Silver Blade [on hold]

Captured

I sit in a corner of the train car filled with other prisoners. My wrists are bound tightly behind my back and my arms hang limply at my sides, having long since given up on thrashing.

Dim lights flicker with every jostle of the car. The low murmurs and groans of the others fill the air with a tense atmosphere, and the creaking of the old train only intensifies it.

I sigh, letting the back of my head thump against a wall. We've been travelling for who knows how long.

Deciding that this was a matter of interest, I turn to a guard positioned near me. With his high-tech, official-looking uniform, I'm sure he knows the time.

"Sir, excuse me..." I am being polite because I see the array of weaponry on his belt, and I'm not sure what all of them can do.

So futuristic, yet this train is so old. Even the rope used to bind my wrists together is some new material that's flexible but tougher than anything, even chains.

He appears startled, and his hands fly to the grip of a gun.

My eyes widen.

Then he seems to register that I'm only a defenseless teenage girl, and relaxes a tiny bit before his face turns stern. He still seems nervous though, not like the other guards I've seen. He must be a recent recruit.

"I'm not allowed to talk to prisoners," he says quietly. His voice isn't harsh and biting like I'd expected. Which, again, supports my theory that he's new.

I exhale. "I just want to know what time it is; how long I've been on this train. It feels like forever," I say, and I see a hint of a smile on the guard's face. He understands. His mouth loses any trace of humor a split second before I am suddenly shoved to the floor and held down.

"Is she bothering you?" A low voice asks roughly, and I realize it's another guard. His uniform looks slightly different, as if he was a higher rank.

I don't dare move. If I did, he'd surely kill me. They have many other prisoners anyway. I'm expendable.

The first guard shakes his head. "No, sir."

"Then don't talk to them." The second guard pushes off of me to get up, and I wince in pain. He pauses, and drops his voice to a whisper. "You know what happened to Imogen."

The guard tenses. "Sir, yes, sir."

Footsteps fade into the distance, and a car door opens and closes.

I struggle to get up without the use of my hands. "Sorry," I whisper. When I look at the guard, he doesn't return my gaze. For a second, he does nothing. Then he flashes six fingers, followed by a curled hand in an O shape.

I nod a fraction of an inch, and I know he's seen, since he retracts his hands and goes back to being stoic.

Sixty minutes. We've been on this train for an hour.

I shut my eyes.

"Everyone out!"

I jerk awake at the loud crashing of the door. Guards are herding prisoners out like sheep, and I can see a large crowd already outside.

Thankfully, the nice guard is the one who helps me out. He doesn't yank like all the others. Once I'm out, though, he doesn't look back, just reaches for the next person.

"Why are we stopping, sir?" I hear another guard ask the higher-ranked one who tackled me earlier.

"Looks like a little bit of rebel action has been going on," he answers. "As far as I can see, trees have been cut down and laid across the tracks, as well as a portion of the track missing entirely."

The first guard scowls. "Must be Silver Blade's work."

I nearly trip. Silver Blade?

The legend who was a lot like Robin Hood? No, he died a long time ago! I remember when news came that he had been captured and imprisoned for life. He attempted a breakout and was caught, but was successful in the fact that other prisoners had managed to escape as he'd orchestrated.

I remember he was executed for that.

Then why would the guard talk about him?

"You know we can't say his name," the second guard whispers harshly. "Especially not with the prisoners around."

"Sorry, sir."

"Now get on the train. We're sending you guys back. You've done your part, and when they send a train from the other side, there will be other guards."

"Yes, sir."

That is all I manage to hear before I am completely out of earshot.

The prisoners are arranged into three camps because the numbers are too many for one. I'm grouped in camp number three.

Another hour or so later, and it is getting dark. The guards seem nervous and uneasy. The train has not arrived yet. They start a fire for us so we can keep warm, but we know it's because they know we won't leave the comforting heat it gives us.

They're right. We huddle around the fire like chicks around a hen. A couple of prisoners try to burn their bonds off, but the material is smarter, and transfers the heat directly to their skin. They pull back immediately. The guards stand in position around us, silent. The head guard -the one who tackled me- looks around suspiciously.

The moon ducks behind a cloud, and everything goes dark except for the fire. The light from the flames reflect on the glassy smooth helmets of the guards. Everything around us is barely illuminated by flame.

I cast my gaze into the trees. They stretch high up, and with this darkness I can't see where tree ends and sky begins.

I am about to look back into the mesmerizing orange fire when I hear a guard speak.

"Did you hear that?"

Everyone tenses warily. My eyes flick to the high-ranked guard, and then over his shoulder.

I see the silhouette before he does.

He is crouched, almost invisible in the darkness. He is pulling back an arrow, a second away from shooting, and I know he will not miss.

"No!" I leap up and run to the guard, shoving him as hard as I can with my shoulder as the arrow passes through where he was just standing. As he hits the ground, he rolls and somehow manages to get to his feet in one quick move. I pick myself up and see the chaos that is quickly taking over.

Guards are in a panic, not knowing where to shoot, and the prisoners look around wildly. Some look hopeful, others are fearful.

Then there is a hiss as the fire goes out, drenched by what sounds like water. Cold rushes in like ice penetrating through my clothes.

About a minute passes in darkness. I hear sounds of pain and fighting. I don't know what's going on, or who's winning. I hope it's the guards, because of safety. But I also hope it's our rescuer, because of the promise of freedom.

The fight dies down, gradually, until there's silence.

"Hero," I hear a young boy's voice say. "Who are you?"

The moon slowly peeks out again, and everyone can clearly see the outline of the figure who faces us. It's almost like a dance, what happens next. He makes his way through all of us and swiftly cuts each of our bonds. It's so graceful, I almost forget that the material he so easily cut can hold back jet planes.

He's earned my respect.

The weapons he was holding disappear, and he chuckles.

"Fellow citizens of Rynar," he says in a smooth voice, "I believe you can recognize me yourselves."

He looks about eighteen. His face seems eerily emotionless, until he smirks a second later. Hair the darkest shade of brown hangs close to his eyes.

"Can't you?"

His bright silver eyes scan all of us.

Silver Blade.