Chương 238: Suspicions

Beric's light-sword hovered a hair's breadth from the intruder's throat, the golden glow illuminating a face he had not expected to see again. Tomas, the village boy, clung to the carriage door with white-knuckled desperation, his body swaying precariously with each jolt of the racing vehicle.

"Room for one more?" the boy gasped, a strained smile somehow finding its way onto his features despite the circumstances. For a heartbeat, Beric remained frozen, his weapon still poised to strike. Thirty years of protective instinct warred with the recognition of a face that was, technically, allied to their cause. Behind him, Lady Laelyn's sharp intake of breath broke the spell.

"Tomas!" she cried out.

"Let him in, Beric! Quickly!" With a sigh, Beric grabbed the boy's collar and yanked him into the carriage with one powerful motion. Tomas tumbled unceremoniously to the floor, his chest heaving as he gulped down air. His tunic were disheveled, dark with sweat, and speckled with leaves and dirt. The boy's hair was wild, his face flushed with exertion, and his hands trembled visibly as he pushed himself into a semi-sitting position.

Beric slammed the carriage door shut, securing it before turning back to the collapsed figure at his feet. Lady Mara had shrunk into the corner of her seat, her eyes wide with alarm. Lady Laelyn, however, had already slid to the floor beside Tomas, her hands fluttering over him with concern.

"Are you hurt? How did you—" She began, but Beric cut her off with a sharp gesture.

"My lady, please return to your seat." His tone left no room for argument as he positioned himself between the noblewoman and the boy. The carriage lurched again, forcing everyone to steady themselves. Beric's eyes narrowed as he studied the village boy. Since this Tomas had joined their caravan, it seemed as though calamity had dogged their every step. Coincidence had its limits, and in Beric's experience, those limits had been exceeded.

"How did you find us?" Beric demanded, his voice low and hard.

"And how, exactly, did you manage to catch a carriage traveling at full gallop?" Tomas's eyes darted between Beric and Lady Laelyn, who had reluctantly returned to her seat.

"I... I saw you leaving," he panted, still struggling to regulate his breathing.

"From my window. I ran after you as fast as I could." Beric didn't soften his gaze.

"We had at least a head start, boy. Even the swiftest runner couldn't have closed that gap."

"I didn't need to catch you from the inn," Tomas explained, his breath coming more evenly now.

"I cut through the eastern orchards while you took the road. It's a longer route by road, but a direct path through the trees." The explanation was plausible enough, Beric had to admit. The eastern road curved around the old orchard before straightening, a detour added decades ago when the original path had collapsed during a landslide. A person traveling directly through the trees might indeed intercept the road further along. Still, something felt wrong.

Lady Mara, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up.

"It seems an extraordinary coincidence that wherever this boy appears, danger follows." Her voice quavered slightly, but her aristocratic bearing remained intact.

"First his village, then our caravan, now the inn."

"Exactly my thoughts, Lady Mara," Beric nodded respectfully to the older woman. Lady Laelyn's eyes flashed with indignation.

"That's absurd! Tomas is a victim, not the cause of these attacks. He saved my life, or have you forgotten?"

"I have forgotten nothing, my lady," Beric replied, his tone more gentle when addressing his charge. He had watched over Laelyn since she was a little girl, had taught her to ride her first pony, had dried her tears when her beloved grandmother died. His devotion to her safety was absolute, which was precisely why his suspicions of Tomas ran so deep. The boy was an unknown variable in a perilous equation. What Beric couldn't understand was the boy's motive.

If assassination had been the goal, there had been ample opportunities. During the first ambush, he could have simply allowed Lady Laelyn to die. At the caravan, alone with her, he could have struck. Yet he had done neither. Which left two possibilities, both equally concerning: either the boy was a spy sent to infiltrate their party and gather information, or he was an agent tasked with capturing Lady Laelyn alive for some unknown purpose. Neither option comforted Beric.

His gaze drifted to Lady Laelyn's face, and what he saw there only deepened his worry. He had known her all her life, could read her moods as clearly as written text. The slight flush across her cheekbones whenever she looked at Tomas. The way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, a nervous habit she displayed only when emotionally affected. The softness that entered her eyes, so different from her usual poised detachment.

These were signs Beric had seen before, years ago, when a visiting nobleman's son had captured her youthful fancy. Lady Laelyn, for all her wisdom and training, had developed feelings for this village boy. The realization made Beric's jaw tighten. Emotional attachment clouded judgment, a dangerous liability when one's life was at stake. And if Tomas was indeed an infiltrator, he had executed his mission with remarkable efficiency. Gaining the trust, and perhaps the heart, of his target in less than two days.

"My lady," Beric said after a moment of tense silence.

"I respectfully request permission to question our... guest... in private." Laelyn frowned.

"Tomas is not a prisoner, Beric. He's under my protection."

"And you are under mine," Beric countered firmly.

"I have sworn to your father, and to the Order, that I would eliminate all threats to your safety. I cannot fulfill that oath without investigating potential risks." Lady Laelyn's lips pressed into a thin line, her stubbornness, a quality she had possessed since childhood, rising to the surface. For a moment, Beric thought she might refuse outright, using her authority to overrule him. But then, perhaps seeing the unyielding determination in his eyes, she sighed.

"Fine," she said, the word clipped with frustration.

"You may speak with Tomas. But you won't find anything, Beric. He is exactly what he appears to be, a victim of terrible circumstances who has shown extraordinary courage." Beric inclined his head in acknowledgment, though privately he remained unconvinced. Thirty years as a guard captain had taught him that appearances were often crafted specifically to deceive. And the more perfect the picture, the more suspicious it became.

"Once we've travelled enough distance away from the inn, we'll stop briefly at the forest crossing to change horses," Beric informed her, his tone softening slightly.

"I'll speak with him then." Lady Laelyn nodded reluctantly, then turned to Tomas with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry about this. Beric is... cautious by nature. It's what makes him such an excellent protector."

"I understand," Tomas replied.

"In his position, I would probably be suspicious too." Another calculated response, Beric noted. Neither overly agreeable nor defensively hostile, just the right balance to appear reasonable while revealing nothing.

The remainder of the journey to the forest crossing passed in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the rhythmic pounding of hooves and the occasional command from the escort guards. Lady Mara had dozed off, her head lolling against the padded interior of the carriage. Lady Laelyn alternated between gazing out the small window and casting concerned glances at Tomas, who had pulled himself onto the narrow bench opposite and now sat with his hands folded in his lap, the picture of patient endurance.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Beric did not relax his vigilance for a moment. His hand remained close to his light-sword, his eyes rarely leaving the village boy. If Tomas noticed this scrutiny, he gave no sign, maintaining his humble posture with seemingly genuine exhaustion. When they finally reached the forest crossing, a small clearing where the eastern road intersected with an older, less-traveled path leading northward, Beric gave the order to halt briefly.

The horses needed water and a moment's rest before the grueling journey ahead, and this isolated spot, surrounded by dense woodland on all sides, offered as much security as they could hope for under the circumstances.

"My lady," Beric addressed Lady Laelyn as the carriage rolled to a stop.

"Please remain inside with Lady Mara and the guards. I'll take our guest for a private conversation." Lady Laelyn looked as though she might object again, but ultimately nodded.

"Don't be too harsh with him, Beric. He's been through enough already."

"I seek only the truth, my lady," Beric replied solemnly.

"Nothing more, nothing less." With that, he opened the carriage door and gestured for Tomas to follow him. The boy complied without protest, stepping carefully down onto the dew-dampened grass of the clearing. Beric noted that his movements, while still marked by evident fatigue, were more controlled and precise than one might expect from a common village youth. Beric led him away from the carriage, toward the edge of the clearing where a fallen log provided a natural seating area.

Close enough to maintain visual contact with the carriage, yet far enough that their conversation would not be overheard.

"Sit," Beric commanded, pointing to the log. Tomas obeyed, lowering himself onto the trunk with a slight wince that suggested genuine physical discomfort. Beric remained standing, using his height to establish a position of authority, a basic interrogation technique he had employed countless times throughout his career.

"Let's begin simply," Beric said.

"Who are you, really?" Tomas blinked up at him, his expression a mixture of confusion and wariness.

"I've told you. I'm Tomas, son of Halen, from the village of Porvale."

"And before that? Your history?"

"I was born in Porvale," Tomas replied, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I've lived there all my life. My father is... was the miller. I have an older sister who married a carpenter from Eastbrook three summers ago." The details flowed naturally, with the kind of mundane specificity that lent credibility to his story. But Beric had interrogated enough spies to know that the best covers were built upon foundations of truth, with fabricated elements woven seamlessly into authentic backgrounds.

"And your training?" Beric pressed.

"You seem remarkably... composed... for a village boy who has just witnessed the slaughter of his entire community." A shadow passed over Tomas's features, a grief that appeared genuine to Beric's experienced eye.

"I... I don't know if I am composed," he said quietly.

"I haven't had time to truly think about what happened. Everything since the attack has been about survival. Moving forward. Not looking back." He paused, swallowing hard before continuing.

"My father always said that in crisis, act first and feel later. When the mill flooded two springs ago, he didn't stop to mourn our losses. He worked day and night to repair what could be saved." A mirthless smile touched his lips.

"I suppose I'm following his example, though the stakes are somewhat higher now." Again, the response was perfect, emotionally resonant without being overwrought, explaining his unusual composure with a relatable anecdote about family wisdom. If this was a deception, it was masterfully crafted.

"How did you catch up to the carriage?" Beric asked, changing tactics abruptly.

"The truth this time. You didn't just 'run fast' through an orchard." Tomas's eyes dropped to his hands.

"I did run through the orchard, but... you're right. That's not the whole truth." He seemed to hesitate, as if weighing how much to reveal.

"When I left the inn, I saw the Lightweavers approaching. I heard their whispers about capturing a 'Vareyn scion.' I knew they were after Lady Laelyn." Beric's eyes narrowed.

"Go on."

"I hid in the shadows, watching them surround the inn. Even though it sounds stupid, I thought I could do something to help, but that's when I saw the other figure. It moved like... like nothing I've ever seen before. When it attacked the Lightweavers, I used the distraction to slip away, following the direction your carriage had taken."

"And then?"

"I ran harder than I've ever run in my life," Tomas said simply.

"I was terrified of the Lightweavers, of the Skybound, of being left alone again with nowhere to go. Fear can make a man surpass his normal limits." Beric studied the boy's face. The explanation made sense, to a point. Fear could indeed drive ordinary people to extraordinary feats. But catching a carriage traveling at full gallop? That stretched credulity to its breaking point.

"You said you saw the Skybound," Beric continued.

"Describe it." Tomas's face darkened, a flash of what might have been genuine hatred crossing his features before he composed himself.

"I only caught glimpses. A hooded figure moving flying through air. Eyes that glowed red in the darkness." His voice lowered.

"Like the ones who destroyed my village."

"Yet this one attacked Lightweavers, not villagers," Beric pointed out.

"Doesn't that strike you as unusual behavior for a Skybound?"

"I don't claim to understand the motives of monsters," Tomas replied, a bitter edge entering his voice.

"Perhaps they were fighting over who got to kill Lady Laelyn. Or maybe it was some internal conflict among the Orders that had nothing to do with us at all." Beric walked a few paces away, then turned back to face the seated youth. Something about this boy didn't align with his story. The way he held himself, even exhausted and disheveled, suggested more than village upbringing. There was a core of... something... beneath the humble exterior.

A strength, a focus, a certain quality of awareness that Beric had encountered before, though he couldn't immediately place where.

"Why are you so determined to stay with Lady Laelyn?" Beric asked, his tone deceptively casual.

"You could have remained at the inn. Or sought refuge in another village. Why risk your life to accompany a noblewoman you barely know to an academy where you have no place?" Tomas looked up, meeting Beric's gaze directly for the first time in their conversation.

"Because I have nowhere else to go," he said quietly.

"My home is destroyed. My family is dead. Everything I knew is gone." A pause, then: "Lady Laelyn offered me kindness when I had nothing. She treated me as a person, not a burden. Is it so strange that I would choose to follow the only path that's been offered to me?" The answer was simple, straightforward, and perfectly logical. Exactly what a clever infiltrator would say. Yet there was a rawness to the delivery that gave Beric pause, a vulnerability that seemed at odds with calculation.

"And your feelings for her?" Beric asked bluntly.

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed her interest in you. Or that you haven't encouraged it." A flush crept up Tomas's neck, and for a moment he looked genuinely flustered, more like the village boy he claimed to be than at any point in their conversation.

"I... that's not... Lady Laelyn has been kind to me, nothing more."

"She is a candidate for Saintess," Beric pressed.

"Far above your station. Any relationship between you would be impossible. You understand that, don't you?" Tomas regained his composure quickly, though a hint of color remained in his cheeks.

"Of course I understand. I'm not a fool, Captain Beric. I know my place in the world." That reaction, the momentary loss of composure, was the first genuine display he'd witnessed. It suggested that whatever Tomas might be hiding, his feelings for Lady Laelyn weren't entirely fabricated. Which made him even more dangerous.

"If you truly care for her wellbeing," Beric said carefully, "you'll understand my position. Since you appeared, Lady Laelyn has faced two assassination attempts. I cannot ignore that correlation."

"Correlation isn't causation," Tomas replied evenly.

"The attempts began before I joined your party. If anything, my presence has helped thwart them." Beric raised an eyebrow at the surprisingly sophisticated response.

"That's a rather educated observation for a miller's son."

"Like I told you before, my mother valued learning," Tomas sighed.

"She taught me my letters and numbers before she passed. And the village had a small collection of books that travelers had left over the years. I read them whenever there was time after chores." The story remained the same so Beric changed tactics again, moving to stand directly before the seated youth. In one fluid motion, he manifested his light-sword, the golden blade humming softly as it materialized inches from Tomas's face.

"If you are what you claim to be," Beric said, his voice hard as stone, "then you have nothing to fear from me. But if you harbor any ill intent toward Lady Laelyn, if you are an agent of her enemies, then know this: My oath to protect her supersedes all other considerations. Even mercy." Tomas recoiled from the glowing blade, his eyes widening in terror. His face drained of color as he pressed himself backward against the log, nearly toppling over in his haste to create distance between himself and the weapon.

"I-I swear," he whispered, "I mean no harm to Lady Laelyn. I'm just... I'm just grateful she saved me." His hands shook as he raised them defensively, a gesture both placating and frightened. Beric watched the display of terror with narrow eyes. This was certainly more in line with how a village boy should react to having a light-sword thrust in his face - the naked fear, the physical trembling. Yet something about it felt... performed. As though the boy had remembered, belatedly, how scared he should be.

"I... understand," Tomas finally managed, his breathing ragged.

"And I don't blame you for... for being suspicious. You're just doing your duty." He swallowed hard again, visibly trying to compose himself. Beric maintained the silent standoff for several heartbeats longer, watching the boy's continued trembling. Finally, he dismissed his light-sword.

"I'll be watching you," Beric stated flatly.

"Every moment. Every interaction. One suspicious move, and our journey together ends permanently. Is that clear?" Tomas nodded shakily, his face still pale.

"Per-perfectly clear." Beric stepped back, gesturing toward the carriage.

"Return to Lady Laelyn. But remember my words." He watched as the boy scurried off, the first hints of dawn beginning to lighten the eastern sky behind him. The escort guards had finished watering the horses and were preparing for departure. Lady Laelyn's face appeared at the carriage window, her expression brightening visibly as she caught sight of Tomas returning unharmed from his interrogation. That look, the unguarded joy that transformed her normally composed features, deepened Beric's concern.

In the twenty years he had protected her, he had never failed in his duty. She had suffered injuries, yes, a broken arm from a riding accident, a fever that had nearly claimed her life at twelve, the emotional wound of her grandmother's suspicious death. But she had never faced the particular danger that Beric now feared: heartbreak, betrayal, the special agony that came from trusting the wrong person.

As Tomas reached the carriage, Lady Laelyn opened the door herself, a breach of protocol that spoke volumes about her emotional state. She extended her hand to help him inside, a gesture usually reserved for equals rather than commoners. Their fingers lingered together a moment longer than necessary, a small intimacy that would have gone unnoticed by less observant eyes. Beric sighed heavily, the weight of his responsibility settling even more firmly upon his shoulders.

He would protect Lady Laelyn from physical harm with his life, that oath was unquestionable. But guarding her heart? That was a battlefield for which he had no training, no strategy.