The Violet Wars (Teaser Chapter 1)

Chapter 1

Arwyn

I felt too much like a ghost.

The green cloak swirled silently behind me, like an extra shadow, blurring me, blending me into the forest around it. Between the solemn ranks of trees I crept with my massive wings folded carefully, unseen beneath the cloak, and my head swathed in the dull purple scarf that we had all come to wear like a uniform. Similarly clad wraiths moved through the dimness around me, their shapes indistinct but their eyes all trained on me, like bloodhounds ready for the hunting call. The pressure was... exhilarating. Stealth and secrecy were imperative for this mission, but that was okay. I liked the sneaking. It was safe. It was the way I had been taught to fight back; the way I knew. And I was good at it.

As we drew nearer to the road I dropped to a crouch and signaled with one hand that everyone else do so as well. This wasn't a major highway and thus wasn't paved, but it was well traveled and maintained by the locals. As a result, it was raised a few feet from the forest floor with two ditches dug on either side of it. It was in these that we took cover. Brown, brambly weeds enveloped and covered us as the arms of friends.

Quickly I scanned the undergrowth across from us, checking that the other seven members of the group were in place as well. Raising one hand to my mouth I uttered an ascending pattern of five notes, imitating the soft warble of a nightingale. I listened as the answering signal came from the other side. It was not quite as well executed, but it was enough for me. All was ready.

I found one end of the scarf and wrapped it once around my mouth and nose, which hid the white oval of my face from view. Those around me followed my example. As I watched, this group of men and women were transformed suddenly from people I knew to silent, prowling wraiths of the forest, lying patiently in wait for their unfortunate prey. The dewy tendrils of early morning wrapped themselves around us so that we became shadows ourselves. Keen as my ears and eyes were, neither a breathy exhalation nor a batted eyelash was present to give us away. We had ceased to exist.

We had been waiting for some minutes, and I could sense the rising need to shift an aching muscle or scratch an insistent itch. Silently I prayed that my group wouldn't give in to the urge and make that amateurish mistake. We had to remain perfectly still in order to remain perfectly invisible. We had only a little longer to go! Just wait a little longer! Our quarry could round that bend any moment...

As if on cue, the faint jingle of harnesses and the creak of wheels rewarded my searching ears. I inhaled and held my breath as the lumbering shape of the carriage and its eight-horse team swung into view. As expected, an armed guard of four men rode with it, two in the front and two in the back, cantering to keep up. The draft horses were lathered and foaming, tugging desperately at the huge load under the cruel whips of their two drivers. I felt a little sickened to see the poor exhausted things being treated that way, but I contained myself. We would intervene soon enough. The carriage wasn't close enough yet... closer... closer…

When the moment was right I uttered a low, vibrating hum that was inaudible to the human ear. I had long ago mastered the art of throwing my voice and so I was able to shape the sound and aim it specifically at the road. My hands moved gently through the air like a potter shaping clay, to direct the magic, to manipulate the sound into the shape I wanted. The horses whinnied shrilly and came to a clattering halt, nearly tipping their load over in their haste to stop. The drivers cursed loudly, swinging their whips harder. The team refused to budge, however, unable to pass the invisible barrier that I was projecting in front of them. Coincidentally, the carriage was now stationary in the middle of the road in front of us, a sitting duck.

With a whistle I brought the rest of my group to their feet. Silent and grim-faced, we surged up onto the road. The two surprised guards nearest my group attempted to draw their swords, but one of my fighters had a sling handy. Her arm and shoulder moved in a quick circle as she whipped a projectile at him. It smacked into his helmet with a muted clang, and he slumped from his saddle. The second man suffered the same fate. On the other side of the carriage I heard a brief scuffling, followed by silence. The armed guard was out of the way. The two drivers attempted to rise, but with a warning note and a motion of my hand I sat them back down. An invisible force clamped over their arms and legs, closing over their lips and preventing them from calling for help.

There was another armed escort coming up behind, and they would most likely catch up within the hour once they realized that our diversion was just that- a diversion. There was no need to hurry that process up by letting a noisy horn blast or shout pierce the early morning stillness and give us away. Someone- I couldn't tell who since the scarves hid everyone's faces- stepped up to the drivers' platform and knocked them senseless with two quick blows.

With the six unfortunate men unconscious and tied up at the side of the road, I wordlessly directed some of our people to go unharness the horses. There were twelve beasts in total- the draft horses and the four battle horses that the guards had ridden. The animals would be better treated with us, so we appropriated them for the Rebellion's growing cavalry. The rest of the party (fourteen including myself) went eagerly to the back of the tax carriage. It bore the King's royal seal on the side- a simple gold circlet on the background of a black shield. A pair of folded feathered wings sprang from the sides- such infernal irony! I snorted softly and shuffled my own wings before continuing to the doors at the back of the carriage, where two men were trying to pry them open. We didn't have time to search the guards for a key; it was simpler to just break the lock and yank the doors open. We had to grab the money and get out of here, quick…

The doors swung open to an unwelcome sight. Rather than canvas sacks of coinage, the tax carriage was full of the grim weight of fifteen Black guardsmen. These were the King's personal elite guard, trained knights and soulless killers to the last man. In a split second they were upon us, their trademark black capes swirling about them like foul bat wings. The two men who had broken the lock were killed on the spot as the soldiers' swords rose and fell with cruel efficiency. My group fell into a defensive ring around me, but within seconds it became clear that our numerical superiority meant nothing against this cruel surprise attack.

"Get out of here!" someone shouted to me. I ignored them and thrust a hand out, yelling a piercing note to snap a branch from a nearby tree and bring it down on one of the enemy. He flew back off the road, his limp body rolling into the underbrush.

"There she is!" I heard an unfamiliar voice shout behind me. I whirled around and, upon seeing what was there, my heart skipped a beat. The rest of the tax carriage's escort- who also happened to be mounted Black Guardsmen and not the typical foot soldier- galloped around the bend. I realized that we had been duped. The diversion had failed, and the Rebels who had staged it were probably dead. The King had been wise to our entire plan right from the start and the predators had become the prey.

"Fly, Arwyn! Fly!" screamed one of my comrades. Dumbly, hardly able to believe my own eyes, I turned and shed my cloak. One of the Black Guardsmen pointed and shouted, and the sounds of fighting behind me intensified. My wings unfurled in all of their massive length, the white feathers beating powerfully to get me off the ground. In one leap I bounded to the top of the carriage, took a few running steps off of the roof to gain momentum, and I was in the clear.

Suddenly a weight like a battering ram slammed square into my back, and I screamed as I felt something in my left wing snap. It wrapped itself around me and dragged me down until I struck the ground, knocking the breath out of my lungs. I tried weakly to roll over, but I was pinned by what felt like a weighted net. The movement caused the broken bone in my left wing to shift, and I gave vent to a pained sob. The ambush site had fallen ominously silent.

The dirt by my nose shivered, parted, and gave way to a small rivulet of blood- my blood- that snaked out of my narrow range of vision. What little I saw, I saw through a dark haze. Footsteps neared: swaggering, arrogant, and heavy. I once more attempted to rise, but a boot planted itself in the center of my back, grinding me down into the dust. The breath was crushed from my lungs.

"Get... off me!" I growled. The man only twisted his heel harder.

"Well look at this," he gloated, "The infamous Arwyn Dubois, brought down by a little surprise attack and a net. C'mere boys, let's wrap it up!"

I opened my mouth and tried to cast a spell. They were stupid if they thought they could get me with something as weak and primitive as a rope net. I would show them! Yet in that instant I felt the weight on my back shift as the man leaned down and forward. Something small and sharp jabbed the side of my neck, flooding my head with a poisonous heat. I gave one final, violent heave before my eyes slipped closed.

"At last, a mission that didn't end in failure!" chuckled the man as I slipped into the dark. Failure... Failure... Failure... The word wrapped itself around my numb mind, remaining like a bloodstain even after I slipped into the black.

I had failed.

People assumed that waking from a violent nightmare or a flashback is like having your head plunged into a bucket of ice water: a sudden, gasping, bolt-upright affair. But I hadn't woken up screaming since I was very little. This time I gained consciousness very gradually. I first became aware of my own body and its current displeasure with its treatment. A dozen different bruises, cuts, and minor injuries made their presence painfully known. The worst was in my left wing. I could tell it wasn't that bad of a break and I could feel it had been splinted, but it still hurt like the very devil. A chill, deep, wet, and biting, had seeped from the rough stone floor into my very bones and frozen me to the core. If I tried to move I knew my muscles would scream in stiff agony, so I lay still and waited until I was a little more awake.

The air was heavy and cloying, full of mildew and stagnation. I could sense the proximity of the earth, and a rock of unease settled in my gut as it always did when I was too far underground. Cellars I could do, basements I could do, but dungeons were too much.And surely I was in a dungeon, right? I had been captured, and I was still alive, so logic dictated that I had been taken to the King's palace and put in a dungeon.

Tentatively, I started to crack my eyes open a bit, fearing what I might see. But it soon became evident that, wherever I was, it was pitch-dark. For as far as my senses could stretch, there was no one else but me. With a soft groan I drew my arms under my chest and pushed myself upright, ignoring the protest of my abused muscles. If I waved my hand in front of my face I could sense a brief flicker of motion, so at least I hadn't gone blind, but in this utter darkness I might as well have been. Shakily, I climbed to my feet with the aid of the wall. By all that was holy, why did everything hurt?

The stone was rough, damp, and slippery underneath my fingers. I was still reeling, and I quickly realized that at the moment an escape attempt would be pure folly. To say I was disoriented did the feeling an injustice: I was positively swimming. Hopefully I would recover soon and break out, but in the meantime it wouldn't hurt to shed some light on my surroundings. My lips parted slightly and I began to cast a spell that would form an orb of light at the center of the ceiling.

The spell never left my mouth. For the briefest part of a moment I was singing, but the musical note fell apart into a shriek of agony. A sudden flash of red light blinded me, searing into my eyes and burning my head. I fell to my knees, unable to keep from sobbing aloud, from screaming at the terrible pain. It burned! Why did everything suddenly burn so? I looked down at my hands in horror. I hadn't noticed before, but there was something wrapped around my wrists. Two metal cuffs clung like leeches to my skin, glowing softly. As I fell silent at last the glowing faded, leaving me to stare at them numbly in the complete darkness.

I knew what this was.

Like a wounded animal I crawled to the side and leaned against the wall, drawing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my good wing around myself for warmth. I was shaking from the cold and shock. Regretfully I thought of my green wool cloak and purple scarf, left behind at the ambush in the mad flight. Thinking of it made me want to cry. I had no chance of escape now; there was no light of hope and nothing to look forward to except death at the hands of the King. He wouldn't wait long. The Rebels would try to rescue me, they'd worry about me and they would try their best, but organizing an operation as huge as that would take months. I was in the heart of the King's nation, the very center of the Kingdom of Eilian. We weren't big or strong enough yet for something so bold, and to try to save me now would be suicide for them. I was alone. The King might question me first, maybe even torture me, but then he would kill me. Who was to say it hadn't already started? These cuffs were probably the first in a long line of torments planned for me.

There was only one thing in the world that I couldn't manipulate with my magic. My one weak spot was star-metal. It only fell to earth once in a very long time, coming down from the night sky in a blaze of fire. Because it was not of this earth, I couldn't control it, and even worse, it had properties that prevented me from using my magic. Star-metal had been used to kill thousands of my people, years ago. An entire civilization of people like me had been destroyed, and I had lost everything at the age of three. Just now, when I had re-built a life from the rubble, when I had found a kind man and his daughter to take me in like my own family, it seemed like I was once again to lose everything. And it was once again the King’s fault. How foolish was I, to think that the son of the psychopath who had slain my people would be any better than his father!

I was tired and sore, and the star-metal was sucking all of the strength and vitality from me. The muscles in my back and shoulders ached especially, as if the star-metal was making a conscious effort to drain my wings completely.I had heard somewhere that star-metal prevented Fae from flying as well as singing, and the more of the stuff was touching me, the weaker I would become. That seemed congruent with the way I felt now. Vaguely I wondered if the King had underestimated the effects of the star-metal and put too much of it on me. I was scared to fall asleep for fear I might never wake up.

If I told them I was ill, would they believe me? Maybe that would only make it worse, and I should just not say anything. Would it be better to cuss at them, to scream and shout abuse, to bluff and put on a show of strength? That was what my adoptive sister, Jackie, would do. Maybe it would only make them angry. But if I came across as weak or frightened (which was exactly what I was) they might see me as an easy target (which I refused to be). I had never been truly alone like this before. I had always had help, someone else to rely on along with my own wits. I had had my adoptive sister Jackie. I had had her father Émile, the leader of the Rebels. I had had a family. I had had friends. I had had my freedom, my magic, and my hope.

Now I had nothing and I was truly alone.