Chapter 56: Interlude 6: The Final Interlude

“I have heard it,” I say. “I’ve heard the crash, but…”

“One last thing, Millar, and the tale is done. King Suldar melted down each and every weapon held by a Red Prophet. With that metal, he built this Monument to his power,” Eelian says, and finishes his last tale.

We stand in silence near that Monument that no one can look at, feeling it drain us of our strength in the silent square.

“They’re all… dead?” I ask slowly as Eelian puts his hands down.

Len wipes a tear from his eye.

“Every Red Prophet who ever walked this ground is either gone from the planet or dead,” Eelian says.

The tale hits me harder than all the others combined. Those were all stories of long ago and faraway places. This was about my own history, my own people and the evils that we committed. It’s a tragedy that I feel helplessly responsible for. What’s worse is that my family has been perpetuating the lie.

“There’s still Prophets, though, right?” I ask desperately.

Eelian says nothing.

“Even if there were still Prophets, because of this…” Len says, and points at the Monument to the Crimson Charge, a farce of what it truly is, “and what we’ve done to them in the past, they won’t help us?”

Eelian nods.

“Crush my strength!” I curse. “What do we do now?”

“What do you mean?” Eelian asks.

“You’ve come to me for a reason,” I say. “You went to Haskins because he was the only one who believed in peace. Him nearly killing me opened me up to new ideas, and you fed me those new ideas so I would see that this war is wrong. I’m not angry for it, Eelian. In fact I’m grateful, but you’ve manipulated me into this position from the beginning.” I grab Eelian by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. “All I want to know is what to do now.”

Eelian brushes off my hands. I jump back a little, remembering the last time I touched him. Adjusting his clothes, Eelian says, “You have to figure that out.”

“What?” I ask.

“I gave you the ideas. You have to choose what to do with them.”

“But, but… I don’t know what to do. I want to say that I should fight for peace.”

“That’s an option.” Eelian nods and strokes his beard.

“But I don’t know if it’s the ultimate goal we should have. I know it’s not war, but… it’s just too complicated.”

Eelian nods again.

“I’d like to say that I should follow the Prophets. Like you said, the whole point of our existence is to bring the seven planets together. But, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do,” I say.

“Millar,” Eelian says with more pain than I’ve ever heard any man speak, “the Sevens Prophets are no more. The Pinnacle is destroyed. A new power has arisen, and their leader, Priman, killed the last leaders. The three weapons, Law, The Pure Crown, and Heartsflame, have gone missing.”

I have to lean on the Monument, supporting myself with this tragedy. I don’t know them, I don’t know the Prophets. For me, this tragedy is nothing because I’m not there to experience it. Even so, I feel like I’ve been stabbed.

Len holds me up. “So what do we do, Eelian?” Len asks.

“Eelian, you know more than anyone I’ve ever known,” I say, standing up straight. “What’s the answer?” I pant heavily, looking for a sign to know the meaning and purpose of my existence.

“Part of life,” Eelian says with a grin, “is never knowing the answer.”

“They’re here, Father!” Eldar says as he gallops his horse into the center of Victory Square, stopping a healthy distance from the Monument.

A dozen guards and a dozen more green-hat-wearing elites ride to a halt by him, their horses’ hooves clattering to a stop. More guards surround the square, and elites block all the exits in a noisily efficient manner. In the middle of the group is my father.

“Millar! You son of a Nardorish, why did you run off and leave me without…” my father says, but stops as he notices me standing with Eelian. “You!” He dismounts and walks with long strides, the king’s helm shifting and his armor clinking, toward Eelian. “You again. I thought I told you that if you ever showed your face or told your lies in my nation again I’d—”

“I know what you said,” Eelian says, calmly walking over to the Monument and leaning on it.

“What has he told you, Millar?” my father asks, turning away from Eelian.

“What?” I say.

“What has he told you!”

“About, about…”

“I told him about how great war is, and how much it has gained for Grundar,” Eelian says with a wink.

My father looks to me with hate in his eyes.

I nod.

“Millar, this is a crazed old man who tells nothing but lies. There’s no proof at all in what he says,” my father says, pointing accusingly at the relaxed Eelian, still unable to look at the man directly for the Monument he stands against. They let me keep the gun in the cell, thinking it harmless. I rub its rusted edges in my pocket. “He’s a Nardorish spy and he’ll get what he deserves for it. Eldar! Take him to the cells and pick an executioner.”

“No!” I shout, and step toward my father.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Len grabs me and whispers, “Don’t.”

Eelian nods at Len as he steps away from the Monument to allow the elites to shackle him.

“No?” my father says. “You want to spare this traitor?”

“Not only that,” I say, “I want to stop this war. You hear me, father! I won’t invade Nardor!”

My father says nothing. He only walks up to me and puts his good arm on my shoulder, gripping it like a vice. “Son, you have a purpose in life. That purpose is to the people of this country. And the people of this country need this war, to stop the bandits and to bring prosperity to our nation.”

“That’s a lie. We don’t need war for prosperity and we have no right to hurt the Nardorish.”

My father’s eye twitches, and his grip hardens further. “So you’ve been taken in by his lies. I thought he might have done this to you. You always were too accepting of foolishness,” my father says, and snaps his fingers. One if the elites walks forward and holds out a bundle. The king takes it and pulls the cloth off and throws the metal pieces underneath to the ground.

Clatter and clang go the two pieces. Landing lamely on the ground are a dirty sword and a skittering shield as they come to rest. The shield is steel with a gold outline and the sword’s edge is crimson red. So that’s where Steel and Sander’s blessed weapons went.

“This spy tried his lies on me once, and I found the truth,” my father says. “It didn’t work. And neither do those weapons, Millar. He made them and planted them on that false grave. Prophets, the very idea is…”

“They don’t work,” Eelian says, “because you’re not their owner. A Prophet’s weapon has a connection with the owner and no one else can use it. Only the three original Prophet weapons can be used without blessed ownership and one of them—”

My father clenches Eelian’s mouth shut with his enormous hand. “You will stop your lies and stop trying to corrupt my son!” my father says.

I stand wide eyed, looking to both of these men, both who’d guided me through difficult times in my life.

“He’s not corrupting me!” I shout, and pull my father’s arm away.

Eelian works his jaw, looking only slightly annoyed.

“He’s helping me and I’m going to change things!” I insist.

“I don’t care what this liar has told you. You’re going to Nardor. You’re going to conquer that land and you’re going to bring glory and prosperity to the people you rule,” the king says.

“And what if I won’t?” I look to the shackled Eelian.

“Patience,” he whispers.

My father gives a look of death to Eelian before returning to me.

“If you don’t, and you disgrace this country, then your brother will lead the troops and you will die on the front lines,” my father says, gripping my shoulder firmly once again. My brother stands motionless next to his horse, its tail unexcitedly flapping at flies, unaffected by the threat and promise. “But you’re my son, Millar. I don’t want you to do that. I want you to fulfill the purpose of your life and do your duty to your people. Please, Millar, walk away from here. Let this liar die and you’ll be forgiven.”

I look one last time at Eelian. He shrugs, not knowing the answer.

“Millar, please,” my father says, and lets go of my shoulder. “It’s your decision.”

Jasper, Chance, Cory, Zel, and Uldar. They all believed in something. Jasper believed that the Prophets had a purpose. Chance believed that he could make the world better. Cory believed, in the end, that you can’t pick sides if you want peace. Zel believed that all people should care about each other. And Uldar believed that peace could come to Grundar. What do I believe in?

“I believe in myself,” I say, and walk away.

“Good choice, Millar,” my father whispers.

I hope Eelian is whispering the same thing.

King Sevar Grundarin addresses the guards holding the storyteller and says, “Take the traitor to the cells and build the execution block. I’ll see to his imprisonment personally. Millar, I expect to see you in the war room when I get back to the citadel.”

I keep walking away and reach the edge of the square. I don’t look back. I don’t want to see them pushing and shoving Eelian. I don’t want to see his hurt face at my betrayal. I hope he doesn’t feel betrayed.

As I walk toward the citadel, one of the elites rides slowly past me and says, “Grease face,” with a chuckle and moves on.

I look up, startled at the elite as he joins my brother. My brother takes one neutral look at me and nods. Then he and his elites join my father as they exit the square.

This doesn’t change anything.

Len comes running up behind me. “You’re going to let him die then,” Len says.

“Don’t, Len,” I say, fighting back tears.

“He was your friend and mentor. And he knew exactly what he was doing.” We take a few steps in silence. “When you told me Eelian’s name, I immediately recognized it. He told the same tales to your father before I came here. When you were small, your father would sometimes wander the Iron Palace muttering things about Prophets and Eelian. I let it go on, because I wanted you to decide for yourself if your father was right.”

“Guardian is a shallow title for all you’ve done, Len,” I say. “Thank you. But how could my father be so narrow-minded?”

“He never really believed it,” Len says. “Every time he’d mutter something about Prophets, he’d go to the throne room and look at Mendar Steel’s broken sword. That always made him feel better.”

I nod. I know the truth about that sword. And the broken gun in my pocket reassures me that Eelian was right. “I’m tired, Len. I just wish I could wake up and be in another world,” I say.

“If I know you, and you haven’t changed your mind about the war,” Len says, “you just might.”

The platform was built out of newly cut oak planks. It’s nothing more than a ten-foot square with a large block in the middle. Standing on one side is a large elite wearing full dress uniform. He holds a halberd with an over-sized axe head. Inlaid in the face of the head are lightning bolts etched in platinum. Cromlin did a great job.

Len and I stand at the Iron Palace’s main entrance, its stone-tiled floor fifty feet across and full of my family and the Council of Generals.

Last night, my father finally heard my strategy for the taking of Nardor and its capitol city Brill. He and the Council of Generals agreed that it was genius, and all the earlier worries melted away from my now joyful father. This morning, I addressed the troops in preparation for our departure tomorrow, telling them victory would soon come.

Eldar leads Eelian up the short steps to the platform. Manacles hold Eelian’s arms behind his back, and his strange walk makes him look like he’ll fall over any second. Eldar doesn’t have to force the old man to approach the cutting block.

This isn’t a public execution. No one would care to show up anyway, because they have more important things to do. The high-ranking officers and generals are here, though, as requested by my father.

Eelian is not an example. Everyone knows what happens to traitors, and no one in their right mind would give up the happiness they have anyway.

“You got those papers from Haskins’s house, right?” I ask.

Len nods.

Eelian stands proudly, swaying like he’s drifting through space as Eldar announces that an enemy of Grundar is about to be killed.

“Len, are you still with me?” I ask.

Len stands next to me. The entrance to the citadel is big enough that there’s enough space between us and the others to talk quietly without being heard.

“Yes,” Len says.

“And do you believe in me?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I bite my lip, thankful beyond words to have Len by my side. “Then I need you to do something. Bring those papers to Victor at the library. I want Haskins’s words to be heard, and not just by a few.” And hopefully, Victor will allow it.

Len is all attentive as Eelian’s manacles are taken off, their clinking like a thunderclap in the hushed crowd.

“Then ride to the free Severdom territories. I have a feeling that there will be threat of the Severdom territories uniting and attacking us,” I say, and look at Len to see if he knows what he’s supposed to do.

He nods.

“I also have a feeling,” I say as Eelian kneels and lowers his hands, barely holding the handles of the chopping block. The elite attaches his manacles in that position. “That my invasion of Nardor will be slower, and held down by bandits and other problems.”

Len nods again.

“Are you sure that this is the right thing to do?” Len asks.

“I don’t know. That’s what terrifies and excites me,” I say.

The executioner raises his blade and Eelian cries, “The Sevens Prophets will return!”

“What comes after this?” Len asks.

“We’ll see. We must be patient,” I say as the blade comes down.