. We were able to break down the door, but the roof collapsed. The fire jumped to other buildings, and ’twas not longbefore the whole town was aflame. The flames spread across the main gate. I do not know how they trapped us there. How they got out themselves. So many lost, m’lord. I lost them!”
“How many men?”
Bernwald sat frozen. Tolvar was reminded of how the old man appeared when his father had died.
Tolvar shook him. “Bernwald, how many men?”
“All, m’lord. I am the only one who made it out. I know not how. I crawled out through a half-rusted door of a side stable.” Then Bernwald did something Tolvar had never witnessed. He sobbed. “My men.”
“Gus, too?” Tolvar ran his hand through his hair.
“Aye.”
“Damn it!” Tolvar exited the tent and peered in the distance, expecting to see billowing smoke. But ’twas too dark.
Blood thumped through his chest. Bernwald had made it out. But no one else.
“M’lord,” a knight approached and held out a large, folded parchment. “This was pinned to Sir Bernwald’s horse.”
Tolvar took it. It was wet. Holding his hand to his face, blood stuck to his fingers. “Whose blood is this?” The knight paled. “Tell me.”
“There was a bird stuck to it. ’Tis how we noticed it.”
All breath drained out of Tolvar. “Was it a starling?”
“I know not, m’lord.”
“Bring it to me.”
