He should never have opened the door. The shop was closed, any sane person would have turned the strange man away before letting him speak. He should never have let him speak.
One last request, he had said. It won’t take long. Now he was working the bellows as though trying to summon hell itself. The man stood over him, watching the process closely. He needed a blade capable of killing an immortal. The look on his face made the smith’s laugh die in his throat. He coughed as he had told him such a thing was impossible.
The strange man strode past him into the room, placing a large bag on the table. There is a way, he said. You craft the blade, I will perform the spells. He looked the smith in the eyes, his hands resting on his daggers. No stopping, no matter what.
In the hours since the smith had watched his shop turn into a catastrophe. Each spell the man performed made the metal change and shook the walls until every fixture rattled. He did not stop, though the liquid metal was like nothing he had seen. He waited in silence as the blade cooled, the muttering of incantations causing the shutters to clatter.
The look on the man became evil as the smith removed the blade from the mold. Each strike at the anvil made another part of his shop break. Still he dare not stop. The chanting grew louder and quickened. It grew so loud he couldn’t hear his own hammer. His head felt like it would split in two.
It took him a moment to realize the chanting had stopped. The smith looked up into the strange man’s eyes. He looked even worse when he smiled. The man shoved something off the anvil and reached for his new blade. Buttercream yellow, the blade was only as long as a hand from wrist to fingertip. He laughed, pocketed the blade and turned to leave.
The smith began to follow and protest until he nearly tripped. He looked down at the floor to see a body. In his shock he missed the man’s departure. The body had a hole where there should have been a heart. Gingerly and with dread he turned the body over, screaming at the sight of his own face.
The crowd was oblivious to the turmoil within her. Throngs of people milled about the car boot rummage, turning over trinkets, haggling for people’s faded dreams. She stood quietly by her table, trying not to look at the knife laid as casually as she could amongst her other things. Soon, it would be over.
The Dagger of Fortune had been a gift from an elderly woman. She had offered to mow her lawn, and the old woman had given it to her, apologizing for not having any money. She had reluctantly accepted it, thinking she might at least be able to sell it.
Between the old lady’s house and her home she found a $50 note, received a call accepting her job application and her brother returned the $200 he owed her. She was still spinning when she felt the dagger slice her. She hadn’t realized it was in her hand.
Over the next few weeks both her wealth and her physical misfortunes grew. Money found its way to her in various ways such as scratch tickets, raffles, extra shifts. It took her a while to realize her daily mishaps with the dagger might be linked. Still the extra money was good.
The amounts began to grow, as did the injuries. One evening she won $20,000 in a jackpot at her favorite pub. The blade caught her as she was drifting off to sleep, leaving a deep wound across her palm. Her nervousness had grown to fear. She had tried to throw it away to know avail, the thing was always back on her kitchen counter when she returned home.
When she thought of the old woman a thought came to her. She realized the old woman had given it to her. She wondered if the handing over was needed but didn’t like the idea of giving this curse to anyone she knew.
She tried to shed the guilt weighing on her as she watched people rummage through her belongings. Any one of them could be cursed next. She didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but she feared what would happen if she held it any longer.
“How much?” The voice shook her out of her reverie. The form of a young man stood in front of her.
“For what?”
“The blade and the book.” The man held them out with a look of annoyance. She took them from him and began wrapping the book
“Five for the blade, $20 for the book.”
“I’ll give you $20 for both.”
“Sold.” There was no hesitation. She held out the blade and waited until he took it from her. He took the book and turned to leave. A part of her wanted to warn him, until she realized he hadn’t paid for the book.
The wizard could feel it calling to him, it wanted to be free. If he could get past that sentient lump of vegetation at the mouth of the cave, the Sword of the Well Lit Road would be his.
The plant guardian had proven impossible to pass. He had approached the first time unsure of what to do. He had tried to reason, but the guardian gave no sign it understood. He tried to push past it and had been thrown hard enough to bounce off of the trees in the surrounding woods.
It had taken a few months to heal, during which time he listened to the sound of the enchanting voice emanating from within the cave.
The guardian never moved unless someone approached. The wizard saw only one other attempt to pass. A strong knight, probably for some noble purpose. The armor was still scattered by the cave’s entrance. Strength was not the answer, which was good because he had very little. He had one more trick up his sleeve.
He strode in front of the guardian, who rose as he drew near. The wizard did not slow his pace and raised his wand. As the plant creature lunged at him he released a shot of fire that buried itself within the guardian’s chest. He watched as the creature burned slowly, then went inside the cave.
To his surprise it was not large. The Sword of the Well Lit Road lay glowing on a moss covered stone in the center. As the wizard raised the sword a pulse of cool waves washed over him,
“I, Robense Maenard, name myself as the wielder of the Well Lit Road! May it guide my path, lead me true and serve me always!”
“Of all the, my stars how did you even get in here?” The wizard spun on his heel, looking for the owner of the voice that was ruining his moment.
“Not with your wits it seems. I am the Sword of the Well Lit Road. I exist to guide warriors to glory. And apparently now you.”
“Excuse me, I slew the guardian. And besides you are bound to serve me now.” He tried not to make that sound like a question. Of his myriad expectations, a sword with an opinion wasn’t one.
“With magic, you cheat. And yes, while you live I serve to protect you as best as I can and obey your command. Now let’s go, the sooner you die in battle the better.”
The wizard sighed and slung the thing on his hip. He needed its power, not his friendship. He left and began the journey home. Soon he would be with his brothers again, and their real quest would begin.
Any moment now, the feathered beasts would spot them. Maxwell had precious little time to get into position. One false move and the flock would be on him. He crossed his fingers and readied to sprint. As soon as Dodger gave the signal his team would move in. It was risky, but to save the two gnomes he saw before him, it was worth it.
In the heat shimmer of the afternoon, he saw Dodger wheel out on a toy tricycle. He lifted his hands high, clapped once and sped away through the vegetable patch. The chickens darted after him. Maxwell and his team raced in to rescue the bewildered gnomes. They were badly shaken. One tried to scream but to her horror no sound came out. Her mouth had not been properly painted. Poor girl.
As Maxwell ushered the pair into a cart he heard Dodger’s screams growing nearer. The team ran for the gate, escaping through the gap in the fence they had come in through. Maxwell stood ready with a wooden plank. Dodger sped as fast as he could straight past the group, still screaming. The team barely nailed the plank in place before the chickens arrived, angrily pecking the wood.
All stood frozen for a moment. Then Maxwell, taking the handle of the cart, began the walk back to basecamp.
“What. Is. That?” She was used to his pranks, but this was a new level. The little imp shifted from foot to foot, mumbling out incoherent words. Enough stuck out to tell the librarian they were in hot water.
“Found it. Shiny. Good gift. Dragon. Free.” The librarian stared at the huge egg on her desk. A dragon egg. If her truly limited knowledge of dragons was correct, this was a winter wyrm. Nine feet long, they were not monstrous, and covered in soft white fur they could even be said to be cute. They breathed icy winds rather than fire, were relatively easy to tame, and came with a several thousand dollar fine if caught with it.
She was debating what to do when a faint line appeared across the length of the egg and the little imp hopped on the desk in excitement. As the egg shattered under pressure, iridescent wings came forth. It was free in moments, staggering around as if in a daze.
Pure white with shimmering fur, deep blue eyes and a small set of spikes along its spine combined into a very cute and confused beast. It swiveled its head to settle its sight on the Librarian.
“No.” The wyrm took as much notice of her commands as the imp usually did. It slunk nervously towards her, the air around her growing colder the closer it got. She nearly recoiled when it rubbed its head on her leg. Then she made the mistake of looking down into its eyes. The poor thing was scared.
One day it would get big and freeze things but right now it was the size of a dog and clinging to her for security. The librarian picked up the shuddering beast, freezing as it settled itself across her chest. She sighed and with the imp skipping after her she headed to the never used wing for Arcane Relics. Maybe if she made it a bed in the back no one would notice.
All things sword! This prompt is truly meant for the fantasy genre, all this month we will be following our hero characters. Explore what it means to be the hero. Is it all fun and games? Maybe it is and they are tired of that. Maybe the sword chose the wrong hero. This month we’re going to explore what it means for a character who is essentially morally good to wield a sword.
Swordtember was created by Faith Schaffer in 2020 as a prompt list for artists to design a sword daily for different characters. Most of the monthly themes on the blog began as prompts for visual artists, but there is no good reason we as writers can’t use them too. Either as a stand alone piece, or as an addition to your other work use one or all of these prompts to get your creativity flowing.
Any genre of fantasy can work here. From the more personal narratives of the sword and sorcery stories to the epics where the world is at stake, explore what it means to be the hero.
Prompts & Ideas
Week One: Insert Here Vs Insert Here. Two fantasy nations at odds. Tell us who they are and what the spat is about. Is it violent or friendly fire? What is gained by winning. This could be a political piece, or something more personal between two or a few people. Is the battle worth it?
Week Two: The Sword with a Name. The history of the blade is almost as important as the main character. How does your character come to possess it and learn its powers? Is it passed down through the bloodline? Does it appear in great need? What does it do?
Week Three: The Sword you can’t get rid of. Once you accept ownership you can only get rid of it by…tell us the lengths your character will go to to get rid of it once and for all. Is it cursed? Can it only be lost in battle? Why doesn’t the character want it? Week Four: Crafting of a magical blade. A blacksmith, a mage, who is crafting this sword, and what makes it magical? Is the crafting of it a skill that takes many years to learn? Or can anyone with a manual and a DIY kit from the internet do it?
Corbin stood over the chest he’d come so far to find, the dragon dead behind him. It had been a fearsome battle, and the knight had many injuries. Still, it was over. The treasure was his. His lord would be happy. But he, himself, had an itch.
He wanted to know what was in the box. His lordship had rather sternly reminded him of his place. It was not for him to know. It was a rarity only those of noble blood could appreciate. He was to leave it sealed and return with it quickly.
Corbin popped the lock with his sword and the lid flew open. Hundreds of tiny luminescent creatures with gossamer wings poured out. There were so many that the room became too bright to see. As the light died down he could see the stream head out of the lair.
A few remained. One floated to land on Corbin’s cheek. He yelped as it bit him, panic rising as his face began to grow cold. His strength left, and he fell in a heap beside the chest. A glittering caught his eye. The fist sized blue stone calling his name was the last thing he saw.
Sophie stood dumbfounded, the only sound in the cavernous space was the dripping off the stalactites. There in the center of the dais, stood the very treasure they had come here to get. Unguarded. Grush, the ogre she had hired for protection, made to move towards it and she motioned him back. There was supposed to be a dragon.
The lair, she had been told many times, was a massive cave network, filled in each tunnel with various treasures. They descended the echoing tunnels, alert for any change in temperature. Despite the many variances in the local’s stories, all agreed the rarest treasures were guarded by a dragon.
So where was the thing? The further down they had climbed the greater the group’s nervousness grew. The goblin relic specialist, Patok, muttered repeatedly about a bad feeling. Sophie shared this feeling when they came to a huge room, so large they couldn’t touch the rock formations that hung like daggers above them. Like the tunnels the room was empty, save for a gold dias in the middle. On it stood the Amulet of the Rose Queen.
It truly was beautiful to behold. Made of rare elven metal the amulet’s large pink crystal glowed softly. Said to give the wearer the power to woo anyone, all Sophie cared about was the paycheck when she delivered it to her employer.
But, this was too easy. She scanned the room for any sign of a trap. Nothing but bare rock, her own team and an unguarded priceless treasure. Finally, Patok could wait no longer. The goblin tiptoed towards it, his hands hovering over it for only a moment before snatching it up. For a brief moment nothing happened. Then a cracking began.
Stalactites of all sizes began to rain down, morphing into dragons as they fell. Iridescent stone flew around the upper space, with more and more joining them. The group stood in shock as cries echoed loud enough to deafen them, then the glowing stone began to descend.
“Run!” The ogre’s shout knocked Sophie out of her shock. The team ran back up the tunnel, the grinding of stone wings in pursuit. The tunnel began to heat up and the ogre picked up Sophie and the goblin to sprint.
The trio barely made it outside before flames erupted from the mouth of the cave. The ogre didn’t stop running. Sophie looked back to see dragons at the edge of the cave. They shot fire and roared but they didn’t emerge.
At the bottom of the mountain the ogre finally slowed. They caught their breath at a stream. Stone golems? Sophie thought of how great the hoard must have been to go to the length of enchanting an entire cave network with personal guardians. Then also, who or what is powerful enough to do that?
“We found them in the chicken coop!” THe kids were smiling, as though this was a good thing. Liam tugged on his beard, staring at the largest eggs he had ever seen.
“Can we keep it?” The hopeful faces would have melted most men. But Liam was not most men. Liam was a parent.
“No.”
“But Dad…”
“We don’t even know what they are. I’m sorry but I’ll need to hand these in, well, somewhere.” Ignoring the laments, Liam went to look for a box to put the eggs into. The trio had settled somewhat by the time he returned. He began lining the box when a faint crack was heard.
Liam’s head snapped around in time to see a shard of an egg go flying. All three kids jumped back as the largest egg split to reveal the strangest looking lizard Liam had seen. As the other two eggs began to crack, the larger one stretched up and out of the towel nest the kids had made. It was as long as his shin from nose to tail tip, covered in dark green skin. The lizard rubbed its head on the carpet, trying to shed the last of the egg sack.
Frozen in place, Liam was at a loss for words. Lizards don’t have wings. The thing gave a cough and a tiny flame was spat out. Lizards don’t spit fire either. He stopped the small flame out and looked to see all three kids slowly shuffling towards it.
“CAN WE KEEP IT?!” THe kids descended on the pseudo-lizard. Liam lunged to stop them from touching it, but the thing rolled over and leaned into the pats. The other two pseudo-lizards came down to join in, one navy and one red.
“No. Just, no.” Liam reached for his phone, at least he knew who to call now.
“Dad, wait!”
“Why not?”
“My dagon.”
“It is NOT a dragon! I’m calling animal management. Guys, we don’t know what they are. The fire spit thing is not ok. You can play with them until they get picked up.” They couldn’t be dragons. They had all but gone extinct after the government began destroying egg nests.
Dragons had been a fashionable pet once upon a time. As the practical implications of having a pet that will outlive you became apparent the government had taken steps to prevent their breeding for sale. Private ownership was no longer an option. Feral dragons released into the wild after their owner died were a real problem and anyone caught harbouring eggs was given severe penalties. These were not dragons.
“My dagon.” The little one cuddled the blue lizard tightly, which just seemed to make it happier. The other two were silently stroking one each. The ringing led to an automated message, which Liam missed entirely.
A short growl was followed by the lunge of their dog, who rushed the lizards. Liam caught him before he could get too close. The lizards however, had scattered, the kids running after them.
The blue one was trying its best to fly. Its wings were not up to the task and the poor thing nearly landed in the fish tank. The green one was sitting on top of the red behind the sofa. It growled when the kids tried to coax it out. Liam pulled the kids away and sent the elder one to take the dog back outside.
“My dagon.” The little girl had the blue one in her arms again. Liam redialled animal control and blessedly, a real person answered.
“Hi, yes, look I’ve had a few of what appear to be a type of dragon like lizard hatch, the kids found the eggs in the chicken coop and they hatched just now.”
“No worries Sir, we get many reports of nests in strange places around this time of year. The feral ones tend to come into town more and more these days. It’s the…” Great, Liam though, a talker. By the time she had finished the mandatory policy warnings and given him a full weather report the kids had assembled in front of him.
“Please Dad, what about just this one?” The blue one had not left the girl’s arms once. They levelled him with their best expressions of hope again.
“Pease, Dagon?”
“Ok Sir, how many eggs were there in total?”
“Three.” The navy lizard, despite being the same size as his daughter, managed to make itself look small in her arms. He really couldn’t tell which one was clinging harder.
“Oh good, a small nest. And how many survived the hatching?”
“Three.”
“Did any make an attempt to fly?”
“Ah yes, one.”
“Noted. Occasionally the dragons are kept as guardians for various facilities but flying is a trait we don’t want. Please make sure you let us know which one as it’ll be put down on site. Did any escape?”
Liam paused for a moment. He wanted them gone, he didn’t really want them dead. The navy dragon had started snoring.
“Pease Daddy.”
“Yes one escaped, the other two are balled up behind my lounge.” He waved at the kids and tried to shush them. The force of holding in the excitement went to their legs and they bounced around him.
“Ok Sir, we’ll send someone out to collect them within the hour.” Liam hung up the phone, wondering how the hell they were going to hide a dragon in the middle of the suburbs.
Liam turned to the kids, still bouncing.
“We need to hide it. Look we’ll keep it but you need to follow the rules I set out. And I guess it needs a name.”
Kevin crept as quietly as he could towards the beast. It was a youth, but no less dangerous for it. A light puff of smoke issued from its nostrils as it snored. In the waning daylight a faint gold shimmer covered the creature’s bronze scales. This was it. This was his dragon. If he could tame this magnificent beast, he might finally be free.
Only the bravest warriors and the dumbest stablehands tried to tame a dragon. It was impossible in their infant stage. The young dragons had no control over their fire for the first few decades. Though retaining much of its feral nature, dragons became far more sedate and even cordial after a couple hundred years. Armed with an enchanted collar, if a tamer could get it around the neck there was a high chance the dragon would suffer the saddle. At least that is what everyone said. A beast around 100 would respond well to offers of food. This dumb stable hand was ready.
All Kevin had to do was get the collar on it. At least that was the most important step. Once the collar was on it couldn’t breathe fire. Then all he had to do was convince it not to eat him. He had yet to come up with a plan for that. If he could get the saddle on it he might stand a chance. He just knew there was no turning back now. The knight he served, a baron’s son named Martin, would have noticed the missing saddle by now. Martin had promised him knighthood. However over the years he had come to realize the role of Page simply meant slave to the knight. All or nothing, he thought.
Somehow he had reached the dragon’s head without waking it. There was no time to stop now. Almost without thought he draped the spell worked chain over the dragon’s neck. As soon as the metal touched its hide the collar wrapped itself around and fastened tight. The beast was awake in moments and Kevin sprang away from it, landing in the dirt.
There was a long moment in which the two simply stared at each other. Kevin could not read anything in the dragon’s expression. He took a step towards it and waited. The dragon did not move. He tossed the side of lamb at it and the best did not take its eyes off him. He took another step, then another. The beast did not move one muscle. After many tense moments he arrived face to face with it. A deep scar split the dragon’s face from the left brow to its jawline. It only served to make the dragon’s stare more intense.
The dragon let out a low growl as Kevin continued to its back. He could see its muscles tense as he placed the saddle on. The enchanted straps did themselves up and the growling intensified. Kevin braced himself, counted to three and hopped on.
He had barely enough time to grab hold of the saddle handle before the beast took off. The dragon sped through the clouds with Kevin screaming. They flew over the mountain it had taken him a week to get to in a few minutes. It dove into the woods to weave around trees, with Kevin barely hanging on. They flew up into the clouds again, higher and higher until the mountains became small dots. Kevin clung to the beast, shivering in fear. After a time the beast slowed, allowing Kevin a moment to breathe. He kept a firm grip on its neck as it plunged back down towards the earth. As it neared the tree line an arrow shot passed, barely missing the dragon’s shoulder. It roared and landed on a rock ledge.
Kevin recognised the banners as the search party led by Martin went below. The group all had the same grim look. Except for Martin. His face wore a look of malice. Kevin shivered at the thought of being captured. The dragon looked from Kevin to the group and back. He still couldn’t read its face. He stood frozen in place, waiting for a miracle.
Martin was shouting with joy all the things he would do to Kevin when a mist began to rise around the group. A few of the men were spooked, and despite Martin’s best efforts, the group fled the area.
Kevin watched Martin leave. Only then did he notice the dragon billowing smoke down into the small gully. The collar had fallen off during the flight. The beast turned to stare at him again. He stood and froze. What now? The dragon cocked its head and waited. Without thought, Kevin strode to it and hopped into the saddle. A new home.
C.M. Wellsmore 