KGWrites

Violet

The Arena, Spring District, Fallen Kingdom of Aldiron

Horror didn’t even cover it. Not the massacre that the arena had become, nor the sallow, haunted look on Darrin Crowe’s face as he was led from the arena. And while Draconeus spoke, while the Accursed, militia and second legion cleared the weapons and bodies from the arena, and while Darrin Crowe was brought to the royal box, his armour and weapons restored to him and his wounds patched so that he might swear fealty and join the court, all Violet could do was stare at the bloody stain splashed across the pale marble slab at the arena’s centre.

She’d seen death before. The aftermath of battles and conflicts. The blood shed by Draconeus and the Accursed when they took the city. But this had been different. This had been for the sake of nothing but Draconeus’ ego, wrapped in the trappings of “entertainment.”

And the crowd had cheered.

Some part of Violet had slipped away then. Some part that looked around her and remembered where she stood, what it had once been. This was not The Village anymore. It wasn’t even Aldiron. It wore the face of the home she loved, but it was a perversion, a twisting into nightmare.

This was Draconeus’ kingdom now.

But that didn’t mean that the fight was over.

Violet rolled the bottle of The Drowner between her fingers inside her cloak, her heart racing in her chest. She knew what came next, who fought next. And she knew what that fight was to signal.

When she’d left Marius that morning and returned to the palace, Violet had passed back through the gate she’d opened. It was manned once more, but this time by a rebel soldier, wearing the armour of the man she’d killed. A rebel that would open and keep the door for Marius’ attack on the arena, his planned rescue of Haster.

And me.

Violet could still feel Marius’ hand gently brushing her hair from her face as they’d said their goodbyes that morning. The tenderness with which he’d kissed her.

She wished he was with her now.

Instead, she was positioned in the royal box above the bloodbath of the arena, stood behind her father at Draconeus’ right hand. With her, breathing heavily and wincing from his hastily applied stitches, was the court’s newest member, Darrin Crowe.

Once Crowe had been led from the arena, Draconeus had sworn him into his position in the court, praising his ambition and strength. Despite his injuries, Crowe had stood proudly and had bowed and sworn his oath strongly. Violet might almost have been impressed at his resilience, were it not for who he had sworn his oath to.

With the formalities then completed, Draconeus had returned his attention to the arena.

“People of Aldiron! I called you here today to bear witness to justice. To the punishment of those who seek to disturb our peace and bring terror and battle to our streets. By the valiant efforts of Grand Marshall Hills and Lord Aaron Trident, we have brought a number of these animals to heel. And the leader of their foul pack will today face justice for his crimes.”

The terrible lowing horn sounded again, and the gates to the arena rose up once more.

The barking cries of the Accursed issued forth and a few of them emerged, leading with them a battered figure.

Lord Captain Haster limped and stumbled in the muddy ground as he emerged into the rain. Blood and filth clung to his clothing. And yet he held his head high, his chin jutted forward defiantly.

And he smiled.

It was a grim smile. One that betrayed that Haster knew the fate awaiting him in that arena but that he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to bow to Draconeus’ rule, nor cower and beg to avoid his fate.

Violet found herself smiling back.

“Haster. Former Lord Captain of the city guard. You have incited rebellion and war across our fair city. Your actions have cost the lives of innocents and endangered so many more that you once claimed to protect. For this treachery, there is only one suitable punishment. Death.” Draconeus continued, gesturing down towards Haster. Haster only glared back.

“But I am not without mercy. Kneel, repent your crimes and denounce your rebellion as a farce, and your end shall be swift and painless. An honourable execution to suit the dedication with which you once served. Refuse, and I cannot guarantee any honour to your end.”

Silence descended across the arena as every head turned to look down at Haster, waiting expectantly. Violet felt herself drawing closer to the edge of the box, holding her breath.

Haster lowered his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“I will kneel.” He spoke at last, his commanding voice echoing even without the magic that Draconeus used to enhance his. A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd as people stared at Haster. But he raised his head, fury in his eyes, and glared at the demon on his horrific throne.

“I will kneel. But never to you. Nor your band of monster, criminals and traitors. The falcon still flies the sky. I will kneel only to the Queen, Iona Ravellan. And when she brings the Brightblade back to Aldiron, when she takes your head from your shoulders and frees us of your tyranny. Then I will kneel, and I will toast your end!” Haster’s voice rose to a defiant call, his shoulders set and strong as he glared at Draconeus. Around the arena, Violet could see people hang on his every word and better still, she could see the embers of hope start to rekindle in their eyes.

Draconeus didn’t move. His expression didn’t even shift. Only his lip curled slightly in disgust.

“So be it.” He replied, his voice steady and unchanging. His gaze turned to a member of his guard, stood by a lever at the box’s side. “Release it.”

The warrior choked out that horrible laugh and gripped the lever, lifting it up. From somewhere beneath Violet, a rumbling began as a set of gates opened up. Followed by a howl that crackled and shuddered. Violet clamped her hands over her ears at the sound.

A second later, a beast burst from the gates beneath, snarling and barking. It was as if a wolf had been grown to the size of a horse, its brown fur matted with mud and blood. But the head and legs lacked fur and instead were covered by dull scales of deep green. Its fang filled maw snapped and slavered as it barked at Haster, who took a wary step back from the monster. It strained against thick chains held to an iron collar around its neck. Warriors held the other end of the chains, holding the monster back.

“A Worg.” Crowe breathed from next to Violet, his voice a mixture of awe and fear.

“Indeed, a Worg bred within my old fortress, from stock gathered from those that scavenge the Bloodfields.” Draconeus confirmed, his voice thick with sickening pride at the rabid monster.

Then Draconeus raised his hands and sliced them quickly downwards. The chains were released, and hell broke loose.

The Worg surged forwards, hungry jaws snapping as Haster turned and ran. He crossed the arena back towards the gate he had been brought through, but the beast was far quicker. It closed the gap in only a few short bounds and leapt into the air, meaning to drive Haster to the ground to tear him apart.

However, Haster had been expecting it. At the last second he dropped and spun, sliding through the mud beneath the Worg and having it land on the far side of him. It tried to turn but its bulk and momentum carried it forwards. It hit the wooden wall of the arena with a resounding crunch that splintered some of the planks beneath it.

Clear of the beast, Haster stood again. Any remnant of weakness and wounds that had been on him as he entered the arena were gone. Violet wasn’t sure there had ever really been that weakness, or whether Haster had put on a ruse to fool everyone watching.

Reaching down, Haster lifted a long pale bone into his hand. A remnant of some previous battle in the arena. He spun it in his hand once, testing the weight. Then he turned to face the Worg once more.

Recovering from its impact with the wall, the beast sprang at Haster again, closing the gap between them in a split second. Violet barely had enough time to blink.

But for Haster, that was time enough.

As the monster reached him, he swung the bone like a club, catching the Worg in the side of the face. The bone splintered into fragments and the beast careened sideways with a yelp. But it was more surprise than pain and it soon shook off the blow, shaking its head.

Haster turned and sprinted away from it, reaching the splintered wooden wall and gripping one of the broken planks. He bellowed with effort as he wrenched the wood sideways, pulling the plank free. It tore away with such force that Haster actually fell sideways into the dirt.

Which likely saved his life as the jaws of the Worg snapped closed where he had once stood a second before.

Haster rolled in the mud, kicking out at the Worg as it towered over him. He caught the beast in the snout and it turned its head away, giving him time to get clear.

He came back to his feet, lifting the broken plank between them like a shield and screamed out a challenge at the monster. The Worg lifted its head and howled again and Violet had to clench her hands into tight fists to stop herself from covering her ears.

“He’s putting up a good fight.” Violet’s father observed, his voice betraying a good deal of astonishment.

Spyder Xeros snarled in frustration. “Too damn good!” He leaned over the edge of the box. “Tear the bastard to shreds!” He roared at the Worg.

“Calm yourselves.” Draconeus’ voice was as untroubled as ever, simply raising a hand to quiet her father and Spyder. “He has no weapons and he hasn’t so much as scratched the Worg, the time will come.”

As if it had been given permission by Draconeus’ words, the Worg lowered its head and charged at Haster. Saliva dripped from its jaws and mud churned behind it.

Violet leaned forwards, her heart in her throat.

Move!

But Haster didn’t move, he stayed standing, the wooden plank extended and the battle cry on his lips.

The beast was nearly on him now, towering over him.

Move!

The Worg’s maw bit closed. Violet stifled a yelp, turning her head away and clamping her hand over her mouth.

But there was no bloodthirsty scream of triumph from the crowd. And in fact another groan of barely suppressed rage from Spyder Xeros. Narrowing her eyes in confusion, Violet returned her gaze to the arena and gasped.

The Worg towered over Haster, its fangs inches from snapping closed around his head. But they were held still, unable to close further, as Haster had jammed the splintered wood lengthways into its mouth, forcing it open. The weight of the beast crashing into him had forced Haster to one knee, but he stayed in place, his shoulder braced against the wood.

As Violet watched, Haster’s hand darted down into the side of his boot, gripping something. Violet’s eyes widened as she saw the glint of a blade flash in his hand. And then he twisted, letting the Worg’s weight carry it forwards past him.

Right as he drove the blade from his boot up into its mouth.

The monster screeched in pain and dark blood immediately pooled as it and Haster tumbled into the dirt, Haster’s arm jammed into its maw up to his elbow. Still unable to close its jaws around the wood, the Worg couldn’t bite down on his arm as Haster twisted the knife and stabbed again.

He pulled his hand free and rolled, straddling the Worg’s neck as he took the knife in both hands and stabbed it downwards into the base of the creature’s skull. The Worg yelped once again and thrashed quickly before it gave a last, shuddering breath and stilled beneath him, dead.

The crowd roared and cheered and Violet had to bite her tongue to keep from cheering with them. Haster lifted his hands from the beast’s body, stained red with blood up to the elbow as he yelled out a victorious cry.

“Where did he get a blade?” Crowe asked from next to Violet, looking at the other members of the council in confusion. Violet watched her father bristle, trembling with rage.

“Those militia idiots must have been careless enough to let him pick their pockets!” He growled, Spyder turned and drew to his full, massive frame.

“Or your fucking legionnaires didn’t search him properly!” He spat back. For a second, Violet saw his hand go to the mace on his belt and she wondered if he might genuinely try and strike her father down.

But Draconeus once more lifted his hand between them. “It is of no matter.” He said simply. And then he barked out in his own language once more and the two Accursed warriors that had held the Worg’s chains leapt forwards. They laughed their bloodthirsty carrion call, wicked, twisted swords in hand as they charged Haster.

Haster simply tilted his head, watching the approaching warriors with narrowed eyes. A grin curled the corner of his mouth as he waited for their approach.

When they got close enough, Haster quickly turned the dagger over in his hand and threw it. It flew through the air with a high-pitched whistle and embedded itself deep in the nearest Accursed’s face with enough impact that the warrior was thrown off its feet. Its laugh died in a strangled gurgle as it stilled.

The death of its compatriot didn’t even seem to be noticed by the still standing warrior as it carried on forwards towards Haster, its sword swinging for his head. Haster ducked quickly, the blade slicing the air above his head.

He reached up and gripped the Accursed’s arm and twisted, its elbow crunched and it lost its grip on the sword. But it barely seemed to register the pain as it carried on forwards, snapping its jaws at Haster’s face.

Haster used the speed of the creature to his advantage though, spinning and dragging it with him. It collided with the marble slab at the arena’s centre and Haster gripped the back of its neck, slamming its head down against the corner of the stone.

The first hit broke the creature’s faceplate and the next few caved in its head as Haster kept on swinging, until eventually the creature stilled and slid from his grasp.

The crowd cheered again and Draconeus sat forwards, his lips curling with annoyance. His hand raised and he took a breath, ready to order more Accursed forwards.

“My lord,” Darrin Crowe began, speaking quickly, his eyes still on Haster. “The longer this lasts, the less it becomes a just execution of a traitor and the more it becomes the valiant last stand of a hero of the old kingdom.”

Draconeus turned his head slightly, scrutinising Crowe, his dead eyes tracing the wounded Sea Lord. Then he cocked an eyebrow in surprised appreciation and nodded. He turned back to the arena, raising his voice once more.

“Archers ready!” He called out and on cue, several soldiers around the arena stepped up to the edge and nocked their arrows, taking aim at Haster.

Violet’s breath hitched in her throat as the archers drew back their arrows, waiting for Draconeus’ order. The crowd began shouting, enraged at this latest turn of events.

For his part, Haster turned to stare directly at Draconeus, lifting his bloodied hand to point at the demon on his throne. A warning, a threat, a promise.

Draconeus took in a deep breath, ready to call out the order.

And then a horn sounded.

It wasn’t the deep, rumbling horn of the arena. No, this was a sound Violet knew well. The clear, valiant call of a horn of the legions of Aldiron. Violet followed the sound, and goosebumps rose on her skin and joy leapt in her chest.

Across the arena, stood at the peak of the stands, was Marius Fridolf. His brown hair blew about him, framing him against the lightning. He wore his armour, the armour of Aldiron’s general. Around him were soldiers of the Aldiron legions, their cloth still green and their metal armour shined. He had planted a banner in the bench next to him, green cloth flapping in the wind, a silver flying falcon twisting and diving through the storm upon it.

Marius lifted the war horn he carried to his lips again and blew another clear note and from the crowd around the arena surged forth the rebels. Their weapons were drawn and they quickly collided with the confused archers, cutting many of them down before they could react.

Chaos followed. Spyder Xeros bellowed out for the militia to fight back, Accursed warriors swarmed up from the depths of the arena and charged into the rebels. The crowd around them panicked and scattered, turning the entire arena into a mess of running and fighting bodies.

Across the arena, Violet saw movement at the edge of the stands. A grey cloak flashed, flanked by a familiar dark set of royal guard armour. She recognised the pair immediately. Lillian Cobalt, flanked by Reynard Junice. Relief flared in her chest at seeing the young girl alive, though it was tempered slightly by the context surrounding them.

Lillian called out Haster’s name as she dropped to the edge of the barrier, dangling over, her ankles held tightly by Junice wrapping his arms around her legs. Violet’s breath hitched as she saw he only had his right hand, his left arm ending in a stump above the wrist.

Haster turned and saw the girl hanging, reaching her hand out to him and he smiled. A few archers managed to loose their arrows, but he was already moving by the time they landed. He charged across the arena and jumped upwards towards Lillian and Violet saw exactly why Lillian had chosen that spot on the wall to reach out to Haster.

When he reached the wall, Haster planted his foot in the gap he had torn by removing the plank earlier against the Worg. Then he pushed upwards and grabbed tight to Lillian’s forearm. She gripped him with both arms and called out to Junice, who began heaving her backwards onto the stands again. She strained to hold Haster, but held fast, pulling with Junice until finally, they all fell backwards onto the stands.

Violet breathed a quiet sigh of relief, turning her head to find Marius.

The man was moving through the chaos of the crowd with a single-minded purpose, his eyes fixed on the royal box. On me, Violet realised. He didn’t even look away as he ducked aside from the blade of a militia solder quickly killing them with a slash of his own sword before kicking their falling body away. It impacted with a second legion soldier and sent him tumbling over the edge of the stands. The soldier landed headfirst in the arena, their neck snapping beneath them.

In his throne, Draconeus simply hummed in amusement before turning towards her father.

“It would seem you were right Grand Marshall. General Fridolf clearly cannot resist rescuing Haster.” He sneered. Her father grinned back at him. It was sickening.

“He’s far too honourable to let someone die for him. It undid him before when he saved me in the Battle of the Ramm, it’ll undo him now.” He replied. Draconeus nodded.

“Indeed it will. Is your legion prepared?” Draconeus asked and Hills nodded. “Then do it, end this rebellion Grand Marshall.”

Hills saluted and stepped forwards. Violet stared at him, wide-eyed. Another trap, like opening the gates at the Siege of Aldiron, or hiding Draconeus’ army within his lands in the Battle of the Ramm. And this one had lured Marius and all her friends here, to end the rebellion.

“Second Legion! Advance!” Hills called out, and a steady, rhythmic drumbeat answered him. The call to arms of a legion.

Around the arena, soldiers of the second legion appeared. Rising along every staircase, every entrance, archers even filed into the arena itself, aiming up at the fighting crowd.

The rebels faltered, seeing themselves surrounded by the steadily approaching legion. Haster and Junice stood back-to-back, swords in hand, Lillian between them, clutching a dagger uncertainly. Marius’ advance faltered as the soldiers of Violet’s honour guard stepped away from her, forming a shieldwall across the stands, blocking him from her.

His eyes met hers, still resolute and unyielding. Terror gripped her throat. Don’t make me watch this.

“Purge them!” Her father yelled and his legion obliged.

The archers loosed their arrows up into the stands, catching several members of the rebellion and driving the others to cover. Marius barely ducked beneath one. And then the shieldwalls began advancing, backed by spears, crushing the remaining rebels between them.

Violet’s mind raced. She had to do something. Anything. She needed to turn the tide, to disrupt this attack before everyone she cared about was killed. Her eyes fell on her father and a cold surety fell on her.

No more waiting. Time to cut the head from the snake!

She doubted she’d have enough time to land a killing blow, not surrounded by Draconeus’ inner circle like she was. But she didn’t need to.

She had The Drowner.

The apothecary had told her that the poison just needed to get into someone’s system. It didn’t need to be drunk.

Beneath her cloak, her hands worked quickly, fuelled by the pained screams of dying rebels. She removed the dagger from beneath her corset and upended the bottle of poison into its scabbard, soaking the blade within. The liquid clung to her hands, soaking them. Violet didn’t care. There was no way out of here, not now. Not for her.

But I can save them. She looked to Marius again and gave a soft smile. I can save you.

She drew the dagger from its sheathe and stepped forwards, her eyes fixed on her father’s back. A few steps, a short distance. A quick cut and it would be over. The loss of their general would confuse the legion and the rebels could use the distraction to escape, to fight free.

A hand gripped her wrist tightly, spinning her on the spot and bringing her face to face with Darrin Crowe. His face was drawn and serious and his eyes stared straight into hers. Ever so slightly, he shook his head.

Violet curled her lip in a snarl. No. She would not be stopped from this, she would not be held back by a coward who murdered his own friends to survive.

Quick as lightning, she dropped the dagger from one hand into her other and sliced out with it. It bit deep into Crowe’s thigh, and he grunted in surprise and pain. His grip slackened and Violet wrenched her hand away, shoving him aside. He fell with a clatter that made the others in the box begin to turn.

Out of time.

Leaving the fallen Sea Lord to his fate with the Drowner, Violet lifted the dagger and sprinted at her father. He turned to look at her, taking in the dagger, the snarl of rage on her face and his eyes widened in shock. He took a half step back as she reached him, her fist gripping the front of his breastplate and her other hand stabbing down at his neck with the dagger.

The blade froze in the air a hair’s breadth away from his exposed skin.

Violet’s entire arm was locked in an iron grip, her muscles trembling with effort as she fought to lower the blade just that little bit further. But the shadows around her were long, and a red glow emanated from behind her.

Draconeus’ magic, holding her back. Keeping her from her vengeance.

She screamed in rage, glaring at her father. He only looked back in shock and sadness. Had he really not expected this? Had he really thought she’d accepted his betrayal?

“It would seem we’ve a traitor in our midst.” Draconeus’ voice came from behind her as he approached, his magic still holding her from lowering her hand.

Violet’s father lifted her hand from his breastplate and stepped back from her, still staring at her. “Violet?” He asked, seemingly all he was able to say.

Once he was clear, the magic released suddenly and Violet pinwheeled around, pulled by the effort she had pushed into the strike. She spun in place, the dagger extended outwards in a slashing arc.

One that passed right through the throat of Lord Draconeus.

A spray of hot, dark blood splashed across Violet as Draconeus stumbled backwards away from the cut, tumbling into his throne and crashing to the ground. His hand went to his cut throat, clutching at it.

Everything froze. Every fight around the arena came to a standstill as every head turned to look at the fallen demon, his blood pooling around him. Even Spyder and Hills looked shocked and uncertain.

Violet could hear her heart thundering, feel every breath in her lungs. Slowly, she turned her head to Marius and fixed her eyes to his. I love you, she wanted to say. But that time was gone, now was the time for another word.

“Run!”

Marius stared at her, his sword clutched tightly in his hand. He shook his head slowly, disbelief clear on his face.

Run, you beautiful idiot!

And then everything started moving again.

With a battlecry, Junice lowered his head and charged, Haster and Lillian behind him. He collided with the stunned legionnaires and they parted like waves against rock. Junice carved a path through them, passing down the stairs and out from the stands. Around the arena, the other rebels followed.

It was done, the distraction she’d set out for was complete. Her father still lived, but she’d done what she needed to.

Violet turned the dagger over in her hands, the blade pointed inwards. Towards her heart.

Time to rest.

She stabbed downwards.

She heard Marius cry out her name. Heard her father scream “No!” And she waited for oblivion.

It didn’t come.

Violet looked down, the dagger blade was held again, just above her breast. The shadows had stretched once more.

No!

Looking up, Violet saw Draconeus. He was back on his feet, the blood still soaking his neck and clothes, but the wound she had cut across his throat was slowly knitting back together. She saw his windpipe regrow and reseal and he took a breath.

With one hand, he reached up and ran his fingertip through his wound, soaking it in the blood. Then he slowly lifted the finger to his lips and tasted the blood. His eyes rolled back as he focussed.

Violet felt her arms seized, felt the dagger get knocked from her grasp. Someone kicked the back of her knee and she cried out in pain, falling to her knees in front of Draconeus, her arms still held.

“Ah, The Drowner. Elegant, Lady Hills. And effective. I commend your effort.” Draconeus said pensively as he removed his bloodied finger from his mouth, the poison identified. He turned his head to his Accursed guards.

“Bring Lord Crowe to me, now that Lady Hills has been kind enough to tell me what poison she’s spread, I can halt its effect.”

The Accursed moved to obey, seizing Crowe by the shoulders and dragging him before Draconeus. He was already blue, saliva running down from his lips and his nose leaking rivers. Drowning, just as the apothecary had said he would.

Violet snarled at Draconeus, straining against her captors. A figure stepped between her and the demon, blocking the light. She looked up to see Spyder Xeros looming over her, his heavy iron mace clutched in both his hands, ready to swing.

She turned her head away from him. Looking to where Marius had stood.

And finding nothing.

He was gone. He’d listened and fled, like she’d told him.

It had worked. The rebels were safe, her father’s ambush had failed. She had failed too, her father still breathed. But that didn’t matter anymore.

Marius was safe, and Violet found herself at peace with that.

She turned her head back to stare at Spyder.

I’m ready. Do it.

Spyder raised the mace. Her father cried out an order to stop. He ignored it.

Violet closed her eyes, letting herself slip into the memory of lying in blankets in an abandoned home, Marius’ hand gently brushing her hair from her face.

“Xeros! Stop!” Draconeus’ voice rang out.

And that peace burned into embers. Violet opened her eyes, still staring at Spyder, who had halted as ordered.

No!

“This little serpent wants death. But we do not give up the gift she has given us. She knows the rebellion. Take her, let us hear what she can tell us.”

Terror gripped every part of Violet. Visions flashed past her eyes. A burned skull in the dirt, a monster that could wear her face, a horrid abomination of rotted flesh and pain, blood splattered across the arena floor. And then Spyder Xeros struck her with the handle of his mace, and the visions went black.