Part 12 Iron Writer Christmas Special - The End

This is it! The end of the 2015 Iron Writer 12 Days of Christmas Special, one day early (due to Christmas...best to be with 'real' people on that day :-))
Here are the stories on the website...
http://theironwriter.com/the-iron-writer-challenge-weekend-quickie-158/
And here's my final piece! Hope you've enjoyed the whole story and stories from the other Iron Writers!

WQ158 - image above, brokenness, a true friend, winning by losing

Part 12 (the end)


With a horse given by the Empress' guard, Feyle rode to where he'd begun, through the wasteland and past his discarded sword and armour, remnants of his former self. He needed them no longer. Breaking through the fence, he entered into his old domain.
"Halt! By order of Kristphen the Grim in the name of the Emperor, halt!" shouted a Captain commanding a legion of men. There were too many, but there was no going back. His horse plummeted into the ranks, with sword swinging through the lines. Falling to the ground, he fought for space, cutting down any soldier who dared come near. Over time, he was hit by lucky strikes while slashing through the crowd and fell. The circle around him broke to show Kristphen himself, knife in hand. Feyle tried to stand but could find nothing left. His strength spent, he watched his last moments go by.
"Feyle! You are a traitor to the Emperor and to me! Die like the dog you are!" Kristphen stabbed Feyle in the chest and all went dark. He'd lost, Kristphen had won the final victory. But he felt no more brokenness, no emptiness in his loss. He'd been true to himself, death becoming his true friend. He waited to die and heard trumpets calling nearby. Krisphen fell beside him, dead.
"The Empress! She is here! Flee! We are undone!" shouted a soldier.
A moment later, the old man laughed, giving Feyle his hand. "Young man, now is not the time."

Part 11 of 12 Iron Writer Christmas Special

Part 11...almost finished! Wow, it's coming to a climax...
Here are the stories on the Iron Writer website...
http://theironwriter.com/the-iron-writer-challenge-weekend-quickie-157
And here's mine..

WQ157 image above, an ancient text, a binding covenant, an offering


Part 11

The Empress motioned for the guards to release Feyle, and the chains and nooses fell away, allowing him to stand.
"Citizen, I give you three choices," said the Empress. He bowed his head to receive them. "The first, to stay in this court and create art like we have never seen before. The second, to go back to the streets and fill the hearts of our people with your talent. The third... to do what you must."
Feyle looked up at the Empress. "I know now that I wish the third, but I made an oath on the holy book," he said.
"An oath under duress is no oath at all, that is no binding covenant," said the old man beside him.
"Ah, yes," said the Empress. 'I almost forgot." A servant passed her an ancient text. She opened up the scroll and read. "Councillor of Arts, as Empress of this land I hereby banish you to the furthest reaches of the empire."
"What? You cannot do this!" The guards took the Councillor away. "I will have my revenge!" he screamed as the doors closed on his last words.
"And now, an offering," said the Empress. One word to the Captain of the guard and he was gone, emerging moments later with a sword, it's scabbard embellished with rubies and emeralds, it's handle plated in gold. "Take this with my blessing and go."
Feyle bowed once again and the Empress handed him the magnificent sword, her smile filling his soul.

Part 10 Christmas Special Iron Writer Quickie

I have no idea where this little story is going. Two more parts after this...will Feyle find whatever he's looking for?
Here are the stories up on the Iron Writer website...
http://theironwriter.com/the-iron-writer-challenge-weekend-quickie-156/

And here's mine...

WQ 156 - image above, a reputation, Sage advice, the best of three good choices

Part 10

The court grew silent as Feyle spoke.
"For nigh on thirty years I trained and fought under the Emperor's banner..." Noblemen tensed, the guards held their weapons at the ready. "In that time I slayed many a good man and watched more fall at the hands of others. My heart could take no more, but Kristphen the Grim blackmailed me with the lives of a thousand citizens to force me on one last mission."
"We know of this Kristphen. His 'good' reputation travels far," said the old man.
"When I found myself at your gates, I was lost, until I was shown the path to enlightenment," said Feyle, bowing his head. "And now I give all I can, mere markings on the wall." The court filled with mutterings and whispers, making the old man raise his hand for them to stop.
"Councillor, whom did he kill?" asked the old man.
"That matters not!" said the Councillor.
"Tarkan of Olyshan," read out the Empress. The old man huffed.
"An assassin! And of the worst kind!" After a scornful look towards the Councillor, he turned to Feyle. "Young man, I am not one to give a sage's advice, but I say this to you: know your place and do what must be done." With that, the old man bowed to the Empress and stepped back among the members of court. The Empress stood.
"Citizen, I give you three good choices, and it is your right to take what is best for you."

Part 9/12 Iron Writer Xmas Special Quickie

Yep, part 9/12 of the Iron Writer Xmas Special Quickie 2015 is up!
http://theironwriter.com/the-iron-writer-challenge-weekend-quickie-155

And here's mine :-)

WQ 155 - image above, agreement of testimonies, witnesses, documented evidence 

Part 9

He was ready for them, a troop of guards. He desired no more bloodshed and allowed them to chain him, the monster that he was and would always be. Dragged through the streets, those that knew him and his works of art were shocked. In court, the Councillor of Arts was there, the Royal Scribe beside him with a mass of parchment.
"Empress, your Majesty," stated the Councillor. Feyle tried to look up towards the throne but his head was held down by three noosed spears. "I have an agreement of testimonies from many witnesses to say that this man murdered another while the moon crossed the sky. It is with this documented evidence that I plead you sentence this man to death." The Councillor took the parchment from the Scribe and held it up to the Empress. She motioned for a servant to bring it to her and she nodded while reading them through.
"Citizen," she said. The noosed spears loosened and Feyle was able to lift his head and see the Empress for himself. The court filled with gasps and the Empress was taken aback. "What is this?"
An old lord and member of the court came forward. "Your Majesty, this is the man whose art has brought the city to life. How can he have killed another?"
"The proof is there!" said the Councillor.  
The old man walked over to Feyle. "Young man, did you?" he asked.
"To my shame, sire, I have killed many," he confessed.



 

Part 8 Iron Writer Xmas Special + Submission rejection

Part 8/12 of the Iron Writer Xmas Quickie Special is up!
http://theironwriter.com/the-iron-writer-challenge-weekend-quickie-154/
And here's mine :-)

WQ 154 –image above, inadequacy, stubbornness, history

Part 8

Feyle's work finally made it to the royal court, and the Empress herself was impressed.
"Councillor," she commanded.
"Yes, your Majesty?" asked the Councillor of Arts.
"Find this man whose splendid works these are. Assess him for acceptance to court."
Much to his dislike, the Councillor searched for this talented vagabond and found him in a square on the edge of the city. A crowd had gathered to watch Feyle at work... it took only a moment for the nobleman to see that all was true about this beggar. His art was fantastic, something he had never seen before. It made all the artists in court look inadequate by comparison. He marveled at the drawings, paintings, joining the people amassed in quiet banter about how superb it all was.
But it was not to be. Accepting a man from the street into the royal court was unheard of. Throughout history, artists of all forms were found among the noble families or friends of such. And so, in his stubbornness, the Councillor for Arts rejected Feyle and his work. To make sure his decision could not be overturned, he sent an assassin to kill him.
Feyle, however, had not lost any of his old abilities. Though now armed with rudimentary drawing utensils, no man was his match. As soon as he heard the killer jump over the wall which separated Feyle's broken shack from the street behind, his fighting skills awoke once again and the assassin lay dead at Feyle's feet.


...4 more parts to go, I wonder where they will take Feyle...

And...I got a REJECTION from Daily Science Fiction for my little story I sent them (First Sight), a damn good short, too. The letter says...

"Thank you for submitting your story, "First Sight", to Daily Science Fiction. Unfortunately, we have decided not to publish it. To date, we have reviewed many strong stories that we did not take. Either the fit was wrong or we'd just taken tales with a similar theme or any of a half dozen other reasons.
Best success selling this story elsewhere.
 - Jonathan & Michele, Daily Science Fiction"

It was 'strong' but they've seen it before, or so they imply but don't actually say. So helpful. Only ONE publisher has bothered to tell me the problems, and I was able to fix them. TELL ME the problems and I'll fix them. I'll have another look at it, see if I can submit elsewhere...

Part 7 WQ153 Christmas Special!

Part 7 is up of the Iron Writer Xmas Special!
http://theironwriter.com/the-iron-writer-challenge-weekend-quickie-153
Of course, here's mine, and you can find the earlier parts...in earlier posts...unbelieveable, eh? :-)

Other than this, working on a few things...rumour has it, "All For Love" might be out mid-Jan 2016 :-)

WQ 153 Xmas special 7/12 - image (see above), the four classic elements, an artist, something for nothing

Part 7

At first, he felt all life escape him and was pulled for what seemed an eternity, but finally, he awoke abruptly, the image of pure lava flame burning in the crushing sea, his will, the energy of his psyche mixing with the whirlwind of his mind, the air of creativity and wisdom, both being quenched by the emotional waters of his heart. All worked as one, fire, air and water to create earth, his body, the vessel for his spirit... which was empty. He searched himself and found hatred and death, mistrust and murder. His years as an assassin and warrior had worn his soul down to nothing. It all had been for nothing!
A light appeared and he followed until images came into focus, his life, for what it had been, shown in front of him, a life of blood. At that moment, he chose to change, to no longer take life from others, but give a piece of himself, give whatever he could to others.
He opened his eyes to a brand new day, and his hand grabbed a small discarded lump of coal. He stood up and on the wall he drew, emptying his heart of all emotions, feelings. Soon, people would stop to see his unique work, some giving him parchment to make his mark there. He accepted no payment, giving something for nothing except a smile. Word passed on and soon his extraordinary talent was known throughout the city as an artist, bettered by none.

Part 6 - WQ152 ...heating up!

Day 6 of the 12 Days of Xmas Iron Writer Special...it's heating up! I have no idea where's it's going but ut's one hell of an adventure...
Here's the website, and you should check out the other continuing stories as well as mine (from WQ147 onwards)
http://theironwriter.com/the-iron-writer-challenge-weekend-quickie-152

But here is my Part 6...

WQ 152 - Elements: apt, a spiritual experience, foreign aid

Part 6

But shine, he could not. As he travelled on, days, weeks went by and there were no signs of sustenance, neither water, plant nor animal. He grew weak, continuing on with less until finally he could no longer hold his sword, dropping it to the ground. Failing to retrieve it from where it fell, he continued on, step by step until he came to a large city. Once inside the gates, he sat by the thick, cold walls, resting his aching bones and nurturing an empty stomach. His uniform was mere rags.
"You're not from around here, are you?" said a small voice. Feyle looked up at a child, calm, innocent. From his clothes, he was from a rich family, perhaps of noble birth. A bodyguard stood nearby, hand on knife. Feyle shook his head, too weak to talk. "Here." The boy handed him some coins. "A little 'foreign aid' for the man from afar."
He watched as the boy walked away, before the hordes who appeared from the shadows mobbed Feyle, leaving him for dead in the street, each breath filled with pain. It seemed that he was more apt at saving his life by the sword than surviving the streets of an unknown city while weak and ill. Looking up to the sky above the tall buildings around him, he prayed for his own death, and there on the dirty, crowded streets, alone, weak and helpless, he had what he could only describe later as a spiritual experience.