By S. M. Jake
Torryn’s stomach tightened under their stares, and he flexed his grip on the ancient hilt. The sword’s flat steel lay cold against his shoulder, overly heavy in both weight and responsibility.
“That’s…” The old man at the center of the table shook his head, the glittering jewels and embroidery attesting to how much he and the other lords had “suffered” under this war. “That’s not what the legend speaks of.”
Torryn’s jaw clenched, his grandfather’s ragged voice echoing in his head.
That bull-headed boy…
“Surely, this is jest.” The lord from Torryn’s province huffed, his brocade oversleeves tangling as he crossed his arms.
A willowy lord to the left pounded the table. “The true king will pull the sword from the stone! That is how we will know!”
“Indeed!” others chimed.
“Pretty sure…” Torryn drawled, shifting his weight casually to hide his nervous trembles. “The exact wording is ‘wield the sword.’ Not pull.”
He swung the sword off his shoulder; the massive chunk of chiseled rock still adhered to the blade thunked onto the battered wood floor. He clenched the hilt with both hands, widening his stance. “I’m wielding it.”
Voices echoed through the Great Hall as the lords dissolved into squabbles, sending servants skittering as they called for texts and records.
Around the edges of the room, knights stood watching, whispering and shrugging as they eyed Torryn. They obviously knew the horrors this war had wrought. They wore grime of endless battles in every crevice of their armor, bore the strikes of the enemy in each dent and broken link of mail, carried the ghosts of loss and the guilt of hard choices within their eyes. Yet none of that meant they would follow him.
Torryn was far from kingly. He was big—all feet and hands, stature, and waist. Thick through the middle and through the head, barely able to read and no mind for numbers. For all his strength and willingness to work, he had yet to outgrow the clumsiness of adolescence. And acne had set in with a vengeance, riddling his plain face with painful welts. Torryn was a nobody and looked the part.
That bull-headed boy…
He forced his hands to loosen, blisters screaming across his palms and fingers. It’d taken him two weeks to chisel the rock. He’d thought to strip it clean, but the closer he got to the blade, the harder the rock grew, clinging with a ferocity that became impenetrable. But Torryn wasn’t picky, so, he’d settled for something else.
He’d turned a sword into a hammer. One that only he had the bull-headed notion to attempt to swing.
“It’s too poetic!” the gem-crusted lord railed as he threw aside another scroll into the growing pile behind him. “Completely untrustworthy! Find another!”
Voices rose higher, the leaders of the land hunching farther over their table now covered in parchments and books.
Metal flashed, catching Torryn’s eye as a knight stepped forward. Gray flecked his trim beard, each step brimming with confidence and strength as he crossed to the center of the room and stopped in front of Torryn.
“You know who I am, boy?” His voice was quieter than Torryn expected, but it held a weightiness that blanketed the room. A scar cut through the thick eyebrow which rose with the knight’s skeptical glare. The lords grew quiet behind him.
A green surcoat with a silver stallion. This man came from Torryn’s province, but who? His mind came up blank.
“No,” Torryn said.
The brow arched higher. Knights whispered. His stony gaze dropped, eyes narrowing as he seemed to take in Torryn’s mangled handywork. “Did you try to pull it?”
“Yes.”
The knight nodded, waving down the half-buried blade. “And when it didn’t work, you did this. Turned the sacred sword into a brutish hammer.”
Torryn forced air into his nerve-strangled chest. “Yes.”
“Why?”
His stomach lurched, but he wouldn’t shy from the truth. Even if the lords took his head for speaking it.
“’Cuz my parent’s crops were burned for the third year in a row, and tribute is still demanded.” Saying it aloud bolstered him, strengthening his voice and smoothing its tremble. “‘Cuz raids from the enemy—and commandeered goods from our own—mean my village hasn’t seen a trade caravan in eight months, and our medicine ran out six past. ‘Cuz my brother—”
His throat wrenched shut, blocking the words. He attempted to go on, but it wouldn’t budge. He flexed his shoulders and firmed his barely stubble-lined jaw, blinking quickly as he fought to hold the man’s gaze. His voice came back, softer, but no less determined. “I will see the war ended, and our people taken care of.”
Murmuring traced down the lords’ table, scowls deepening. Knights shifted along the edges of the room but held their silence as they watched the man in green.
A smirk tipped the green knight’s mouth, his eyes growing dark with either spite or mischief. Perhaps both.
“Stubborn young man,” he whispered, so softly Torryn was certain the words were meant for him alone.
And then he dropped to one knee.
Metal crashed as the green knight’s fist rapped against his plated chest. “Long live the king!”
The room filled with the ring of metal, armor hitting the floor.
Torryn’s head spun as knights of every banner fell to their knees, beating their breastplates and taking up the chant. The servants behind followed suit, while the lords screamed in fury.
Could he really do this? Take hold of the throne that had been vacant so long? Lead a kingdom? End a war? That had been his plan. Yet now, staring it in the face, his nerves faltered, fear creeping in. He was no king. He was barely even a man.
His grandfather’s words cut through the chaos, interweaving determination with the fear, and firming his grip on the ancient hilt.
That bull-headed boy… Too stubborn to let go of hope. Too stiff-necked to give up on us.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I love this Sarah. ❤️❤️
Thank you, Kelly!!
This is a fantastic twist on the sword in the stone. Love it!
Thank you, Nessa!! :)
Sarah! I LOVE this and Torryn. I will bake cookies for him and the whole army. Fantastic story!
Yay! Cookies all ’round! and thank you
LONG LIVE THE KING!!!
:)
I love how the knight in green makes Torryn speak and then decides to give his allegiance. All of this is so powerfully well-written!
Thank you so much!
Loved this story! 😍 🗡️
Thank you, Morgan!
Fun twist on a favorite tale! Great job Sarah!
:) Thank you so, so much!!
Thank you, Kelly!!
I love this, Sarah! The unexpected hero that could be any one of us!
Thanks, Cassie!!
This story is amazing! I like this version SO much better than the one where a random boy pulls the sword out because he was “chosen.” This is how the legend should have gone.
Thank you so much, Kevin. I’m a sucker for a fun “chosen one” now and then, but I just had to see how it would play out if someone decided(!) to be chosen.
This is fantastic! Torryn seems to have some of the things it really takes to be a great leader. I hope you write more about him!
I always have too many ideas brewing, so we’ll see if anything else pops up with Torryn. And thanks so much!
Oh my goodness! Who doesn’t love an ending like this?! This story ties together so nicely: beginning, middle, and end. Thank you S.M. Jake for being a great storyteller.
Oh, thank you, JJ!!!
Absolutely phenomenal! Love the concept, great writing style. So good!
Thank you so much!
What a way to burst onto the Havok scene! One of my favorites EVER from you!
This might be my favorite story you’ve written! So, so good. I had chills by the time I got to the end. Well done, friend!
Brilliant. And so beautifully written, I feel as if I’ve just read a novel’s worth of story!
Wow! I absolutely love this. Great characterization, great tension, beautifully written!
Outstanding! (I’d love to see more of this character.)