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Scyld
I am in danger here. This phrase pulsated through Scyld’s mind even as Sorn ascended the stairs and left the cellar. Sorn had become a madman, and he no longer trusted Scyld, if ever he had. How much did Sorn suspect? How much did he know?
He’s ready to kill me. Scyld knew Sorn had no conscience; he would hardly pause at murder. Well, Scyld had always been prepared for that; he had entertained the notion of killing Sorn numerous times in the last several years – only if the proper circumstances arose, of course. Sorn might find killing him harder than he would expect… or death might come unlooked for, from behind, or in his sleep. And because Scyld could not predict it, he could hardly plan accordingly, only watch his back constantly.
The time is coming soon to leave. Very soon. He had nothing more to gain from staying here. He had waited too long to leave. Yet, he could not now leave Linduial. He did not quite understand why, but it was true. Trying to flee with her would be foolish beyond belief. Scyld felt morally trapped, an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling for him. Perhaps he could ride it out. A rescue party for Linduial might arrive soon, and his problems would be ended. Maybe. If Linduial kept her promise – could he trust her? Scyld was not ready to do so.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in stony silence; even Lin’s meals were served wordlessly. Her fare was no better and no worse than it had been prior to her tantrum. Outwardly, nothing had changed – but Scyld was thinking hard, always thinking.
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