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The search of the marshlands did not seem to bring any results. Hilderinc was not any master in tracking, and this terrain was completely unknown to him, but when Thornden's horn called all parties back, it seemed that even the local soldiers did not succeed in finding a single trace of the fugitives. By that time Hilderinc was already rather exhausted. Even worse could be said about Áforglaed, whose temper had sort of mingled with the gloomy presence of the marshlands. All the afternoon he seemed to be walking as if in sort of half-dreamy, almost feverish state, with a dark look in his face; but in the most unexpected moments he would burst out with a single angered shout. After trying to remind him several times that he should be quiet and not bring the attention to himself, in case that somebody was around after all, and after realising that it does not lead to any results, Hilderinc gave up. Áforglaed, the sometimes a bit rash, but generally quiet man, suddenly became something else. The man who had always played the second fiddle to Scyrr became something else with the attempt on his friend's life.
There was something mightily disturbing Hilderinc as he watched the young Áforglaed wandering about and hewing the withered reeds. He would not name it consciously, but there was something deep in his mind which made him understand the young soldier's feelings. But he would not think about it and he would focus on his job, as he always did. Áforglaed might be annoyed – but he is not going to accomplish anything if he lets himself to be distracted. He is not going to catch the one who attacked Scyrr if he cannot remain calm. But he is still young and he can learn.
Hilderinc was still thinking about this when they were returning back. Áforglaed seemed gloomy, but at least his anger seemed to drown in the atmosphere of defeat: he was not saying anything. They caught up with Thornden and the other parties joined them soon, but one look into the soliders' faces made it clear that they were no more successful in finding but a single trace of the fugitives. Áforglaed was riding near Thornden, in the front, and Hilderinc caught up with him.
"If we didn't find them, then captain Coenred's party might have caught up with them still," he said aloud. Áforglaed raised his downcast eyes and there seemed to be a glimmer of hope in them.
"It would mean, though, that Erbrand was really attempting to flee from Scarburg for good," Hilderinc continued his thoughts. "If he had left early enough, he would have had more time to get away - or even cross the border before we caught up with him." Suddenly, he remembered the man he had seen riding away from the drills.
"Maybe the scout who was sent out earlier has brought some news to lord Athanar while we were away," he said. "Maybe the captain's party was actually going for a definite trail, unlike us."
The nearby soldiers did not pay any particular attention to his remark, they took it as a part of Hilderinc's silent evaluation. None of them had seen the lonely soldier leaving in the morning and nodding to Thornden, so nobody knew what "scout" Hilderinc was talking about – nobody aside from Thornden. But Áforgled seemed to be at least calmed by the strong possibility of the culprit being caught, and in the vision of at least learning more about the subject, he spurred his mount faster towards the Mead Hall.
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