Kings Glove – A Super Short Story

The Kings Glove shone.

Kings Glove

Kimabara was walking alone on the road; he had his staff in hand along with his belongings in a sack that was over his shoulder. Ahead in the distance, Kimabara saw riders approaching; they were three abreast taking up the entire width of the road.
“Make way, make way” the lead rider shouted as they got closer. The riders were at full gallop and were on an intercept path with Kimabara.
“The way has been made already, but not by me,” Kimabara shouted, his voice becoming a snarl of contempt.
The riders slowed their steeds to a trot before Kimabara. Once the three were upon him, they encircled him. Kimabara stopped and stood still. The three horsemen were uniformed similarly in full armour with the exception of one who had an angel wing design on the side of his otherwise featureless helmet.

The winged rider pulled up his visor to reveal a darkened face, darkened in its skin colour, darkened in its expression.

“We do not expect you to have any knowledge of who we are pale Orc, for your kind have a particular kind of ignorance. I carry a message for the king, and in our duties, there is nothing that says that we cannot cut down wretches like yourself. You look confused, I will educate you on what a ruler is even though I know the practice is futile. A king is our equivalent of the shortest most bad-tempered orc, what he says goes. Only not all rows must be met with savagery and killing, that’s how our kind is different from yours. I thank the moulders that I am not an orc” the winged rider said, the other two laughed.

Kimabara said nothing but he did not break the gaze of the winged rider. The winged rider narrowed his gaze and said, “I would ask you to not take offence at my words if you could understand such a concept.”

“A lowly brute like me has no business conceptualising abstract concepts such as offence. My kind exists only to be amazed by what you smart men find commonplace. Look at this river we stand in, straight and carved yet no water, what wonders.” Kimabara said.
“I do not like your tone beast,” the winged rider said.
“Tone, oh us orcs are far too dim to know about that, m’lord,” Kimabara said.
“Put some music in your voice, or I will mistake you for one who mocks,” the winged rider said leaning in.
“Our kind is too savage to know what music is, at our wedding ceremonies we merely hit trees with sticks,” said Kimabara looking at the other two riders who shifted on their mounts.

“We don’t have time for this” a deep voice said from behind a grill.

“I will say where the time is to be spent,” the winged rider said.
“Our message is to be brought to the king if he finds out that we have dallied when we should have sallied,” the deep voice said.
“Who is to tell the king, it is only us four, and it is soon to be three.” the winged rider said.
“I wish whichever one of you parts a speedy, safe journey,” Kimabara said. The other three let out a groan.
“Just get it over with,” said the deep voice.
“I’ll remind you I’m your superior,” the winged rider said. “Well this has been fun, but like any other orc you will only realise what has happened once it’s too late.”
The winged rider had dismounted, drawn his sword and swung when it came to a halt. Kimabara’s sack fell to the ground, contents spilling out onto the road.
Kimabara stood before him having caught the swing with his hand. The hand was in a glove, dark brown, large and bearing an eagle emblem on the knuckles.
“The king’s glove,” the deep voice said.
“The king’s glove is right, and your king has a message for you.”
“Please show mercy, I yield, I yield,” said the winged rider. The winged rider stood staggered. On one knee still holding onto the sword.
“I am too stupid an orc to know what it means to yield,” Kimabara said. Drawing the winged rider in closer.
“Mercy,” the winged rider said.
“I am too primitive to show such a thing”. Kimabara said.
The other two riders watched on.

Kings Glove

Kings Glove

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