The scent of battle swept across the courtyard, past the tall
statue of a man long dead. He stood with
his massive stone arms leaning against a broad sword nearly as tall as him. A hood fell over his face covering his eyes
and crown, the last true warrior king and the ones whose deeds they still sing
of.
Cadrala sat on her knees with her own sword on the ground
before her, wounds from the mornings battles covered with blood soaked
bandages. “Grant me the strength on this
day to uphold the sacred oath of the order; I will not surrender in the face of
my own end as long as long as I have life in my hands to sacrifice to the
true king.”
For more Five Sentence Fiction entries check out the wonderful Lillie McFerrin's blog.
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