Swordplay
Language: English
Pages: 203
ISBN: 2:00275173
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Seventeen rapier-sharp stories of swordplay, magic, and adventure...
From a samurai's sword to an assassin's blade, from Custer's cavalry sword to D'Artagnan's deadly weapon, from the sword of Damocles to the legendary Excalibur, these all-new spellbinding tales get straight to the point. Whether it's a sword bespelled to crave blood, cold steel that magicks its wielder into a video game, or a dwarf-crafted blade meant to slay a dragon, these weapons each come sheathed in their own fascinating story that cuts right to the heart of fantasy adventure.
straight, and someone had slipped it to the papers. It was no secret. Someone really didn’t like me. Three days later, as I dismounted my ride at a very hot and horribly dusty landing zone, I had no reason to change my opinion. Anbar was a hopeless case. The U. S. Army was up to its neck in hot water that was full of local fish that totally supported the insurgency. If we were lucky, our patrols occasionally intercepted a suicide bomber volunteer on his way to Baghdad. We might stumble on a car
the upcoming project. It wasn’t usual for the art director to hire and fire production crew, but the film’s director had a week scheduled with his latest mistress, and John was available to do the grunt work an assistant director would normally do. And so of course his boss had passed that grunt work on to John. He narrowed his eyes at the sword, still sure he’d seen a movement nearby. The room smelled like—jasmine? “Sir?” John glanced at the house cook who appeared on his right, the grand
commission. And again, for the hundredth time or more, Simon trembled with real fear at the God who’d asked a father to kill his own child. Simon’s face grew slick with sweat. His eyes blurred with the sting of his own tears. He blinked them away and held his pose. To teach and entertain. But not for the onlookers here in Wakefield, or in any town the troupe came to. He needed to know. Needed to understand the test that forged the infamy of the weapon he now held up in mockery of death. The
cherry between my fingers and pulled. It wouldn’t budge. My cotton-candy brain was annoyed at the puzzle. I considered just eating the cherry right off the sword, but I held it up to the light instead. Something dark was visible through the slightly translucent flesh. Now I was annoyed. My cherry was defective! It still had its—whatever you call it—seed—pit—stone . . . “If you think yourself worthy, draw the sword from the stone.” The woman’s voice seemed to come from nowhere. I looked
Pull! Then the sword came free all at once. The cherry went flying and I felt myself falling backward. A very bad word blurted through my lips as I braced for the agony that was certain to come when my injured leg hit the floor. Then I landed on my butt, rolling back, trying to take the brunt of the fall with my shoulders, not my broken leg. My head hit the ground painfully, then my legs came down . . . The agony never came. My head and butt hurt a bit, but it was a minor thing. I lifted