Legend of the Spider-Prince: REBEL
Wyl is a young rebel whose life of dangerous lies and hidden truths has cost him his childhood and his ability to trust. He is fanatically loyal to the rebel leader, a woman embroiled in a blood-feud with Trascolm’s ruling clan. When he’s not away spying, he’s her secret bodyguard—she needs protection from her army of renegades and outlaws as much as from bounty-hunters and assassins sent by her archenemy.
But when the rebellion meets with disaster, the rebel leader’s strategy changes. Wyl is thrust into a hostile royal court of underage teens—mere children, to his mind. He’s expected to embrace this more civilized way of life, but his brutally-honed instincts betray him, and he makes enemies instead of friends. Wyl—a boy raised by outlaws—is in over his head and must somehow master the subtleties of court intrigue well enough to keep the rebel leader and her rebellion alive, despite the treacherous machinations of her enemies, and do it without getting himself killed.
About the Legend of the Spider-Prince series
In a war-torn land where men have unbridled influence, but women hold the reins of power, a young rebel becomes entangled in a deadly web of magic, court intrigue, and revenge amid an escalating wave of events that will ultimately destroy magic, overturn governments, cause the near-collapse of civilization, even threaten the very existence of life on Eryth—and make him a legend.
About the Author
I loved fairy tales as a child, but could never get enough of them until I learned to read for myself. I spent my formative years with my nose in a book or playing dungeon master for my sisters long before there were actual games requiring one. Our Barbies fought Klingons, conquered the galaxy—and always had room on their spaceship for horses.
I am a horsewoman, an archer, a fencer, a former military officer, and a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism—all useful skills and experiences for a fantasy novelist. I am currently holding down a day job in Mississippi, USA, where I live with my husband and two daughters, and am presently down to one horse, one cat, and one dog—and ‘way too many books.
Visit me on the web at www.margoander.com
My Facebook author page is at www.facebook.com/AuthorMargoAnder
I have a blog, www.margoander.wordpress.com, where I review books I like by other indie authors.
I have another blog, marguerot.wordpress.com, where I blog about writing.
Follow the Tour
He glanced up.
Lanney was staring at him with scowling suspicion.
He quickly closed his fist around the charm.
“Ockh, Wyl! Are you trying to do spitcraft?” Lanney let out her breath in an exasperated sigh. “I wish I’d never told you my grandmother’s Folk tales. Dabbling in spitcraft!” She rolled her eyes. “I’m embarrassed to be riding next to you. First, you think you can feel magic, and then you’re playing at spitcraft. One moment, you want me to take you seriously, and the next, here you are with this nonsense. Even among the Folk, only younglings play pretend with spitcraft.”
She was just trying to provoke him, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’m not a youngling!”
He set his jaw, and as an answer, dropped the charm back under his collar. “I don’t play! I’m not a youngling, and I’d never make a game of anything to do with the Evroza or their mages.”
Lanney snorted and went back to scanning the roadside, shaking her head.
He tried to feel warmth from the charm resting at the base of his throat, but he was angry and couldn’t get his focus back.
No big loss—there wouldn’t have been much luck in this charm—he’d obviously botched it, or Lanney wouldn’t have caught him making it.
Alright, so, maybe his spitcraft wasn’t reliable, especially not as a charm carved into wax. But better a flawed wax charm than nothing at all when they were up against Evroza magery.
“Only a fool fights magery with a sabre,” he muttered.
Lanney sighed. “Heh, better with a sabre than with superstition. A mage is defenseless against a blade.”
Though it was Lanney who had told him all those Folk tales, she was a heretic. She’d given up her mother’s people’s beliefs after they’d cast her out, when she’d become a hired minion with no birth clan, a mercenary. The only goddess she worshipped was on one side of a denarrei. Helgurdda’s menney was her clan now, just like it was Wyl’s.
So, if a luck charm worked, it worked; if it didn’t, well, there was a reason even hill-Folk called it spitcraft, and why Wyl did his best to hide his spitcrafting from the others.
He looked past Lanney, searching the woods from the west to the southwest for something out of place, something about the Evroza or their mages, anything that might persuade Eirgei to believe his warning even if Lanney didn’t.
But he saw nothing except fog and the vague shapes of weedy brush and leafless, fire-scarred trees. Close to the road on either side of him, the skeletal limbs of those trees hung down eerily through the whiteness—like the gibbets awaiting them if Evroza clan had its way.
Wyl had a horror of wasting away in one, hanging from the Traitors’ Wall at Crossroads Keep. Just the thought made him shudder. He averted his gaze.