Steel and Honor

Flash Fantasy Fiction

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

The stallion charging across the Bronzebridge was exquisite; huge and darker than the western sky during the Byrtalian Eclipse. The rider: tall, thickly muscled, standing gracefully in the stirrups, holding his mount with one hand by the flowing mane. The saddle bore a slogan, etched in Forgotten Pincollan, which Dyrkk was unable to read.

Dyrkk gathered himself and presented his sword, raised, two-handed, point facing horizontally to his right, in the formal greeting of his Eerto people.

The Pincollan mercenary unsheathed his blade and held it upright, pressed flat to his forehead in the friendly salutation of his Northern clan.

Dyrkk almost gagged. The blade was large, but of poorly wrought metals. Lead and copper perhaps? He could tell it was imbalanced from his thirty pace distance. In short, it was hideous, the worst weapon Dyrkk had ever seen.

If this was a jest common to the Pincollans he had not heard of it, nor did he understand it.

But the mercenary was an honored guest of the Queen, and it had been a great honor for Dyrrk to have been the member of the house guard chosen to escort the man from the Bronzebridge to the Garden and brief him on the specifics of the Queen’s request.

“Challatan,” the mercenary said, introducing himself as he rode alongside Dyrkk.

Dyrkk nodded and smiled, though still very puzzled by the man’s blade.

“You are a man of great reputation, Challatan. The Queen is honored to have you at the wedding of her son.”

“It is my honor to serve her,” Challattan said, “though your tradition of not killing your own people is foreign to me.”

Dyrkk nodded. “Understood. But it is time-honored.”

“Your mission respectfully is thus: Soon, during the Prince’s wedding vows, the Queen has been assured that the father of his future husband will raise formal objection to their matrimony. She wishes him removed for the love and honor of her son and his beloved. She believes the man, Floshan, will become violent.”

Challatan chuckled softly.”This is as the Queen’s letter stated. I am more than prepared to do what I must.”

The men quietly rode to the edge of the garden and took their places amongst a mounted honor guard.

Deep into the solemn ceremony, the Theomancer asked the gathered for their approval or objections. Most of the crowd roared exuberant Yeas. The father of the prince’s beloved stood and began to bellow his bigotry and hatred.

Challatan spurred his horse down the main aisle of the garden, impaled Floshan through his robes, between arm and torso with the crude blade, twisting it as he raised the flailing, screaming man, the horse galloping to the Bronzebridge, where Challatan heaved him, blade and all, into the raging river.

The two Princes embraced. The scourge of their love was no more.

At the gala reception, Dyrkk asked the mercenary to translate the words written on his saddle.

Challatan smiled proudly.

“It says: “Never waste good steel on filth.”

***

Author’s Note: This was originally written for a publication that A) Has a 500 word limit on fantasy stories, and B) Rejected it because the theme of same sex marriage was too controversial for them. This didn’t occur in 1981. It occurred this year. I hope you enjoyed the story.