Flash Fiction Friday: Week #31

Amy C over at Romance Book Wyrm and Dottie over at Tink's Place have come up with the idea for a Monday Morning Flash Fiction challenge. Each Monday a new picture prompt will be posted and if you choose to participate - you post your story on Friday - 350 words, give or take.

And here is picture prompt #31:

 

Blade Dancer
By Michelle Greathouse

Ten Years Ago

The Enclave burned, hundreds of people lay dead or dying as the soldiers walked through making sure no one was left alive.  They did not see the old man escape with his granddaughter.

The attack was unprovoked.  The Enclave was a peaceful place despite the fact that it was known as the most prominent weapons making Enclave in the territory.  No one made a Blade like the Dancers.  

It was that ability to make a Blade sing - and one man’s jealousy - that caused so much death and destruction.  It could not go unpunished.

Now

Shar adjusted the leather strap around her waist and wrists, making sure her tiny blades were concealed.  No sense in giving away all of her secrets.    

She could hear the growing crowd, smell the unwashed bodies - and she could think of only one thing.  Finally, the day of reckoning was here.

For ten long years she and her grandfather had lived in secret.  Hiding from those who thought the Dancers wiped from existence, along with their ability to forge a blade.

Shar learned all that her grandfather had to teach.  She could forge any blade as well as he - but it was her ability to imbue that blade with power - with purpose, that set her apart.  As a Blade Dancer, Shar had no equal.

She had buried her grandfather just two months ago.  He now rested beneath a willow tree perched on the banks of a slow moving stream.  He was finally at peace.  Now Shar hoped to gain her own.

It had taken the better part of a month to travel to this small village.  She had heard rumors and then fact that the Regent was searching for a new bride.  He was looking at girls as young as eleven summers - for that alone, he needed to die.

In his arrogance, the Regent traveled with only a small brigade of soldiers.  Shar knew she would be able to handle them all.

“Bring forth the applicants.”  The Regent’s voice boomed from his perch atop the temporary dias that had been made just for this occasion.  Shar peeked around the corner from where she’d stationed herself and saw a line of ten girls ranging in age from eleven to maybe fifteen summers, walking toward the Regent.

Using the girls appearance as a distraction, Shar entered the crowd.  She pulled her blades and began to dance.  When it was all said and done, the soldiers lay dead at her feet.  The Regent sat immobile in his chair.

Shar calmly walked to the Regent and introduced herself.

“I am Shar of the Dancers, and this is my retribution.”  The young girls watched as the Regents head bounced upon the wooden floor.

Shar wiped her blades on the Regents gaudy blue cloak.  The crowd was silent, moving out of her way as she walked, head high, out of the village.

The End
Word Count: 492

So what do you think?  A little violent - sure.  But he had it coming, seriously.  

Have a great weekend.