Chapter 49: Interlude 5, Ch 4: The Storyteller’s Last Tale

I stagger, and two Elites grab me from behind and two more come running up the stairs and grab Haskins.

“You murderous son of a Nardorish,” Eldar says to me as his Elites hold me firmly.

“You know, in some places that’s not a curse. In some places—” I start, till Eldar punches me in the stomach. I feel the air come rushing out of me and try desperately to bring it back.

“Hold him straight,” Eldar directs his men, and pulls out his sword. “You’ve been found guilty by the people of Grundar for public disturbance. If I were less merciful, I’d feed you to the people and let them tear you apart. But you’re lucky. You get an easy death.”

I hold my head up and try to say that I’m the prince. But the Elites pull me up and hold my mouth shut. “Strength to Grundar,” Eldar says, and pulls his arm back.

“Wait, you’ve got the wrong man!” Haskins shouts, pushing against his unbreakable captors. “Don’t kill him!”

“You’re not in trouble, old man. You didn’t know who this man was,” Eldar says, not taking his hateful gaze off of where he’s going to put the tip of his sword.

Haskins struggles to stand between me and my brother, pushing against the Elites holding him. “No, he isn’t the one you want. I am.”

Eldar doesn’t move his sword arm. He simply turns his head toward Haskins. “And why’s that?” Eldar asks.

I shake my head, as much as I can in the Elites’ grasp.

“I have to, friend,” Haskins says. “As you said, the people have to decide. And if word got out about…” He shakes his head in determination.

“Who are you?” Eldar asks impatiently.

“I am the assassin who attempted to kill Prince Millar. This is simply a distraction, a man I hired to lure the prince to the square again,” Haskins says proudly.

“No,” I gasp.

“Let the people decide,” Haskins says. He kicks the knee of one of the Elites holding him and breaks loose of their grasp. Pulling out two knives, he rushes my brother. He doesn’t take two steps before my brother side-steps and thrusts his sword smoothly into Haskins’ stomach.

Haskins drops the knives and stands impaled, staring at my brother. “Crimson Charge, ten o’clock,” Haskins says, and spits into Eldar’s face. “Eelian.”

My brother kicks Haskins off. As the old man dies, stretching a weak arm to his manuscript and falling limp, Eldar cleans his sword on the old man’s shirt, not bothering to wipe the blood and spit from his face.

My legs go limp and only the Elites’ grasp keeps me standing.

“You should thank him,” Eldar says as he sheathes his sword. “He just saved your life.”

A tear comes to my eye and leaves a clean streak down the grease on my face.

Eldar punches me again and the Elites let me fall.

“Shackle him,” Eldar says.

I try to cry. I try to let go. I try to pull out all my emotions and ride my despair till I feel nothing. I just can’t. The jail is nearly empty. Save for a few Nardorish bandits and a man who killed his wife, there is no one in the cells. There’s no lack of cells, though, small two-person walls lined with black and cold iron bars. This prison is built into the military headquarters, the large stone and steel structure just outside the citadel grounds, and was meant for prisoners of war. So few are the civic prisoners that Steel City never had to build a real jail.

The cell is dusty, unused for so long, and the small stones that make up the floor hurt under my feet. For a long time, I beat my head against the iron bars, annoying the bandit in the next cell. I knew it was hopeless to tell the few guards that I’m the prince. They’d never believe me.

I should feel sad. I should feel angry, or something. I should feel like my life is collapsing, but I don’t. I feel nothing, and I hate myself for it.

“I’m alone,” I say. Eelian’s abandoned me. And the only other person who doesn’t want this war to happen is now dead. Because of me. Crimson Charge, ten o’clock. “Don’t think I’ll make that meeting, Eelian.” I hit my head against the bars with a clong. It hurts wonderfully, and I feel incredibly alone.

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Tap, tap, tap, small feet come walking my direction down the hallway lining the cells.

I slowly lift my head and see Len coming with keys in hand. Without saying a word, he goes to my cell and unlocks the door. Holding it open, he tilts his head and motions for me to follow him, offering a towel to clean my face.

We get out of the jail and walk toward the citadel, not talking. The guards at the gate, not having noticed what I went through, let me pass with a salute. I salute back and wait for Len to say something.

We reach the doors to the Iron Palace and Len goes inside. We take the long walk to my room and Len shuts the door.

“How did you find me?” I ask, finally, as we’re alone.

“Your father came looking for you at my home. I checked the library first, then heard about your trip. Beln told me you’d been talking strangely, and I found the grease stains on Hunter,” Len says as he opens the door to my balcony, letting cool air rush into the stale room. “I put the facts together when I heard of a grease-faced madman and brought all the money I could to pay your fees. The guards think the grease-faced man is going back to Nardor, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you a thousand times. I’ll pay you back.”

“I knew you would,” Len says as I walk onto the balcony. He follows. We spend a whole five minutes just looking out at the now dark city as lights go up and people go home.

“You don’t care why?” I ask, the awkwardness of what Len’s done for me wrenching my heart.

“I know why,” Len says simply. “I heard what you said.”

Another pause as I stare out at the city. “And?”

“I’m with you,” Len says, and leans on the railing beside me.

“You’re with me,” I say.

“I’m with you.” Len looks at me, his face showing nothing but sincerity.

I nod. Len’s found his purpose. It’s time I found mine. And as Haskins said, there are more important things to do than question things.

“I need to bring peace to this world,” I say. Len nods. “I need the Sevens Prophets.” Len looks confused.

We had to sneak out. My mother, father, even brother, came running to my room when they heard I’d come back. Len said my father was furious and my mother was trying to find me first to protect me. My brother just wanted to know what the plan was, impatiently wanting to make his own plans.

Len got rope and as I step over the railing, I tell Len to stay there. “No, I’m coming with you,” Len says.

“Len, I need you to keep my parents busy,” I say. “And this is something I have to do.”

“Don’t give me that, Millar. Beln and Keller are not to let anyone in because you’re busy with plans and I’m not letting you have your pride make you go without someone to help you. I’m coming with you and that’s that.” Len starts climbing down after me. I scowl up at him till his feet reach where my hands are. “You climbing down or what?”

Comforted, I climb down.

As we walk and eat the small dinner Len fetched from the kitchen, I tell Len the short version of all Eelian told me. “And if I’m going to do this, I’ll need the Sevens Prophets to help me,” I say.

“Why haven’t they been here before?” Len asks.

“That’s what I need to learn. I need to know how to find them.”

We reach Victory Square a little before the chimes sound ten. It’s empty. The only ones standing in the massive square are the statue of Suldar and a grey cat running toward an alley. In the darkness, I don’t see Eelian until we actually reach the Monument.

Even now, I can barely look at the thing. Just a brief glance leaves me wary. And yet there is Eelian, lying on top of the red-and-black metal of the statue, right next to the image of Uldar the Foolish.

“Haskins told me,” Eelian says, staring up at the stars, “that he’d do anything to stop the invasion. He told me that you were foolish and ignorant. Was I wrong?”

“Haskins is dead,” I say as I stop a safe distance from the Monument. “And I need your help.”

“Both of those things, sadly, I was expecting to happen.” Eelian sits up and hops down, thankfully stopping at a point where I don’t have to fear passing out if we stay too long.

“Were you expecting me to get arrested for telling people they’re wrong?” I ask.

“Yes. And you realized that shouting at someone does not change their mind, did you not?” Eelian asks and reaches a hand out to Len. “Len, I’m assuming.”

“Len Hylea,” Len says, and shakes Eelian’s hand.

“You don’t care that I’ve sown the seeds of indecision in your friend?”

“No. Millar needed some shaking up. Battles and kingly duties, it was all getting kind of dull anyway.” Len winks at me. However Len won that contest to become my Guardian, he never told me what he did, he without a doubt deserves it. Eelian grins.

“Eelian,” I say, “why aren’t the Sevens Prophets here? I want to bring peace to Grundar so why, if that’s their goal, are they not here?”

Eelian sighs and says, “For a number of reasons. The specific reason is…” He points to the Monument.

“Suldar?”

“What do you know about The Crimson Charge?” Eelian motions for Len and I to sit on the paving stones.

“Four hundred years ago, it was a hundred and fifty years after Mendar Steel died, and is also called the second invasion of the Severines,” I say, spouting out history as written in the library.

“As I said, Millar, there are three types of history,” Eelian begins. Len looks at me with confusion and I hold my hand up for him to be patient. “Common history, lost history, and true history. You know Grundar’s common, and now its lost. What you don’t know about the true history of the Crimson Charge, which Suldar lied about to feed his own power, is that the invasion was not of Severines. The people who attacked Steel City that day were Red Prophets.”

“Suldar lied about this?” Len asks.

“To hide the existence of the Prophets,” Eelian explains. “If people knew about the Prophets, then they’d know there was something more than their nation, something more powerful than the king’s army. So he made it a great victory against Sever, and not a tragedy against the Prophets.”

“So Uldar the Foolish was a Prophet?” I ask.

“Yes, and he was not known as Uldar the Foolish. His name was Uldar. Uldar Grundarin before he became a Prophet. And he is the subject of the final tale,” Eelian says, and takes a deep, calming breath.

“But we know the ending to this. Uldar dies and the invasion fails,” I say. “Why are you telling me a tale I already know the ending of?”

“Because the ending is not important,” Eelian says, and begins spinning the tale. “What is important, is why.”