Original Fiction by Anu Kumar

Take a Break: Flash Fiction about a Former Kingsguard Working in a Tavern, a Trashed Beer Cellar, and a Suspicious Enchanter

“What in the king’s name are you doing!” the warrior spat, “Can’t you read the sign outside? We’re closed. Also, you’ll have to pay for all the beer you just wasted.”

Anu Kumar
8 min readMay 9, 2023

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Photo by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash

Rajamegnon had faced many things in the king’s guard, but his experience didn’t include a trashed beer cellar with a passed out enchanter in the middle of it.

When he was younger, he’d always dreamt of being in the king’s guard. Seeing his uncles and cousins put on the lustrous red and gold uniform had caused envy, the magical armor glamouring their muscles and filling their facial hair. The guards were only second to the king’s enchanter’s council. So when the coup happened, he was ready to defend his king. Only he had been too late, and when the palace finally established the guards had been dismissed, all of them returning to civilian life and taking up jobs in local places.

Rajamegnon had thought of working in a brewery, and today was the day to check up on the deliveries and take stock.

Only his stock had been completely emptied, the barrels’ contents completely on the floor. And there was an unconscious, presumably drunk, enchanter on the floor. Well, he thought smugly, that’s new.

The brewery was closed, so he couldn’t go and get his boss. But even so, he wasn’t sure if his boss would be equipped to handle this sort of thing. A lovely, yet astonishing fearsome older woman, Miss Kalari could break up bar fights and out-drink everyone in the brewery. One thing she was not known for, however, was helping lanky enchanters off the floor from their drunken stupor.

Rajamegnon walked carefully over to the young man, getting a closer look. His face was slack, his cropped hair had a frosty white-yellow hue to it. His frame was lithe, and was twisted on the floor as if he’d suddenly fallen either by the alcohol or by an unsightly punch to his face. And from the bluish bruise marks on his ivory face, Rajamegnon assumed the latter.

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Anu Kumar

I write about books, culture, behaviors, and practical self improvement. Words + Fiction @ par-desi.com.