Flash Fiction: “A List of Knives”

One name remained to be added to the list before Oran Ki’Tanil, Battle Lord of Breshtk Hold, general to Queen Erise’s armies, would allow himself to attempt sleep that night.  The small piece of parchment on his writing table mocked him.  Of the eight names written in his own hand, not one was a man or woman he would share a meal with let alone trust to carry out a portion of the plan meant to bring balance and justice to the field.  None of the collected killers were trustworthy and yet he had been tasked by his queen to compile them.

Duty and conviction did not always share a marriage bed together.  A cold, coarse sheet lay between them.  Oran rarely believed he had a true choice in the matter of either.  A Battle Lord was sworn, life held in chains, to his Hold.  Orders were never to be questioned unless asked but he wondered if those were truly orders then?

He pressed the wet nib of the quill to the parchment, deciding between two names that would be the last to go on the list of knives.  The Holds had their fair share of trained assassins.  Those beholden to any true code were not included on this list.  He raised the quill, leaving a pooled mark of ink, and reached for his cup of wine, drinking the sweet nectar of the Hallowed, hoping it would dull his convictions.  It did not.

His thoughts shifted to the adamant disapproval of the Wielder, Delya Glassene.  Little could be sifted through the mere presence of the woman.  Her oaths were questionable and motivations obscure.  Anytime Oran looked into the gray eyes of the Wielder, he felt as if nothing could be rightfully gathered, but tumbled like dice in a cup.

However, her push for Queen Erise to abandon her plan was all but stringent, giving no care or worry for protocol.  Her agreement only came after Oran raised his voice and threatened the Wielder’s life–a less than proud moment.  Doing so hammered the nail in the wall between them if such a wall could exist.  He preferred the obstacle; a Wielder could not and should not be trusted.  The Shoals could twist and curse the world if they remained open too long.  A Wielder was the only line of defense.  He knew too little but had begun to desire to learn more simply out of caution, which was his nature.

Oran Ki’Tanil had one choice in the matter.  He must finish the list and add a name to make the nine killers final.  They would be collected by Delya and set loose on Queen Erise’s enemies.  “Hallowed forgive me…” he said under his breath, setting the quill back to the parchment and writing the last name, his head a fog from the wine and his guts twisted in anguish.

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