Pull the Sword
The country without a king lost battle after battle. Whether the winter or the invaders took a heavier toll, none could say. Villagers huddled together, staring at the Winter Sword buried to its hilt in the market square. If only . . . but none could pull it, even the old king’s half-brother’s cousin’s bastard.
Then, one day, the hilt dripped.
Spring came, and there was no longer a sword to claim. The country pledged to its new queen, and life went on. Still, for generations after, ice flowers grew in the market square, and villagers waited for their king to return.
— The End —
100 words
My blog is participating in the Forward Motion Flash Friday Blog Group, a weekly flash fiction exercise (not that I’m managing weekly!). Check out the other participating blogs for more flash.
Read this 3 times and still working my way through it. Good story.
I, too, read this three, no, four times. Where did the queen come from? I’m just puzzled. Call me slow or stupid, but is it all illusion? Or, is it my meds?
Thanks for the feedback. I wondered if keeping it to 100 words was too short.
The queen would be the one leading the invaders. No one came along to pull the sword, so the kingdom of winter faded, the sword melted, and the new queen took over. However, there was always the possibility of the return of the winter kingdom.
Maybe I’ll try it as a longer story . . .