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"Fortune in Justice" by captsalemvendari

This is a fanfiction I wrote based on the Books of Swords series written by Fred Saberhagen. I do not claim ownership of the Swords (Doomgiver, Farslayer, and Coinspinner) represented in this story. Nor do I claim ownership of Doomgiver's verse in the Song of Swords or the secondary names of the Swords. The characters and locations in this story, however, are my own creation. I had written this story strictly for fun. No profit is to be gained of it.

Category: Short Story

Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Swords, Magic

You can do an inline review of this work in the review tab.

A young man trudged along a road that led through a frozen field. The blue sky was clear, except where it was patched by clouds in the south and the east. The light of the noon-day sun reflected off of the white snow, forcing the young man to shield his eyes from the glare. The chill of the frozen dirt of the path threatened to penetrate through the worn soles of his black, leather boots.

The young man looked no older than nineteen years of age. He stood around a height of five feet, six inches. He held his gray winter cloak tightly around him to preserve his heat against the just-above-freezing temperatures of the northern tundra. As he walked, he kept his eyes down on the path immediately in front of him to help avoid the blinding glare of the snow. Every now and again he'd risk a squinting glance up ahead of him to spot a curve in the path.

As the young man, Jack, rounded a bend, something caught his eye. It sat on a small rise, dark against the glistening snow. Jack left the path to get a better look at the object, the snow crunching beneath his booted feet, some of it crawling in through the small tears in the tops and sides of his boots, chilling his toes. As he drew near the object, he realized it resembled a sword.

The sword stuck out of the ground at an odd angle. Jack observed a strange, mottled pattern in the steel that suggested the pattern went on for centimeters into the blade, though in reality the sword was only a full centimeter at its thickest.

Pulling the weapon from the ground, Jack found that the blade was a full meter in length, and very sharp. The black hilt seemed to be made of wood and, on closer inspection, was engraved with a white circle.

It was at that moment Jack picked up the sword when he heard a familiar shrieking off to the east. He looked up to see a dark object trailed by a faint, rainbow-colored streak in the sky. He knew all too well that this was Farslayer, the Sword of Vengeance, for he had thrown it himself several days prior to kill off one of his enemies. The man Jack had killed apparently had a friend who knew exactly who had thrown it, for Farslayer shrieked, racing back to its former master.

Only a moment had passed between seeing it and realizing what it was, but Farslayer had closed quite a distance as it screamed closer. At the last moment, Jack reflexively held up his new Sword to defend himself, despite knowing that it was futile to do so, and waited for Vengeance to take its hold.

But it never came. Jack opened his eyes to see the Sword of Vengeance back-tracking along its arch, back the way it had come. He turned his gaze to the sword in his hand.

Jack involuntarily whispered Doomgiver's verse in the Song of Swords when the realization of what he held in his hand dawned on him.

 

The Sword of Justice balances the pans

Of right and wrong, and foul and fair.

Eye for an eye, Doomgiver scans

The fate of all folk everywhere.

 

Jack gripped the Sword of Justice, removing his own long sword from its scabbard on his hip and threw it on the ground, replacing it with the Sword. Doomgiver fit almost perfectly well, with a few centimeters in the bottom of the scabbard to spare. He returned to the path and resumed his trek through the tundra. He knew exactly where Farslayer had come from.

* * * * *

There was a small village along Jack’s path called Glaciervale. There were a few houses, but not many, Jack guess fifty at most, since most of Glaciervale was a farming community. There were a couple of general stores in the town, and a small tavern known as the Soaring Monkbird. Jack entered this tavern and stopped in his tracks at the sight of what he saw next. A small group had gathered around a dead man. When he saw the man’s face, he knew exactly what had happened. This was the man who had thrown Farslayer.

One of the man’s friends, a guy named Gunther, gasped when he saw Jack.

“You!” he asked. “How in the name of Ardneh do you still live?”

Jack shrugged, acting as if he had no idea what was going on.

“No one can hide from Farslayer,” Gunther continued. His eyes looked Jack over and came to rest on the Sword at the young man’s hip.

“What Sword is that?” he needn’t have asked. The white circle engraved on the black hilt had already given Doomgiver away. “The Sword of Justice,” he whispered in answer to his own question.

Jack casually rested a hand on the Sword’s hilt.

“What are you going to do about it, Gunther?” he asked with bravado.

Gunther’s hand reached for his own sword, a well-kept short sword. But even as he drew it, Jack had Doomgiver from its sheath with a satisfying shink!

“Hey!” cried the bartender. “No fighting in the tavern! Take it outside!”

“Fine,” Gunther grunted, glaring at Jack. “We’ll take this outside.”

“After you.” Jack gestured toward the door with the point of his Sword. The young man casually lowered his Blade and followed Gunther out the door.

On the street, both men had their weapons in hand, facing each other. Gunther leaped at Jack. With seemingly little effort on his part, Jack had moved Doomgiver’s blade into the path of Gunther’s sharp edge. Feeling Doomgiver’s power take over, Jack’s hands were clamped around the black hilt, the Sword striking at Gunther with the same attack. As Gunther’s attack was aimed at Jack’s head, so was the Sword of Justice aimed at Gunther. Gunther’s head flew off his shoulders as though a child were playing tee-ball. The body fell limp, landing on its knees before falling flat on its chest.

A small crowd had gathered around what was unworthy to be called a fight. The spectators parted to allow Jack passage out of the ring they’d created and back into the tavern. He went to the bar where he ordered himself a tankard of booze. As he sat sipping at his alcoholic beverage, he heard shouts coming from a game of cards in the back corner. He stood up, picking up his tankard, and stepped over to the table to observe what was going on. They were playing a game called Two Card, a descendent of an old card game of the Old World known as Texas Hold ‘Em.

It wasn’t until he had realized that one man was winning every hand did Jack notice the pair of dice engraved in white on the black hilt of the Sword at the man’s hip.

So that’s why he keeps winning, he observed. He has Coinspinner.

“Deal me in,” Jack told the dealer as he took an empty seat at the table.

The dealer, after shuffling the deck several times, dealt two cards to each of his five opponents and himself as everyone anted up. Jack was dealt an Ace and King of Hearts. The man with Coinspinner, obviously feeling lucky, had thrown in a couple of coins to the bid. After everyone else saw him, the dealer flopped. Jack of Hearts.

“Any bets?” asked the dealer. The player left of the dealer tossed in a few more coins. Jack saw the bet, but Coinspinner’s master raised it. Two of the other players folded. The remaining four all saw to the bid.

The dealer flopped the next card. Ten of Hearts. Jack glanced at he who held the Sword of Chance. He could see slight doubt in the man’s eyes. He knew he wasn’t going to win with the cards he held. The man tossed in a bunch of coins hoping to bluff the rest into thinking he had a great hand. Three players folded, leaving only Jack and the man with Coinspinner.

The last flop brought up a Queen of Hearts.

“Any final bids?” asked the dealer.

Jack tossed a few coins onto the large pile. Mister Feelin’-Lucky raised the bid. Jack saw his bid and raised it again.

“Feeling lucky, eh?” asked the owner of Coinspinner, calling Jack’s raise. “You know you can’t win.”

“I’m sure I could,” scoffed Jack. He threw down his cards face up. “Royal flush.”

The man with the Sword of Chance just stared as Jack hauled the massive pile of money toward his side of the table.

“How?” he asked, drawing his Sword. “How could I lose with Coinspinner?”

The other players he’d been playing with began to murmur at the confession. Anger began to show on their faces. As Coinspinner’s wielder looked around, he realized that the anger was directed at him. He tossed Coinspinner down onto the floor.

“I-I can explain,” he said, holding up his hands innocently as the crowd drew closer around him. Soon he had a swarm of angry gamblers around him. None of them seemed to care that the source of the man’s good luck was sitting on the floor behind them. They were too angry that it had been used to win all those games. When Jack stooped to pick it up, the Sword of Chance had already disappeared.




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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

1. A young man trudged along a road that led through a frozen field. The blue sky was clear, except where it was patched by clouds in the south and the east. The light of the noon-day sun reflected off of the white snow, forcing the young man to shield his eyes from the glare. The chill of the frozen dirt of the path threatened to penetrate through the worn soles of his black, leather boots.

2. The young man looked no older than nineteen years of age. He stood around a height of five feet, six inches. He held his gray winter cloak tightly around him to preserve his heat against the just-above-freezing temperatures of the northern tundra. As he walked, he kept his eyes down on the path immediately in front of him to help avoid the blinding glare of the snow. Every now and again he'd risk a squinting glance up ahead of him to spot a curve in the path.

3. As the young man, Jack, rounded a bend, something caught his eye. It sat on a small rise, dark against the glistening snow. Jack left the path to get a better look at the object, the snow crunching beneath his booted feet, some of it crawling in through the small tears in the tops and sides of his boots, chilling his toes. As he drew near the object, he realized it resembled a sword.

4. The sword stuck out of the ground at an odd angle. Jack observed a strange, mottled pattern in the steel that suggested the pattern went on for centimeters into the blade, though in reality the sword was only a full centimeter at its thickest.

5. Pulling the weapon from the ground, Jack found that the blade was a full meter in length, and very sharp. The black hilt seemed to be made of wood and, on closer inspection, was engraved with a white circle.

6. It was at that moment Jack picked up the sword when he heard a familiar shrieking off to the east. He looked up to see a dark object trailed by a faint, rainbow-colored streak in the sky. He knew all too well that this was Farslayer, the Sword of Vengeance, for he had thrown it himself several days prior to kill off one of his enemies. The man Jack had killed apparently had a friend who knew exactly who had thrown it, for Farslayer shrieked, racing back to its former master.

7. Only a moment had passed between seeing it and realizing what it was, but Farslayer had closed quite a distance as it screamed closer. At the last moment, Jack reflexively held up his new Sword to defend himself, despite knowing that it was futile to do so, and waited for Vengeance to take its hold.

8. But it never came. Jack opened his eyes to see the Sword of Vengeance back-tracking along its arch, back the way it had come. He turned his gaze to the sword in his hand.

9. Jack involuntarily whispered Doomgiver's verse in the Song of Swords when the realization of what he held in his hand dawned on him.

10.  

11. The Sword of Justice balances the pans

12. Of right and wrong, and foul and fair.

13. Eye for an eye, Doomgiver scans

14. The fate of all folk everywhere.

15.  

16. Jack gripped the Sword of Justice, removing his own long sword from its scabbard on his hip and threw it on the ground, replacing it with the Sword. Doomgiver fit almost perfectly well, with a few centimeters in the bottom of the scabbard to spare. He returned to the path and resumed his trek through the tundra. He knew exactly where Farslayer had come from.

17. * * * * *

18. There was a small village along Jack’s path called Glaciervale. There were a few houses, but not many, Jack guess fifty at most, since most of Glaciervale was a farming community. There were a couple of general stores in the town, and a small tavern known as the Soaring Monkbird. Jack entered this tavern and stopped in his tracks at the sight of what he saw next. A small group had gathered around a dead man. When he saw the man’s face, he knew exactly what had happened. This was the man who had thrown Farslayer.

19. One of the man’s friends, a guy named Gunther, gasped when he saw Jack.

20. “You!” he asked. “How in the name of Ardneh do you still live?”

21. Jack shrugged, acting as if he had no idea what was going on.

22. “No one can hide from Farslayer,” Gunther continued. His eyes looked Jack over and came to rest on the Sword at the young man’s hip.

23. “What Sword is that?” he needn’t have asked. The white circle engraved on the black hilt had already given Doomgiver away. “The Sword of Justice,” he whispered in answer to his own question.

24. Jack casually rested a hand on the Sword’s hilt.

25. “What are you going to do about it, Gunther?” he asked with bravado.

26. Gunther’s hand reached for his own sword, a well-kept short sword. But even as he drew it, Jack had Doomgiver from its sheath with a satisfying shink!

27. “Hey!” cried the bartender. “No fighting in the tavern! Take it outside!”

28. “Fine,” Gunther grunted, glaring at Jack. “We’ll take this outside.”

29. “After you.” Jack gestured toward the door with the point of his Sword. The young man casually lowered his Blade and followed Gunther out the door.

30. On the street, both men had their weapons in hand, facing each other. Gunther leaped at Jack. With seemingly little effort on his part, Jack had moved Doomgiver’s blade into the path of Gunther’s sharp edge. Feeling Doomgiver’s power take over, Jack’s hands were clamped around the black hilt, the Sword striking at Gunther with the same attack. As Gunther’s attack was aimed at Jack’s head, so was the Sword of Justice aimed at Gunther. Gunther’s head flew off his shoulders as though a child were playing tee-ball. The body fell limp, landing on its knees before falling flat on its chest.

31. A small crowd had gathered around what was unworthy to be called a fight. The spectators parted to allow Jack passage out of the ring they’d created and back into the tavern. He went to the bar where he ordered himself a tankard of booze. As he sat sipping at his alcoholic beverage, he heard shouts coming from a game of cards in the back corner. He stood up, picking up his tankard, and stepped over to the table to observe what was going on. They were playing a game called Two Card, a descendent of an old card game of the Old World known as Texas Hold ‘Em.

32. It wasn’t until he had realized that one man was winning every hand did Jack notice the pair of dice engraved in white on the black hilt of the Sword at the man’s hip.

33. So that’s why he keeps winning, he observed. He has Coinspinner.

34. “Deal me in,” Jack told the dealer as he took an empty seat at the table.

35. The dealer, after shuffling the deck several times, dealt two cards to each of his five opponents and himself as everyone anted up. Jack was dealt an Ace and King of Hearts. The man with Coinspinner, obviously feeling lucky, had thrown in a couple of coins to the bid. After everyone else saw him, the dealer flopped. Jack of Hearts.

36. “Any bets?” asked the dealer. The player left of the dealer tossed in a few more coins. Jack saw the bet, but Coinspinner’s master raised it. Two of the other players folded. The remaining four all saw to the bid.

37. The dealer flopped the next card. Ten of Hearts. Jack glanced at he who held the Sword of Chance. He could see slight doubt in the man’s eyes. He knew he wasn’t going to win with the cards he held. The man tossed in a bunch of coins hoping to bluff the rest into thinking he had a great hand. Three players folded, leaving only Jack and the man with Coinspinner.

38. The last flop brought up a Queen of Hearts.

39. “Any final bids?” asked the dealer.

40. Jack tossed a few coins onto the large pile. Mister Feelin’-Lucky raised the bid. Jack saw his bid and raised it again.

41. “Feeling lucky, eh?” asked the owner of Coinspinner, calling Jack’s raise. “You know you can’t win.”

42. “I’m sure I could,” scoffed Jack. He threw down his cards face up. “Royal flush.”

43. The man with the Sword of Chance just stared as Jack hauled the massive pile of money toward his side of the table.

44. “How?” he asked, drawing his Sword. “How could I lose with Coinspinner?”

45. The other players he’d been playing with began to murmur at the confession. Anger began to show on their faces. As Coinspinner’s wielder looked around, he realized that the anger was directed at him. He tossed Coinspinner down onto the floor.

46. “I-I can explain,” he said, holding up his hands innocently as the crowd drew closer around him. Soon he had a swarm of angry gamblers around him. None of them seemed to care that the source of the man’s good luck was sitting on the floor behind them. They were too angry that it had been used to win all those games. When Jack stooped to pick it up, the Sword of Chance had already disappeared.

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