The Conqueror

“Well, I cannot think of any other reason.”

Fulk scowled. “Ye wouldn’t.”

“Blessed Mother, Fulk, we are Watchers. Did you forget? We have a duty to the Heir.” Alex took a step closer, his voice growing louder. “Why did you leave Sauvage? Why did you abandon us?”

Fulk let the words settle into the dust coating the cobblestones, then shook his head and wiped his open palm over the top of his sweat-stained head. “Alex, my lad,” he said sadly, “I didn’t abandon ye—”

Alex jerked his head, as if deflecting a blow. “I’m not your lad,” he said coldly.

Fulk sighed. “So be it. I need to see Griffyn.”

“No.”

Fulk’s bushy eyebrows went up. “No?” He laughed. “Ye’re not the door warden, Alex. He’s not yers to say yea or nay about—”

“He’s mine to protect. And I say no.”

“About what?”

They both spun. Alex was surprised, not to see Griffyn standing a few paces off, but to realise his own heart was hammering like he’d just run a footrace.

“No about what?” Griffyn said again, but even though he was speaking to Alex, his eyes were on Fulk.

Fulk immediately bent his head. “My lord. We’ve missed ye.”

Griffyn gave an abrupt burst of laughter. “Is that so? I would never have known. My father wouldn’t have either.”

Fulk stood his ground. “Sir, we’ve to live by our consciences. Ye by yers, me by mine. I had to decide. ’Twas yer father who placed me with de l’Ami. I was his to command, and he sent me to de l’Ami, saying if anything happened to his dearest friend Ionnes, ’twould be too big a blow for him to survive.”

“Something did happen to Ionnes de l’Ami,” Griffyn pointed out coldly. “The same thing that happened to my father. Greed.”

Fulk wiped his hand across the back of his neck. “I won’t deny anything ye’re saying, my lord. What I will say is that yer father wasn’t the only Guardian. And neither are ye.”

Something like a spasm of shock passed over Griffyn’s face. “Guinevere.”

Alex stepped angrily forward. “De l’Ami stole the Nest, Fulk, he didn’t become an Heir. And neither did she.”

“The Hallows were here, and not a Sauvage in sight to protect ’em,” Fulk pointed out mildly.

“It’s the blood that makes a Guardian, not possession of the treasure. Ours is an age-old duty, Fulk. Twists of fate do not change it.”

“There aren’t no twists of fate here, Alex. Christian Sauvage knew ’zactly what he was doin’ when he left England without it.”

Alex shook his head angrily. “It matters naught, Fulk. This bloodline goes back five hundred years, the treasure a thousand and more. If the treasure is out of our sight for a few years, even a generation, what matters that? Our duty does not change. Watchers guard the bloodline. We’re meant for the Heir. Charlemagne’s heir.”

Fulk shrugged. “Someone will always be in possession of the treasure. And that person needs guardin’ too. Usually it’s the Heir. Never been different afore.”

“But when it is, people have to make choices.”

“And live by ’em.”

Alex stepped up into his face. “Are you regretting yours, Fulk?”

“Never,” retorted the leather-strapped mountain. “How ’bout yerself?” He pushed his bearded face right back into Alex’s. “Have ye been regrettin’ the choice that took ye so far away from it? Wondering if it was safe, were ye? Dreamin’ of it, rather than women, were ye?”

Alex’s fist shot out.

“Enough!” Griffyn shouted, shouldering between them. Alex and Fulk stumbled backwards, glowering at one another. “You see? You see what it does?” He looked at Alex, disgusted. “And you would have me cleave to this thing? Look to the hand it laid on my father, on de l’Ami, even the two of you.”