One more short story. Hello and welcome to episode
6 of One More Short Story with me, Chris Fullwell,
where we celebrate a variety of stories from
the world of writing battle. Looking forward
to sharing these stories with you today. we are
going to start having episodes themed by class
now i'm not talking about you know titanic first
class steerage women and children no not that
not that sort of class get that thought out of
your head no if you are involved in the current
shenanigans on writing battle you'll know that
people get to choose a class before they start
any given contest and they're all sort of dungeons
and dragons based so You might be a warlock if
you're into horror or other grisly stuff. Or
you might be a bard if you prefer more humorous
stuff. Or you might, like me, just choose the
fighter class because anything goes and you want
to see what comes your way. Now the reason I'm
saying this is because this is the first of the
episodes with one of those class names attached
to them. This is going to be the wizard. episode
and that is the world of fantasy uh no that's
not the kind of fantasy where you end up in a
bath covered in baked beans listening to classical
music or you know any other fantasy somebody
might have in theory uh no two wonderful fantasy
stories kicking things off with ever bright ever
faithful by grace kwan and her prompts were fantasy
Mercenary and Helmet. Now, all I'm going to tell
you about this one is it's written from the perspective
of the helmet itself. And well, I don't want
to say any more. I really, really enjoy this
one. And I know you will as well. It is read
by the inimitable Sam James. His accent suits
this story perfectly. And here we go. This is
Ever Bright, Ever Faithful by Grace Kwan, narrated
by Sam James. With the last of his strength,
the dwarven smith Andrathath laid the helmet
in front of the elven queen. The silver dragon
on the crest, wings spread, glimmered in the
torchlight. Its name is Everprate, a faithful
companion to the Deledra family forevermore,
he whispered. Its wearer. shall have the strength
of mountains the speed of lightning and the counsel
of a true friend oh i was full of piss and vinegar
right out of the forge hadn't the greatest weaponsmith
of the ages sacrificed himself in my creation
and the ceremony where the queen presented me
to her son in front of our troops Well, that
was stir -the -blood -and -soul stuff. The banners
of the houses snapping in the wind, the armour
so bright you couldn't look at us without squinting.
It didn't matter if you were the lad whose spear
looked like a hastily repurposed hoe, or the
one -eyed sergeant who looked like he'd had a
few too many pints at breakfast. By the time
the trumpets sounded to send us on our way, Every
soldier standing could imagine being the hero
who would single -handedly take Oxeno's head
off his shoulders. The Dark Lord threw his minions
and creatures at us as we marched, but he might
as well have tossed pebbles in the water to halt
the tide. The young prince was unstoppable in
combat with me on his head. And our troops fought
all the harder for it. He was everywhere on the
battlefield. Neither armour nor dragon hide could
withstand his sword. And I watched over him,
whispering counsel and warnings in his ear. Soon
enough, we massed outside Oxerno's black walls.
Before our final assault, the young prince tucked
me. under his arm and galloped his stallion back
and forth in front of the lines. His long blonde
hair streamed behind him as he saluted the troops.
He was bloody magnificent, the only child of
the queen, the star of the Taledra dynasty. Although
he was getting too close to the ramparts, Highness,
your... Then I remembered my maker's words. The
magic in me was for my wearer, not my carrier.
I couldn't warn the prince. I couldn't speed
him away. I couldn't even stand between his skull
and the arrow fired by a sharp -eyed archer on
the wall. Two armies watched in stunned silence
as the prince crumpled. When his body hit the
ground, jeers exploded from the battlements.
But at least his general had the presence of
mind to race out for me. When he jammed me on
his head, I swore we would make them all pay.
Except nothing happened. There was no connection
between us. When Andrathath said I would be a
companion to the royal family, apparently he
meant only the royal family. He'd woven a ward
through me to ensure that. Maybe he was a pessimist
who meant it as a safeguard. Maybe he was just
a literal -minded bastard. Either way, everything
went to shit after that. Once Oxiano's army had
finished wiping the battlefield with us, I became
a prized piece of plunder. I was too small for
an ork head, but the abominations thought it
a great laugh to use me as a bowl. At first,
I bristled at the indignity, plotted and schemed
at revenge. But without a royal elf head under
me... I couldn't even be heard. I was no better
than the lowliest grunt's helmet. When I heard
of the queen's death, what was left of my pride
fled like the coward that it was. The only mercy
was that as my luster dulled and dents accumulated,
the orcs lost interest, and I became just another
bowl amongst others. in the baggage wagons. An
eternity of silence and meaninglessness stretched
out ahead of me. All I could hope was that someday
someone might melt and unmake me. In the meantime,
being forgotten was the best I could ask for.
Just my bloody luck, then, that an enterprising
goblin sellsword spotted me at supper one night
and snagged me to replace his leather helmet.
When he plunked me down on his greasy hair, I
developed a sudden gratitude for Andrathath's
ward. Although the stench of unwashed goblin
would have turned my stomach if I had one. I
should have known, no matter how bad things were.
Life could always laugh and lovingly give you
another punch in the face. Instead of only hearing
about Auxerre's triumphs, I was now forced to
participate in them. The Goblin's Company hunted
the last remnants of opposition and terrorised
the villages that harboured rebels or failed
to pay their ever -increasing taxes. And I watched
them do it. Protected his loathsome head while
he murdered and tortured his way through our
once free lands. But the arsehole's success turned
into my eventual deliverance. He grew rich enough
to retire. Although instead of stowing me in
a storage chest like I hoped, he put me on display
in his great hall. God's dammit. It was even
more humiliating than being an orc bull. When
his old lieutenant dropped by on his way through
to his next slaughter, they stood in front of
me reminiscing. Got me through the walls indeed.
The goblin patted me. I... His eyes widened and
his jaw dropped. because of the throwing axe
that was now embedded in his forehead, or the
arrow in his friend's throat, I assumed. He should
have learnt from the prince. When push comes
to shove, a helmet on the head is worth two hundred
in the bush. One of the intruders, a dwarf, picked
me up. Bit old, but well crafted, he said to
their leader. Good. We need all the arms we can
get. She took off her own helmet, and recognition
flared through me. The young prince's and the
queen's features were redrawn on the woman's
face. On second glance, however, the resemblance
wasn't as strong, and it didn't take long to
realise why. She was half human. For a moment
I wondered how this could be, but then I remembered
what was most important. A twig of the Taledra
family tree had survived. A faint hope sparked
in me almost too painful to acknowledge. But
she had already turned away to consult with the
archer, who was extricating his arrow from the
lieutenant. I searched for something, anything.
that could bring her attention back. I could
not fail my kingdom again. I screamed a silent
scream unheard by all. Why the hell had my maker
bound me to the royal family? A thought struck.
Andrathath, you glorious bastard. I found the
link he'd forged between me and the Teledras,
and, whispering a prayer to all the gods, I pulled.
The woman paused, confusion crossing her face.
Did you say something? she asked the dwarf. Not
me, he grunted. He was ransacking the goblin's
desk, tossing things onto the floor. She spun
in a slow half -circle, looking round. Then her
gaze fell on me, and her forehead creased. It
had worked. If I had legs, I could have danced
a jig on the spot. Of course, if I had legs,
I could have done a lot of other things differently
over the years. She picked me up and rubbed the
stump where the dragon once stood. It seems familiar.
This was it. I poured everything I had left into
that fragile connection, willing her to put me
on. Please. As if in a trance, she lifted me
onto her head and we were joined. Her shock vibrated
in me. Everbright, we thought you were lost to
us. I thought the same, but we found each other.
Gods, was I getting sentimental? Although, you
could have been quicker about it. She choked
out a laugh, as if she'd forgotten how to do
it. My apologies, but I hope you'll forgive me.
I need all the help I can get. I felt remade.
Reforged. Aye, let's show Oxirno what a half
-teledra and an orc bowl can do. Lovely fantasy
story there from Grace. Thank you so much, Sam,
for your narration and your editing and everything
else on that. Some lovely work. Not just a writer,
a man of many talents. Now, the nature of writing
battle, of course, being a competition, means
that some stories don't progress as far as we'd
like. In fact, I'd say most people's stories
don't progress as far as we'd like them to. This
is how it goes in a competition. Now Grace's
story in the Wonder Battle didn't make it out
of the house stage. It got a few votes, it did
well, but it didn't quite get that magic number
it needed to escape the house stage. But there
are two very important things to note here. First
of all, Grace was awarded a rare trophy during
the judging of that. Those of you taking part
in the professional battles will know about these
trophies. trophies as they've been sometimes
coined on the forum with only given out to five
stories per judge in the entire round so that's
that's dozens and dozens of stories and yeah
one of those judges selected grace is to receive
this trophy so the number of points you get in
a battle is not the be all and end all and then
crucially grace has got herself published This
story has been published in the very first edition
of Goblins and Galaxies. And its name ended up
on the front cover. So well done Goblins and
Galaxies for picking this up. I approve of your
choices. But I suppose the reason I'm labouring
this point is not... I'm not trying to make Grace
feel better. I don't need to do that. She's an
amazing writer. What I'm trying to say is that
those of us who take part in writing battle or
other competitions or other writers in general,
if a story doesn't succeed in the way you want
it to first time, there's going to be a life
for it elsewhere. There are going to be other
people who can read it. There are other places
that will publish it. So we shouldn't give up.
Yeah. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Seriously
though, Grace did a really good job and well
done for sticking to your guns and getting it
out into the world where it deserves to be. Next
up in our fantasy theme, we've got Of Ferrets
and Foxes by Regan Westergaard. Now, Regan in
real life has a passion for ferrets. I promise
I'm not making that up. And that comes through
in so much of this story. Now, I'm going to break
with my tradition here and then tell you about
the... the details and the results before and
there's good reason for that this was from last
year's autumn short story competition it was
in the cozy fantasy genre and her other prompts
were church and survivor now i won't spoil the
story for you because it is genuinely wonderful
and i don't want to give it away but i will tell
you that the reagan got runner up for this one
Yeah, she got one of those fancy gold trophies
in a running shoe, and deservedly so. She came
so close, so, so close to winning the whole thing,
and she's narrated it for us as well. So here
we go, of Ferrets and Foxes, written and narrated
by Regan Westergaard. A ferret makes a terrible
errand boy. Sable held the ridiculous creature
at eye level, his long body dangling happily
from her hand. She scowled at him, noting irritably
that his adorable tongue was poking out. Egg,
she said. His mauve nose twitched. Sable sighed
deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose with
her ferret -free hand. I told you to go find
me three bulbs of wild garlic. The ferret gave
a little squeaky grunt of confirmation. And you
brought me, she said, looking at the small pile
on her apothecary countertop. One white cap mushroom,
grunt. Two orange leaves, grunt. And somebody's
gold tooth. Egg wriggled in her grasp, squeaking
with delight. Sable dropped him three inches
back to the countertop and let her forehead fall
into her hands. Egg nosed his way between her
elbows, propped up on the counter. His stubby
black legs all seemed to move at separate times,
indifferent to the bendy slope of his golden
brown body. Don't try to be cute. I'm annoyed
with you. Egg yawned widely, little pink tongue
curling amidst a tiny maw of lethally sharp teeth.
Other witches got useful familiars, but Sable
had been stuck with this chaotic neutral sausage
link for years. As Egg slid gracelessly from
the counter and ambled off to find a suitable
napping corner, Sable cast her gaze toward the
vaulted stone ceiling. Her apothecary had once
been some kind of church. dedicated to a forgotten
god. The narrow, stained glass windows were perfect
for keeping the sunlight off her potions and
ingredients. Sable was staring at the gold tooth
in front of her, trying to figure out where in
the pits of hell Egg had found it when the front
door creaked open. Welcome to Edelroon Apothecary,
she said absently, gaze lingering now on the
teak marks in the mushroom's cap. How can I help?
But her voice died in her throat when she looked
up. The woman standing in her entryway was not
a resident of the nearby village. She had sleek
black hair and coppery skin. Her narrow eyes
curved strikingly across the wide plain of her
face. Oh, hi, Sable stuttered, flushing a very
flattering shade of crimson. You're... I mean,
you seem... I am new in town, yes, the woman
said, her smooth voice slicing through Sable's
bumbling. She took a step toward the counter.
I hear you are the person to see about potions.
Sable opened her mouth and waited for something
even remotely intelligent to come out. That depends,
she said finally. What do you need? A normal
human sentence, well done. The woman padded to
the counter, eyes darting across the wall of
jars behind Sable. Her beautiful lips tightened
ever so slightly. I need a love potion, she murmured.
Sable's heart stumbled to a stop. A wave of irrational
disappointment swept over her. Of course a woman
who looked like this wouldn't have moved here
alone. I sell them, Sable said, working to keep
her voice professional. But they can only bring
existing feelings to the surface. They cannot
create love. The woman frowned, thin brows coming
together. It will have to do, she sighed. pulling
an embroidered coin purse from her belt. As Sable
scrawled out a payment slip, she stole another
glance up at the woman. Her high cheekbones and
strong jaw set Sable's heart thundering. Her
cheeks burned and she fixed her gaze back on
the slip of parchment. Can I have your name,
please? The request came out in an abnormally
high pitch. The woman paused for a few moments
before responding, Leon. Sable's quill hovered
over the paper. R -Rian? Her mouth felt clumsy
around the foreign syllables. Egg scrambled up
the counter and across the slip, leaving an inky
paw print on the edge of the parchment. Rian,
the woman repeated, slowly this time, her eyes
following Egg's progress into a bundle of fresh
sage. The bundle sneezed. Sable shook her head.
Sorry, could you spell that? Rian laughed. It
was an unexpected sound, like the bark of a fox.
When Rian had finally left, Sable felt almost
drunk. She had just sold the most beautiful woman
she had ever seen a love potion. Rian returned
to the apothecary every week, purchasing the
same concoction each time. Sable dutifully avoided
asking questions about whom the love potions
were going to, and Rian didn't offer any insights.
It wasn't until her third visit that Sable even
learned the name of her homeland. It is an empire
called Kore, far across the Western Sea, Rian
said, her long, slender fingers brushing along
Egg's lengthy back. The useless weasel had just
returned from a long journey, during which he'd
collected a purple egg of unknown origin rather
than the bunch of clover Sable had asked for.
Now he was sprawled flat on his belly, legs obscured
beneath him. Sable narrowed her eyes at the ferret.
She never thought she'd be jealous of an animal
with the IQ of a watermelon. She chanced another
look at Yun's face. Her beautiful eyes were so
dark, nearly black, and pulled Sable into their
depths. Yun gazed back at her. I should probably...
Do you want to have a cup of tea with me? Sable
blurted out. Her face instantly began to burn,
and she wondered if she had temporarily become
possessed by the ghost of someone with self -confidence.
Gen looked startled for a moment, her petal -like
lips parting. Even Egg deigned to sit up and
stare at her. I... Gen began, copper skin darkening.
I'm sorry, that was... It's a little chilly in
here. Sable wished she could remember that spell
for sinking into the floor. Come on back to my
private room because it's chilly, not because
I'm trying to bed you gods. Smite me now. She
was shocked to see a shy smile curling the corners
of Gen's mouth. Actually, I would love that.
Sable's jaw dropped. Egg scrambled to his feet
and started bouncing around the counter, back
-arched in a weasel war dance, and squeak -grunting
until he lost his balance and fell to the floor.
Though I think it will have to be another day,
she continued, expression shifting to one of
apology. Sable's heart deflated as quickly as
it had swelled. Right, yes, I'm sure you're...
busy, she mumbled, eyeing the potion bottle in
the other woman's hands. Yan smiled gently and
reached down to pat Egg goodbye. He jumped at
her leg, claws snagging the fabric of her dress.
Egg, Sable hissed, seizing the ferret and hoisting
him into her arms. Yan chuckled as she stepped
back out into the brisk autumn afternoon. Sable
stared at the closed door for a few moments,
hand absently stroking along Egg's silky coat.
Suddenly she froze, a thrill shuddering through
her. She had a somewhat unhinged idea. She held
the drowsy ferret up. His little arms stuck straight
out over her grip, and he blinked at her through
half -lidded eyes. Egg, I have a task for you.
He brightened, whiskers flaring toward her. I
want you to follow Ryung. She definitely should
not be doing this. Don't let her catch you, just
see where she goes. Grunt. She gave the thick
fur on his head a pat before releasing him onto
the stone floor. He scampered off, body arched
up like a spring before throwing himself through
a hidden ferret -sized flap in the door. Sable
was startled awake by a violent digging sensation,
as if an overeager mole was attempting to burrow
through her ribcage. She yelped, shoving the
furry thing off her before realizing what it
was. Egg bounced wildly across her bed, squeaking
for all he was worth. Once she had blinked asleep
from her eyes, Egg launched himself from the
bed, tripping over his own shadow black paws.
Egg, what? The ferret leapt and wriggled across
the enormous woven rug that covered most of the
floor. I have to follow you, don't I? The weasel
dance increased in intensity. Sable heaved a
sigh, squinting up at the moonlight streaming
through the stained glass windows. She hauled
herself upright, jamming her feet into her shoes.
and swaddling herself in a thick cloak before
following the overexcited ferret into the night.
Egg bounded into the trees just outside the border
of the apothecary's herb garden, twisting over
his shoulder to ensure she was still following.
He led her deep into the forest, deeper than
she would usually travel in search of herbs.
She was about to ask the ferret if he actually
knew where he was going when he stopped dead.
His body fell flat to the pine needles blanketing
the ground. His neck held his white face straight
in the air. a remnant of his polecat blood. Sable
followed his unwavering gaze and felt her breath
catch. It was a fox, pacing in the moonlight.
The sight alone wouldn't have usually held her
interest, except this fox had nine tails. Sable
gaped at the magnificent creature, watching its
unsettled steps. It paused, pointed face swiveling
to stare directly into the trees where she and
Egg were hidden in the shadows. Sable's heart
stopped. She would know those eyes anywhere.
It had been three days since Sable had witnessed
the fox in the woods. She'd sent Egg out to collect
a bestiary she knew the village elder kept in
her personal library. He'd come back with a turnip,
a live snake, and a freshly baked pie before
she finally got her hands on the tome. She'd
found a page in the back of the book, a brief
account of the Gumyo, a nine -tailed fox of Kaurian
lore. taking the shape of a beautiful woman to
lure and devour men. They were reviled in Kore,
deeply mistrusted, and even murdered. Sable now
understood why Ran had fled. The Kumio would
be needing her weekly dose of love potion, and
Sable was stealing herself to do something stupid.
Egg had woken her at the asscrack of dawn, attempting
to yank an entire hibiscus bush through the ferret
flap in the door. Stems now covered her entire
work table, clipped leaves peppering the flagstones
at her feet. She'd spent all morning wrangling
the shrub's blooms into something presentable.
A loud creak sent Sable's heart into her throat.
Nian stepped through the door, her footfalls
uncharacteristically wary. Sable hastily brushed
the clipped stems to the floor and shoved the
bouquet under the counter. Before she could think
of something to say, Nian spoke. You saw me.
Sable's breathing quickened. Yes. Gan's mouth
twisted into something like fear or regret. I
was so tired of being hated. Sable closed her
eyes before responding, I know. She reached below
the counter before her nerve escaped her and
held the bouquet out to the beautiful woman before
her. These are for you, so that... so that you
know you won't be hated here. Yan took the flowers,
so slowly she seemed to fear they would disappear.
As Sable watched, Yan's eyes seemed to gleam
with recognition. These do not only speak of
friendship, she whispered. This flower is a symbol
of love in my homeland. Sable shot a shock glance
at Egg, who stared back with abnormal steadiness.
I'm sorry, she said, feeling her stomach twisting.
I know you have someone, the person you buy potions
for. I didn't mean... Sable trailed off. Rian's
gaze met hers. There is no one. The love potions
are for me. Sable gaped at her. You're drinking
the potions? Rian gave a slight nod. When everyone
in your homeland despises you, it is difficult
not to despise yourself. Her words were a knife
to Sable's throat. Without thinking and without
a word, she stepped out from behind the counter
and slipped her arms around Rian's waist. She
searched Jan's eyes for any sign that this was
okay. Sable got her answer when Jan's lips met
hers. She tasted of love potion. a natural mixture
of silly comedy with Egg the ferret, whom I think
would be a wonderful pet, perhaps. Egg sounds
hilarious. And mixing in that really human relationship
that's blossoming there with all the awkwardness
and the confusion and the what -ifs, and then
ending it so, so beautifully with the embrace
and the kiss. It's not like any story I've ever
read before. Maybe I need to get out there and
read more Ferret Suffolk romance stories. I don't
know. Maybe it's me, but it's awesome. Well done,
Reagan. So, two excellent stories from the fantasy
and cosy fantasy genres. Thank you for joining
us on one more short story with me, Chris Fulwell.
We'll see you next time.