Thornden grimaced. Of course Lithor felt like a creature being led off to slaughter. That is practically how he should feel, though the more Thornden learned of Athanar the less likely he seemed to actually kill anyone for an insult.
“By the way,” Lithor asked, “are we still searching for the person who hit the lord’s daughter? I pity the person, though I think those two young men suspected me of it (I cannot wait to find out what their names are).”
“Be in suspense no longer, on either account,” Thornden said. “Their names are Wulfric and Wilheard. Wulfric is the older one, I believe. And as for the one who struck their sister...” A look of annoyance that he couldn’t quite keep contained passed over his face. “That was my brother, and I knew it from the very beginning, though I did not know who the girl was when I first saw her lying on the ground. Yes, I, too, pity him, for it seems to me that of all the things that happened, Athanar has been made most angry by the fact that his daughter was beaten – he mentioned it more than once, and I have a feeling that had this not happened, he would not have been half so inclined to put such a heavy hand on things last night.” He paused and kicked at a log in the fire. Then his mind grasped on what Lithor had said before asking for the two young men’s names.
“What do you mean, you think Wulfric and Wilheard thought you were the one who’d hit their sister? Why do you think that?”
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