Chapter 437: 'Protect'

Alex had met Cedric in Coille Forest a long time ago.

The Chosen was as boisterous as he was friendly; the type of fellow who made even Alex—who’d desperately wanted to avoid all the Heroes at the time—want to sit down and have an ale with him.

He wasn’t anything like the Chosen that Alex had imagined: the fountain overlooking Alric’s town square that paid tribute to the Five Heroes had depicted their leader as a shining paragon. A haughty-looking, fine featured young man who looked like he would press his own judgement on others while directing all his meagre kindness toward himself. The type of man who would’ve been described as a paragon of goodness in the past, but also the sort of man revealed to be vile in later tales told by others.

In short, the sort of fellow who would have gladly lectured a defenceless Fool on ‘godly duties’, forced all the grunt work on them, and perhaps even shoved them toward the front line when it came time for battle.

But that wasn’t the sort of man who’d walked out of Coille Forest. It wasn’t a man with eyes full of judgement and a self-righteous sneer on his lips, it had been Cedric; a shirtless, woad-tattooed warrior, with an easy smile, an easier kindness, and the strength of several bulls.

Alex well remembered that strength from when the Chosen had helped him up off the forest floor. At the time, it seemed an impossibility for so much power to be stuffed into one human form, and Alex would never have believed that—only a year and a half later—he would be as strong.

But, not only was the Chosen’s might far beyond preternatural, his speed also matched it, which was something Alex learned in the most abrupt and personal way when Cedric’s fist caught his jaw.

The first thing he thought was…well, nothing. There was a brief, wondrous moment in time where he was fairly sure the soul had been punched out of his body. He fully expected to be watching himself from the after-world, stupidly wondering why he was lying in the snow with his head on backwards.

The pain came next, bringing with it two bits of good news. First, that he was still alive, which was a fairly nice thing to be most of the time. Secondly, that the Chosen had obviously held back; after all, Alex’s head hadn’t been blasted off his neck and sent flying halfway back to the castle.

The Fool stumbled backward, holding his jaw as the world tumbled around him.

Then something like thunder exploded; familiar… yet menacing.

One word echoed through his mind: ‘Protect.’

‘Oh shit,’ Alex’s thoughts came as if through mud.

Theresa and Hart were yelling.

Cedric swore.

And Claygon attacked.

By the time Alex fully realised what was happening, his golem was already lunging for the Chosen, war-spear thrusting, fire-gems blazing.

“Bloody he—“ Cedric blurred to the side as the spear came down.

There was a terrible ripping noise.

Snow exploded in a geyser as the war-spear tore through frozen earth.

Hart drew his sword a breath before Theresa, yet both hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Drestra rushed between the golem and the Chosen, hands raised. “Stop! Stop!”

Cedric’s morphic weapon flared out into a shield. “Oi! Oi! She’s right, easy now, big guy!”

Whooom!

Fire-gems flared bright.

“Claygon!” Alex cried. “Claygon, Claygon stop!” His hands waved desperately, his mind reaching through the link to touch Claygon’s thoughts. “It’s okay. I’m alright,” he said gently.

‘Protect,’ the golem’s voice ground like gravel. His body hesitated, but his mind blazed with the overwhelming urge to guard, crush, and defend.

“It’s okay.” Alex calmly went to his golem, placing a hand on one of his marble arms. It was hot. Very hot. “I’m alright. Cedric and I are having a disagreement, is all. And we shouldn’t solve all disagreements with violence.”

“He opened with violence,” Theresa growled, glaring at the Chosen.

“Aye…maybe not the wisest thing I’ve done,” the Chosen’s tone was cautious, though his eyes were blazing and fixed on Alex. He still simmered with anger.

“Your words say that, but you look like you’re ready to use that other fist,” the huntress took a step toward the Chosen. “You won’t touch him again.”

“Oh, by the spirits,” Drestra swore.

Emotions flared in Claygon, threatening to ignite.

“Guys! That kind of talk’s not helping!” Alex said sharply. “I’m trying to calm things down, and any other threats are going to set him off.”

‘He…wants violence.’ Claygon’s voice boomed in his mind. ‘He…will get violence.’

For a brief instant, Alex wondered how his golem had developed such a bloodthirsty streak; he immediately realised that ‘son’ had taken after ‘father’.

“No, Claygon, no one wants any more violence,” Alex said gently.

“I don’t.” Drestra glared at Cedric.

“Oh come off it, that deserved a punch. Maybe ten,” the Chosen growled.

“Don’t be such an idiot,” the Sage fired back.

“Idiot? Do you have any—” He whirled on her, eyes narrowing. “Oi, why’re you actin’ like it’s no big deal? D’jyou know?”

The Sage went quiet for a heartbeat.

The Chosen’s face washed crimson. “Oh that’s just bloody great!”

“Cedric,” Alex said gently “I get it, if I were in your shoes, I might’ve punched me too—”

“Oh, if ‘you was in my shoes’, is it?” The Chosen scoffed. “You gots any idea—”

The golem took a step forward. Cedric tensed.

“Both of you!” Alex said, his voice growing firmer. “Can we not do this? Please!”

“I’m tryin’! So ya need t’tell yer mate t’back off!” the Chosen snapped.

“I’m trying,” the Fool said, his voice growing hard.

“You started this.” Theresa pointed one of the twinblades’ swords at Cedric’s chest. “You don’t get to complain.”

“Oi, fine thing for you t’say, aye. I threw one wee punch, then this one—” He nodded toward Claygon. “Tries t’skewer me!”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d acted like an adult,” Drestra snarled behind her veil. “This is your fault.”

“My fault? Oh, oh, so it’s fine when all o’ yous get mad about secrets an’ lies, an’ start talkin’ like we need to gut every bloody priest in the land, but oh, let’s blame ol’ Cedric fer bein’ a wee bit mad at secrets an’ bloody lies! An’—”

“Hey, all of you shut up for five seconds. That includes you, Claygon. You’re grinding your feet loud enough to wake the dead.” A deep voice cut through the din.

A shocked silence fell. Every eye—including Claygon’s—looked at the Champion.

Hart had sheathed his sword, his arms were crossed. “This is gonna sound strange coming from me, but let’s use our words instead of cutting each other to pieces in the snow, alright? ‘Specially over something we already kinda knew.”

“Wait…already kinda knew?” Cedric looked at Alex. “What, did y’tell him too?”

“Hey, I’m just as confused as you,” Alex said. “What’re you talking about, Hart?”

The Champion looked at the others, his expression growing bewildered. “What…? I thought it was obvious.”

“What’re you talking about?” Drestra demanded. “I just found out about twenty minutes ago! How did you know?”

Hart shrugged. “Gut feeling.” He nodded to Alex. “After our side-journey to Crymlyn Swamp, I got to thinking about things. I mean, if the church was lying to us—and maybe our own damned god was too—then what the hell else did we miss? Who else was lying to us. So I started thinking about all the people I’ve met since this whole mess started.”

He looked at Alex. “Then I thought about you and the way you fight. And the more I thought about it, the less sense you made.”

“What? I make perfect sense!” Alex snapped, offended.

“Maybe to a drunk. Look, when you fight, you never do anything directly. And you should. You’ve built all that muscle, but you never use a warbow. I thought maybe you didn’t have time to learn how, but a crossbow? Any serf can pick up one of those and use it as long as they’ve got eyes and the muscle to wind it back.”

He made a winding motion with those enormous hands. “Hells, you never even throw a punch and you’ve learned all that fancy magic, but you never blow anyone up like this one does.” He jerked his thumb toward Drestra, who went red.

Then the Champion pointed to the castle. “Then there’s Baelin. You’re so chummy with that big, bad wizard-chancellor of yours that you’re basically his grandson.”

Now it was Alex who blushed.

“But, when he’s going into battle, he’s carrying weapons and wearing armour. And you’re not.” Hart looked Alex up and down in a way that made him feel naked. “And it’s not just Baelin: your girlfriend’s carrying swords, Khalik has a sword, Thundar’s got a mace…everyone’s got weapons...everyone but you. Even your bloody golem’s got a weapon, and he is a weapon. Carrying weapons is smart, if you’re getting into fights.” He blew out a misting breath. “The Ash Ravens have gutted our fair share of wizards stupid enough not to have a weapon as a backup. All they rely on is their magic. Everyone needs a back up, it’s stupid not to have one.”

He jabbed a finger toward Alex. “And you aren’t stupid. So I thought, ‘why the hell doesn’t he carry any weapons when everyone else does? Maybe he can’t—Ooooh.’. And I figured that you were probably the last member of our five man—er, four man, one woman—band. And that’s that. I thought everyone else knew.”

“Wha—But…” Alex stammered. “But I…you can’t just draw a conclusion from something like that! There could have been a dozen other explanations! That’s not how logic works! Or science!”

“Well, I don’t know any of that fancy, science stuff.” Hart shrugged. “But I was right, wasn’t I?”

“I…but…wha—”

“Oi!” Cedric looked at the Champion, his expression utterly offended. “If’n y’thought o’ all that, why didn’t y’bloody say somethin’? Matter o’ fact, y’ talked me outta thinkin’ that somethin’ wasn’t on the level wit’ him!”

“Yeah, so?” Hart gave the Chosen a look like he was talking to a very slow-witted sheep. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I figured it out after we went to Crymlyn. Back when you were going on like a madman after the double dungeon—”

“Madman!?” Cedric cried.

“Yeah, madman. I didn’t have any damn idea that anything was off with Alex. I learned stuff later and I changed my mind. Even a loopy dog would understand that much.” He squinted at the glowing set of scales on Cedric’s chest, then looked at Alex’s shoulder. “You two sure your Marks didn’t get switched or something?”

Cedric and Alex made choking noises.

“But…why didn’t you say anything!” Drestra demanded. “Night after night, I was lying awake thinking about this! You didn’t say a word!”

He shrugged again; the gesture made the Sage’s teeth grind behind her veil.

Hart didn’t seem to care one bit.

“I figured if I’d figured it out, then the wise Sage would’ve.”

Drestra joined the choking noises.

Hart looked at Theresa. “Now, now, no one’s going to start cutting apart your boyfriend so I think you can put your swords away, eh?”

The huntress looked away briefly, then slowly sheathed the twinblade.

“There we go.” Hart dusted off his hands. “And now no one dies in the snow. That’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”

“Okay, okay, hold on now,” Alex said. “Okay…even if you… ‘figured it out’,” he said, refusing to accept he’d been seen through in such a simple way. “Why’re you acting like it’s no big deal?”

“Ya!” Drestra said. “I spent nights lying awake—”

“You said that,” Hart pointed out.

“It’s important.”

“It’s really not.”

“It is!” She snapped. “How come you don’t seem…upset…or aren’t thinking about it?”

“Because it’s not that important,” Hart said. “So what if he’s the Fool? He’s been helping us, hasn’t he? Haven’t you?” He looked at Alex.

“Er, yes, but—” the Thameish wizard began.

“Well, there you have it.” The Champion interrupted, spreading his hands. “He’s helping us. What’s it matter if he tells us he’s got a glowing Mark on his shoulder? And if he was going to betray us? I’d just cut him in half, which I won’t have to do because he’s still helping us.”

“Yes, but—”

“And there you have it,” Hart continued. “Guess the only one that isn’t a Fool around here is me.”

A stunned silence filled the air.

Then Alex heard a strange sound.

A sound that was between a cough and the grinding of rock on rock. It was rhythmic…warm somehow.

The young wizard slowly looked at Claygon and realised what he was hearing.

Laughter.

His golem was laughing. ‘Father…I think I know what humour is.’

And Alex wondered when it was that he’d lost complete control of his life.

“Well,” Hart said. “If you’re all done acting like little kids, let’s get down to business, why don’t we?”

“Aye…” Cedric said slowly. The anger was gone from his eyes, well most of it. He still looked a little peeved at Alex…and was shooting Hart dirty looks. “Sorry for the punch…sort of. Be best if y’start talkin’. Y’should have yer say an’ tell your story.”

Alex sighed.

He really needed to start making that pamphlet.