Covered in dirt and blood, Grimhilt stood at the base of the stone stairs. The door had been closed behind her, held fast by an iron beam. Soldiers flung themselves against it, trying to break through. The hinges strained and the wood buckled, but the door stood strong.
Grimhilt looked up the stairs to see him standing there, clad in simple robes of black. He wasn’t running. He knew there was nowhere left to run.
“Duke Stevrin,” Grimhilt said. “I have come for you.”
“I know.”Stevrin kept staring out, looking at the green fields in the distance.
“You killed my family. My husband. My sons.”
“I’m here to kill you.”
Stevrin turned to face her and she saw the black sword in his hand.
She rushed up the stairs towards him, knives in her hands. They collided like waves and shore, their blows roaring like thunder.
Word Count: 150
This is my entry for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thank you to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode for providing the photo!