Guardian - Part 3

Paul trudged through a sleepy town, his feet heavy, and his heart heavier still. The sun was beginning to set, and he needed to head home, but no, he couldn't, not yet. Not without Micah. Where was that bothersome boy? He'd searched every shop and questioned every farmer he thought Micah may have possibly talked to, but none had seen the tall, towheaded boy. There was only one place left to look, but he'd sworn he'd never go in there again.

His feet slowed as he approached the only bustling business in town – Ada's Tavern. Maybe he'd just take a peek in, but he'd have no drinks, no food, no friends. As of yet, Paul still hadn't figured out why Lissa had accused him of staying out at nights. He had always gone home before dark, hadn't he? Or maybe the drink had caused him to forget.

Paul stopped just outside the tavern, unable to go any farther. A crowd had gathered outside, trying to squeeze through the double doors. Others stood on their tip-toes trying catch a glimpse of the inside. A voice boomed from the smoky interior, young and clear, yet commanding. Paul gasped. The King. He couldn't face him without the sword.

Paul spun around. Thwack! His face collided into a bony chest. Paul glanced up, rubbing his nose. Micah? Before he had time to react, the boy slipped into the crowd. No, no, no! Paul barged in after the blond head, but the crowd wouldn't yield to him.

“Hey!” A man yelled. “Watch where you're going!”

“Sorry,” Paul mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. Then the mob in the doorway gave way, and Paul collapsed just inside. By the time he jumped to his feet, Micah was nowhere in sight, but the King stood in the center of the room, his dark eyes resting on him. Paul froze, but the King didn't speak to him. 

“My people, you have suffered long enough. But fear not, for the time of deliverance has come! Tonight we assemble in the town square, and tomorrow we go to war! I want all able bodied men to join me.”

“But what about the King's sword?” A man shouted.

“Don't worry. It has been found.”

Cheers erupted around the room. Paul's skin grew clammy. What? Why hadn't be been told? He glanced around the room. If only he could slip out, but the crowd was thicker than ever.

Micah's head suddenly popped out of one corner, headed for where the King stood. Anger swelled in Paul's chest. Micah. He must have given the sword to the King and woven some fanciful story about how he'd found it. Well, Paul would make sure the King knew the truth.

The crowd hushed as Micah took the stage. Carlos stepped forward to push him back, but the King motioned for him to stop. “Let the boy speak. The young are perhaps the most valuable citizens in a kingdom.” The King turned to Micah. “What's on your mind?”

Micah turned to his audience. “This man is no King.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Paul suppressed a growl. Now what was the boy up to?

“How can you say such a thing?” Carlos hissed.

“Because I know what I say is true.” Micah's words were calm, but strong. “You say,” he turned to the King. “That your sword was lost, stolen from its guardian, but how can this be so? No man can steal a King's sword, neither can it be lost. It can only be given.”

Gasps erupted from the crowd at the quoting of the ancient law. Paul shook his head, confused. It didn't make sense. The case he had seen empty with his very own eyes, and he definitely hadn't given the sword to anyone. Why, the sword wouldn't even need a guardian if it couldn't be stolen, so why had the elder King given it to him in the first place?

The King stepped forward, fire in his eyes. “I know the law, boy. When I say stolen, I merely mean that the sword was 'given' to someone besides its rightful owner.”

Wait. Now the King was against him? Paul wanted to shrink.

“The law also states,” the King continued. “That if the sword is not 'given' to a person, he will not be able to wield it.” He faced Micah, challenge in his voice. “Test me tonight, if you will. I will bring the sword. Let us see if I can wield it.”

Cheering and applaud broke from the crowd, but Paul pursed his lips. Micah's gaze had turned to him. Paul held his breath until he broke away and turned back to face the King. “I don't doubt you can wield the sword,” he spoke when the people quieted. “If the sword was given to you, you will indeed be able. However, that doesn't mean the sword is rightfully yours and that you are King.” Micah's eyes bored into the King a second longer, as if letting his words sink in. Then he turned away, and dove into the crowd. The people tore away from him, as if he were a knife slicing through their midst. Micah reached the door untouched, and disappeared into the street. Paul tried to follow, but was once again, swallowed by the crowd.

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I've really struggled with the last two parts I've written, and I still have another to write. Can you tell me, is this all making sense so far? If not, what doesn't make sense? Am I losing your interest?