Tag Archives: king

Sword Music – Friday Fictioneers

First of all, I was very happy to see my picture appear here.  I’m curious to see what others make of it. Secondly, I won’t be able to do that much this week, since I’m out of town on a business trip until Sunday. I’ll have Internet and will try to find time to read some.

Copyright David Stewart

Copyright David Stewart

Sword Music

The first note hovered in the air like an orb-weaver hanging from the horn of the moon.

More instruments joined, the energy rising like a waking predator. It ascended, a frenetic dervish, around the musicians, touching the forest of upraised swords. The edges kindled, maddened to fury by the throbbing cacophony of raw power.

The music ceased, except the first lingering, arachnid note. The hungry light of a thousand blades was quenched in their sheaths.

“We desire peace,” the king said, “but you see our weapons. Go tell your people.”

The ambassador wiped his brow. “There will be peace,” he said.

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Attack of the Cubblies

And now for something completely different.

Attack of the Cubblies

“Your Majesty, after several failed attempts, we finally managed to capture one of the invading Cubblies. It’s imprisoned in one of the outbuildings.

“Well, can you interrogate it?” the king asked. “Find out what they want, man!”

“It’s just too cute, your Majesty,” the captain said, his face reddening. “The first man who tried to interrogate it untied it and was going to bring it home as a present for his children.”

“Well, find someone who isn’t so damned sentimental then.”

“We did, I’m afraid. That first man we chose was Major Hickens, who is the most bitter, misanthropic man we’ve got. The others don’t stand a chance.”

“You’d better kill it then. We can’t take any chances.”

“How are we going to do that, your Majesty? None of the men will put a hand on it.”

“Well, dammit man! Thank of a way. One of you throw a bag over it, hand to another and get him to drop it in the river. Use your creativity.”

There was a thud on the roof. “What’s that?”

“They’re catapulting themselves over the walls, your Majesty.”

The window smashed and a fluffy, round Cubbly bounced towards the throne. Its wide, liquid eyes sparkled and it stretched out stubby arms towards the king as it tottered towards him. “I wuv you!”

“Aww, that’s adorable,” the king said. “Let’s surrender.”


The Golden Circle – Sunday Photo Fiction

A piece for Al Forbes’ Sunday Photo Fiction.

copyright Alastair Forbes

copyright Alastair Forbes

The Golden Circle

“He’s the king.”

“We can’t trust him.”

“But he’s the king.”

“He killed eight people.”

“He’s the king.”

In the nation of Vallakha, there was no way to remove a monarch. He was installed by God and was above the law. So when King Jerome III began roaming the palace halls, killing servants and courtiers, there was intense discussion about to what to do.

“Execute him?”

“Impossible.”

“Imprisonment?”

“He controls the prisons. Nothing is higher than the king, except God himself.”

“Nothing but God . . .”

On the first day of summer, the king was imprisoned in his bedroom, surrounded by golden bars, which were blessed and made part of the Church. His guards were priests. His rule remained absolute through the whole nation, except for a circle, four inches wide, that surrounded him.


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