“How dare he!”
“Don’t be sad, my little Prince,” her voice sounded as if a living corpse was talking. “I chose my destiny myself.”
Hadjar recoiled. What did she mean by that?
“But why?”
The chains swung. With a terrible rattling, they moved Nanny’s body and her ribs creaked, torn apart a bit more by the hooks.
“You know why, my little Prince. You know...”
Hadjar really did know. As a child, he’d begun to suspect that no one would ever treat a simple Nanny with such reverence and respect. She hadn’t been as simple and straightforward as she had seemed. This had been especially clear after he’d met the Tree of Life. In its voice, he had recognized Nanny’s own.
She had kept her secret for centuries. She’d been the only living person who had known the way to the Kings’ Sword.
“You did the right thing, my little Prince, by not choosing the sword,” her voice was the whisper of a thousand dead. “It was never meant for you. It’s like a cage. Who can keep the wind or a dream in a cage?”
Hadjar couldn’t stop crying. The man who had lived a hard life back on Earth and in this vast, nameless world, the Mad General who had fought against the most terrible of foes, stood there and cried like a little boy. His tears hissed, evaporating and burning the stone below.
“Don’t cry, my little Prince. I don’t regret anything. Only that I can’t see you now. But you came to me in dreams. You’ve become a strong and handsome young man. Perhaps your feet carry you not only across the fragments of your enemies’ swords, but also across the shattered remains of many a girl’s heart who is stupid enough to fall in love with the wind.”
It seemed to Hadjar like Nanny smiled at him then and, just like in his childhood, stroked his cheek with her warm, soft palm.
“Tell me, my little Prince, about your wanderings. Tell me of your victories, sorrows, the people you’ve met and the ones you parted with. Tell me everything so that I can pass it on to your mother and father.”
Hadjar sank down to his knees in front of the stump hanging from the chains. Forcibly, he lowered his forehead to the cold stone floor. He began his story. Without lifting his forehead off the floor, he told her about his travels. How he’d played in squares in front of large audiences, in the guise of a freak. How he’d had to invent different stories to be able to eat meat afterward.
He told her about being bought for a brothel, where he’d met the girl whom he hadn’t been able to love, despite wanting to. How he’d liked to listen to the light rustling when she combed her long hair. How the brothel had burned down.
He even told her about meeting the dragon. How he’d ended up in the village in the Valley of Streams. About the villagers that had cared for him and the place where he had found a purpose in life again.
He told her about the army and meeting his first friend.
His forehead was still pressed against the floor, and his knees were bent.
He told her about his encounter with the Ancient Beast and Azrea. About them coming across Serra, who was as steadfast and dangerous as the desert itself. About the battle against the nomads, in which Hadjar had lost a man whom he’d respected.
He told her about the mighty Dogar, about the honor and dignity of Moon Leen and her lover, Dragon Tooth, how they’d fought against each other because they hadn’t been able to avoid it.
He told her about the beautiful mountains of Balium. The eternal snows, the White Apes, the Shadow of the Immortal, the Islander, Nehen, the visage of the terrible Derger, the sect, Adept Raven Wing, and his battle with the Patriarch.
Nanny listened in silence. It sometimes seemed like the hollow pits that had once been her eyes glittered with unshed tears. It had been a long time since this unfortunate prisoner of the usurper had been able to cry.
“Your life is like a legend, my little Prince. And now…’
“No,” Hadjar shook his head, pressing his forehead against the floor even harder.
“... I must leave to tell the story to your parents.”
“No. No. No. No,” Hadjar repeated. “I should’ve come back for you, Nanny. For you, Elaine, and the Master. I could’ve found a way to save you. I should-”
“Don’t cry, my little Prince,” and again, Hadjar got the impression that Nanny was smiling at him. “Steel yourself, for your journey hasn’t finished yet. You stand at the very beginning of it. But I’m too tired to complete my journey on my own. Help me, my little Prince, please help me find peace at last.”
Hadjar rose and approached her. His heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, but his hands remained strong. Again, he remembered a line from that book from his first ever life: “Wind, blow. Death, I am yours!”
“Goodbye, my little Prince. I’m happy I got to talk to you one final time.”
“Goodbye, Nanny.”
One quick, accurate strike later, and what was left of the once bursting with life and freedom body, fell limp. Ignoring the pain of his collar, Hadjar carefully took the body off the hooks. He pulled off the remains of his cloak and wrapped Nanny in it like a shroud. Placing the small bundle down so that the light of the moon fell on it, Hadjar sat down at the opposite end of the dungeon.
His heavy thoughts were accompanied by the clanging of the swinging chains.
“Today, in battle, I’ll meet you,” Hadjar quoted aloud.
He didn’t know that, right then, another visitor was sneaking over to his cell.
***
A stately, middle-aged woman joined the three children. Curvaceous and vibrant, with thick, luxurious hair falling down
