The Hilt Of A Sword

• Sophie Morris, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2016

Thunder boomed in the distance and Beetle startled, her damaged leg crying out in pain as she leant too heavily on it. She huffed a breath and tugged the fur coat further around her, soaked through with rain, mud and possibly blood. She continued her agonisingly cold and painful limp in the dark to the dimly lit tavern a few metres ahead more bitter than before, heavy footsteps splashing loudly in the mud.
When Beetle arrived before the tavern’s porch, she squinted, the faint sound of her robotic eye zooming into focus, as she attempted to read a sign shrouded by darkness and situated before the two stepped stairs. The sign read, “Free Soldier Tavern”, which Beetle thought was rather ironic since any person who came to the tavern was most likely an outlaw or a bandit. None of the Empire’s soldiers would be inside here unless to arrest a person of interest. The owner’s desired effect must have been to give ex-army recruits or veterans a sense of belonging after their career ending injuries or retirements. But by the appearance of the shady little tavern (made entirely of old, worn wood and smelling of mildew, mould and something very, very stale), this place was only a sanctuary for bar fights, alcoholics and (was about to be) for foul mood elves. It would have to do.
She climbed up the two steps, which usually would have been a breeze, but someone had to slam the hilt of their sword into her metal thigh. Her leg caused Beetle to wince as she limped to the wooden door and shoved it opened with her non-metal shoulder. The inside of the bar was just as dim as the outside lighting, if not, lighter. None of the six people in the tavern paid her any attention as she hobbled over to the bar where a tall but lanky human boy stood, aimlessly wiping down the wooden bench. A man hunched over with considerably large biceps sat on a bar stool beside Beetle, chugging down his drink.
Beetle dug in her pocket, her injured shoulder protesting and sat down coins in front of the boy. While doing so, she didn’t notice the flash of her metal arm she gave him.
The boy’s eyes widened, alarmed, and his attention flickered from Beetle to something behind her. Before Beetle could register his movements, the boy had reached under and grabbed a long sword from underneath the bar. He pointed it at her, grip shaky and eyes wide.
“H-help! It’s a half metal!” the boy alerted the whole room, and all Beetle could do was groan. “Get the captain!” he cried.
Beetle turned just as two men stumbled noisily out of the tavern, into the rain.
The last of the men hurried to her, and as someone drove the hilt of their sword into her skull, the last thing she saw was the Human State insignia on Large Biceps’ breastplate and his amused expression.
Everything went dark.