Chapter 331: Curtains of Tension

Rioran was pushed deeper into the shadows, his captor gripped his shoulders so tightly, he dared not move. The eyes that were fixed on him held his; eyes that had seen the death of countless, both man and beast.

“Just what in all bloody hells do ya think yer doin’, creepin’ about in the dark like some kinda thief?” A man’s voice whispered through clenched teeth.

He looked around for anyone else.

Thankfully, they were alone.

His attention turned back to Rioran.

“Well?”

“H-Holy Chosen,” the spy whispered as the leader of the Heroes' wrath deepened. “I…I was lost, I got a little drunk and—”

Cedric exhaled.

“What’s yer name agin?”

“Rioran.”

“Look Rioran, you kin stop yer babblin.’ You sound like a bloody fool,” the Chosen’s golden tooth flashed in a sliver of moonlight.

“Holy Chosen?”

“I felt the bloody divinity clear across camp!” His exasperation was clear. “Are you a priest?”

Rioran’s blood went cold. The dust. He must’ve felt the dust.

“No, I have not been called into direct service of our lord Uldar,” he whispered. “I’ve not been anointed.”

“Well, I know you did somethin’ divine,” Cedric hissed. “There’s not a single priest for more than ten miles in every direction. That means the air’s been quiet for divinity. There’s lots o’ mana about, but not a sliver of divinity, ‘cept fer me own. You mighta been tryin’ ta be all sneaky an’ quiet with it, but it sounded like bloody thunder ta me.”

Panic rushed through Rioran. None of his training or any of his plans had prepared him for something like this. He was ready to lie to foreigners or anyone else, if that served Uldar’s purpose. He was ready to cast aside his reputation and even his life to ensure Uldar’s Vale was not discovered.

But this was different.

He’d stirred the wrath of the greatest of Uldar’s great servants: a man who he was born and bred to aid, and whose predecessors’ tombs he’d visited once on his ceremonial naming day.

And now all that rage that should have been aimed at the Ravener was aimed at him…and the only question on his mind was…

“Why?” Rioran choked out.

“What?” Cedric asked.

“Why such anger, Holy Chosen? Why such anger on behalf of these foreigners? I’m just doing…doing…”

“Doing what, exactly?” the Chosen glanced in the direction of the research tent. “Sabotage? You ain’t one o’ them demon cultists, are you? Gimme one reason I shouldn’t drag you out an’ let these wizard’s golems deal wit’ you?”

“I serve only Uldar. Only Thameland,” Rioran said with passion, surprising himself.

It seemed to catch Cedric off guard too, and in that moment, the spy kept talking: “We don’t know what these wizards actually mean to do, Holy Chosen. We only know what they say.”

“So you’re findin’ out what ‘these wizards actually mean to do’, is that what yer sayin’? Checkin’ on ‘em? Oh, bollocks, you’re a bloody spy!”

Rioran shut his mouth.

He could say no more. If worse came to worst, he would just tell the Chosen that he was an agent of the king who was acting on his own. But for right now…he’d be silent and pray he wouldn’t be dragged back to the capital. His cover was solid, but it would never hold up to the king or queen’s scrutiny. Or even the court’s.

Rioran watched as the Chosen’s face slowly turned bright red right before his eyes, as his teeth ground so hard, Rioran could hear the sound.

“D’you realise what cuda happened?” Cedric's voice was low and hard. “If’n you’d been caught, it would’ve destroyed all trust between the Generasians and us. Killed anythin’ good that might be comin,’ an’ turned this whole alliance into nothin’ but accusations, fightin,’ an’ a big bloody incident, ya stupid bastard, you. An’ how in all hells did ya come by divinity anyhow? If’n you’re not a priest, then are y’some kinda thief? Do ya go aroun’ stealin’ divine items fer coin or somethin’?” The Chosen hissed through clenched teeth, but Rioran kept his silence.

He would say nothing.

He would betray neither Uldar nor his superiors.

The silence grew, heartbeat by heartbeat, while the Chosen’s scowl deepened. Every moment felt like it would explode into disaster.

‘Remember your training,’ Rioran thought. ‘Remember your training.’

He risked a quick glance at Cedric’s form, wanting to analyse his body language despite his rising panic. There was stiffness in the Chosen’s muscles. Anger. But…there was something else. A slight tremor. Was it deeper rage?

No…he didn’t think so. It appeared to be something else…hesitation. So the spy kept very still, breathing slowly, and not presenting himself as a threat.

He gasped when Cedric suddenly dragged him forward by his shirt.

“Listen. You won’t do this ever again, y’here?” the Chosen snarled. “You’re gonna keep quiet about all this, an’ if I ever catch you doin’ divinities or sneakin’ about, you’ll regret it. The only reason I don’t get somebody ta deal wit’ you right now is ‘cos it’ll burn every bit’o trust we’ve built wit’ these folks so far. An’ all that food Generasi’s sendin’ us? All the supplies? All the help they’re gonna give us by smashin’ dungeons, killin’ cultists and makin’ sure that good people don’t die? All o’ that turns to smoke, an’ I won’t be lettin’ all that happen because o’ you. That’s the only reason I won’t be tellin’ anyone about you. Otherwise, you’d be in their hands…or tied up to be dragged back to the king by now!”

The Chosen pushed the spy away and glanced around, looking to see if anyone was near. Things were quiet. Cedric pointed south, toward the Thameish representatives’ tents.

“Get outta here!”

“Yes, Holy Chosen.” The spy bowed his head, then scurried away, his mind already crafting his story for Stanwic and Catherine. He only needed something simple to deflect questions: judging by the moon’s position, he’d been gone for a while.

Well, they didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that Izas would soon know what he’d found, and that he hadn’t been caught. Well…that wasn’t completely; he’d actually failed in one very important way. He’d been seen. From birth to death his life had one purpose, to be invisible eyes for Uldar, but now, he’d been seen. The spy shook. With the Chosen watching him now, he couldn’t risk even a twitch for the rest of this visit.

‘And the others won’t be able to move around either. Not freely,’ he thought, his belly churning so badly, he was nearly sick. ‘I’ll have to warn them. They’ll be angry, but better that only one of us is compromised than all three.’

It was with these thoughts that he made his way back to speak to the two others in Uldar’s service…while under the watchful avian eyes perched all around.

It was a beautiful day to demonstrate apocalyptic destructive energies.

The sun was high.

The wind was uncharacteristically warm.

And the birds sang beautifully as they circled above.

It was mid-morning, and the Generasians were escorting the Thameish delegation to the testing area they’d used the day before. After last night’s contest, Alex’s muscles were screaming, but at least the pain wasn’t in his legs.

He could walk without wanting to curl up in a little ball and die, which was a good thing; even he wasn’t shameless enough to have Claygon carry him in front of Cedric and the other guests. Not that they would’ve been able to pay much attention to him.

They were busy with a factor Alex was calling, ‘Element Carey’.

The little Thameish wizard had immediately rushed to the Heroes as soon as they left the encampment’s gate. From her stuttering introduction ten minutes before—with a face flushed with nerves—to the long walk, she’d alternated between constant chatter, and listening to the Heroes with the intensity of a wide-eyed child enthralled with their idol.

She reminded Alex of an excitable puppy, flitting from one Hero to the next, much to the distress of Hart, who looked more and more miserable as time went on. Drestra, surprisingly, seemed to get along well with Carey. Or maybe that wasn’t so surprising: Carey had respect for the Witches of Crymlyn Swamp and she and Drestra came from the same part of Thameland.

But the Hero that confused Alex was Cedric; he thought of the three Heroes, the friendly Chosen would get along with Carey best…but there was something going on with him today. He seemed tense, distracted.

“Hey, Isolde,” Alex whispered, leaning toward her. “Do you think there’s anything weird going on with Cedric?”

She looked at him, startled. “I would not know…I have only met him twice, after all.”

Alex gave her a look.

“What?” she asked.

‘Now is not the time, Alex,’ he thought.

“I mean, not in a weird way, but don’t you think he’s acting a little different from last night?” he asked. “I mean, first of all, last night he left to go across camp shirtless, but when he came back, he had a shirt on. A shirt Isolde, I never thought I’d see the day.”

Isolde’s blue eyes narrowed on the Chosen’s broad—and bare—back. “I…perhaps. There does seem to be a certain…tension about him.”

“Yeah, okay, I thought so.”

“I am not sure if it is any of our business, however,” the young noblewoman said. “Perhaps he is merely stiff from last night’s contest…you were complaining of some soreness earlier.”

“Yeah, well…maybe you’re right,” Alex said.

As Isolde fell silent, he watched the Chosen’s body language: it was slightly stiff…but there was more going on than simply sore muscles. There was tension in his movements and he seemed restrained, not relaxed like he normally was. He’d even seemed relaxed when they were fighting in the dungeon.

It was strange, like he was trying to go unnoticed but wasn’t doing a very good job. After all, Cedric spent most of his time trying to be noticed.

So, what could he be hiding?

Alex thought about last night: wearing a shirt would have hidden the golden glow of Cedric’s mark. Had he been trying to move around without being seen?

Carefully, Alex watched the other Heroes. Hart and Drestra’s body language was normal…well, as normal as it could be in the case of the Champion with his many different body languages in one form. Nothing new there.

What about the rest of the delegation? He let his eyes pass over each one.

Was anyone else tense or nervous?

He examined each member, dismissing one after the other until…nothing. There wasn’t anything of note with any of the—

Wait.

Alex’s eyes fell on the sandy-haired man he’d observed in front of the encampment’s gate yesterday. There. It was only for a heartbeat—Alex’s trained eyes had nearly missed it—but the man had shot a quick glance at Cedric, and his body language had abruptly changed. He’d tensed, like a frightened dog expecting to be hit.

An instant later, it was gone.

Alex’s scowl deepened. Something was going on, but what? He didn’t know what it was, and at the same time, there was nothing he could do. All he really knew for sure was that Cedric and…Rioran, was it? Were acting a little strange. There was nothing solid to go on, and he knew how it’d sound:

‘Hey guys, I noticed Cedric and this other guy were both acting kinda strange…you should do…something!’ he shook his head, imagining himself being dragged off.

Besides, this was exactly like the situation with Amir.

He remembered at the Games of Roal talking with Isolde and Khalik about how suspicions and accusations ruined trust.

“Such distrust has ended empires,” Khalik had said.

“...sharing those suspicions would be as bad as idle gossip and do more harm than good,” Isolde had said.

If he shared unfounded theories, that could hurt the relationship between Generasi and Thameland. No, bringing unsupported ideas out in the open would be a mistake…but there might be another way…

‘Baelin knows that the Marks glow, and he also knows that I’ve been studying body language,’ he thought. ‘He might take this seriously. Maybe I’ll just tell him about my suspicions in private. Then he can decide what to do. It’d be good enough if he just pays more attention to Cedric and Rioran. Or maybe it’s nothing at all, in which case, no one’s hurt.’

With another glance at Rioran, whose eyes were looking straight ahead, he turned away and started talking to Isolde again.

‘Act natural,’ he thought. ‘Don’t let possible enemies know that you have any suspicions about them. Keep that hidden…until you’re ready for them.’