The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “Hold your breath,” he whispered in her ear.

  They listened as the steps grew closer, and Milo braved a glance around the tree. Five paces away stood the ugliest beast he had ever laid eyes on.

  Dried blood nestled in the deep lines that webbed the corners of his drooping mouth. His skin was a sickening shade of yellow, and he held a mace in his grubby hand that could shatter bone. There was a saturated sack slung across its back, the bottom soaked in crimson.

  Where this revolting creature had come from the Sarrokian couldn't guess, but it certainly didn't belong in Nevaharday.

  Milo looked away from the beast and pressed his body against the tree's rough bark. The creature sniffed the air with a swine-like grunt and the Sarrokian felt Levee shudder against him. She inched toward the dagger she kept hidden in her boot. Milo stayed her hand and shook his head slowly. A small blade would be like a bug bite against the ten foot monster's leathery skin. He searched their surroundings for something—anything—to aid them in their plight.

  An idea surfaced.

  He took a large stone in one hand and quietly unsheathed the scimitar on his hip. Crouched against the corner of a high root, he nodded toward the path that led home. Levee shook her head in adamant refusal.

  “I can’t fell it alone,” he whispered. “Run an’ gather the other farmers. I’ll be fine ‘til ya get back.”

  The ogre turned in blundering circles, his nocturnal eyes searching for whatever hid nearby. Milo didn't waste any time. He sprung out of hiding and cast the stone against the back of the beast's head. Disoriented, the ogre stumbled, his howl growing more infuriated as a scimitar nipped at his arms, legs, and gut.

  “Go!” he yelled when he noticed Levee’s frozen stance. Milo’s shout snapped her out of her daze and sent her sprinting toward the village. Meanwhile, he slashed right and left, but his sword only managed to draw shallow red lines across the creature's body.

  Enraged, the ogre swung his mace. Milo ducked, narrowly missing the weapon’s menacing spikes. Circling the monster, he waited for the lumbering creature to swing again, but it just stared at him, its eyes like slits as it bellowed through foamy lips.

  “C'mon, Stinker. I ain't got all night,” the Sarrokian goaded.

  The’ ogre flung the bloody pack from his shoulder and Milo dropped to the ground just in time to dodge it. However, the beast was smarter than he anticipated. It followed through with a swooping hand, fingers extended toward his prey.

  Mil’o tried to roll away, but his enemy plucked him up by the collar. It dangled the rahee in front of him, sniffing his clothing, but the Sarrokian wasn’t ready to become an entrée just yet. He slung his weight forward and kicked the monster square in the nose. The ogre moaned in agony, throwing the Sarrokian violently against a tree.

  Pain seared like a white flash across the Sarrokian’s vision. He lay on the ground for several seconds, stunned. He expected the ogre to move in for a finishing kill, but it wasn’t Milo the ugly thing wanted. The beast had bigger prizes to pursue. Staring down the path toward New Haven, it grinned stupidly.

  “Don’t tell me that’s all ya got?” Milo piped as he dragged himself back to his feet. The ogre gave him an annoyed growl. Milo's right hip burned like fire every time he put weight on it, forcing him to favor his left side. The rahee couldn’t let this creature enter the town. Ears slanted back, he yelled, “Fight me, ya rump-fed pig!”

  As soon as the beast took a step forward to shut the Sarrokian up, Milo speared his scimitar straight into its bulbous eye. The ogre gave a horrid, high-pitched screech as it stumbled backward, tripping over an arching root. It dropped like a fallen tree, limbs flailing as it clawed against the blade buried in its socket.

  “Ho there!” a voice bellowed.

  Milo stumbled out of the way, steadying himself on a rotting post that once held a sign. Three villagers came scrambling down the hill with swords drawn as the ogre tried to pull itself to its feet. Milo’s neighbors made quick work of the beast, finishing the ogre off and ending its misery.

  Levee ran past the whole scene to the Sarrokian’s side, fussing over him like an injured babe.

  “Milo, are you alright?” Hot tears brimmed in her eyes. “I never should’ve left.”

  “I’m fine, Lev. Just my leg, mostly. Gimme a hand, will ya?” Milo pulled himself upright, careful to hide the excruciating pain that leapt up his hip every time he put pressure on his right side. Levee tucked his arm around her shoulders as a fellow farmer named Rab came over and grabbed Milo’s free arm, offering his support.

  “How are you feeling, boy?” It was a genuine concern.

  “I’ve had better days,” Milo winced when he stumbled over a rut in the path.

  The farmer shook his head, the worry behind his clear blue eyes telling Milo more than he cared to know. “You’re lucky you made it out alive. Let’s get you settled back at your place before I fetch the healer.”

  * * * * *

  Rab hardly managed to lug Milo through the door when Tay started fretting like a startled hen. Levee did her best to explain what happened while assuring Tay her son would be fine, but no words could comfort the worried mother. She fluttered about, gathering washcloths and heating water over the fire to minister to his wounds.

  Meanwhile, Rab helped Milo hobble to his room. The Sarrokian’s face distorted in pain when the sandy-haired farmer lifted his leg onto the mattress, but to his credit not a sound left his lips. Milo thanked Rab, who nodded and left in search of the village’s only healer.

  Levee settled on the edge of Milo’s bed, holding his hand as she stroked his hair comfortingly. Milo sighed, his eyes crinkled with lines of pain and discomfort. Between Levee’s doting and Tay’s nervous treks in and out of the room, he felt like he was on the brink of his final resting place.

  His mother brought in a steaming bowl of water and a cloth, her hands shaking all the while.

  “I’ll take care of it, Tay,” Levee offered. She set the bowl on Milo’s nightstand and gently pulled the rag from his frail mother’s hand. “Go wait by the door for the healer. Someone will need to show him in when he arrives.”

  Tay nodded through teary eyes and departed with a dramatic sniffle. The Sarrokian waited until his mother shut the door before he released the breath he’d been holding all this time. Sinking back against the pillows he closed his eyes. “So much hullabaloo over a few scratches and a sore leg.”

  “That’s what happens when you start bleeding all over everything,” Levee remarked. She set about undoing the filthy shirt on his chest. Nimble fingers unwove the leather strings and Milo steadied his breathing as she peeled the thin layer of cloth from the abrasion on his side.

  With a bit of coaxing, she lifted the tattered shirt over his broad shoulders. A dark bruise crept up from Milo’s hip. Levee frowned. She wrung the cloth from the warm basin and carefully set about bathing his wounds.

  The Sarrokian watched her carefully as she worked. The gypsy was quiet. Her eyes hid themselves from his gaze as she focused on the task before her. Milo recognized that brave front. It stood like a fragile dam trying to hold its own against a flood.

  “Hey now,” he stilled her hand and gathered the peasant in his arms. Levee buried her face against the soft hairs on his chest as silent tears streamed from her eyes. Milo stroked her hair. “You don’t need to cry, Princess. Everythin’s fine. It’s just a few scratches, that’s all.”

  The Sarrokian tucked Levee close to his side as she wept until her eyes ran dry. The ogre itself was enough to rock anyone, but the memories the bloody fight had triggered in Levee were far. There was a bloodthirsty threat in the ogre’s eyes; one she had seen in a group of men when she was still a child.

  Melee’s bravery and speed had saved Levee’s life the night her family died. Yet while the mare carried physical scars from the incident, Levee bore a more difficult kind drawn on the soul of an innocent young girl. The thought of losing Milo tore at the seams of those old fears, b
ringing her to her knees once again.

  Milo used the edge of the bed sheet to dry Levee’s cheeks. She raised her red-rimmed eyes and Milo brushed the stray wisps of hair from her face, bothered by how fragile she felt beneath his touch.

  Eyes listless, Levee ran her hand across his shoulder, down his arm and to his waist where her fingers lingered over the tender, discolored skin. Goosebumps followed her trembling fingertips as they barely brushed against the wound.

  Milo didn't move. He didn't even say a word as she drew her hand across his chest, feeling the soft, thin layer of hair that sprouted there. His eyes looked so calm and reassuring, yet beneath her palm she felt his heart race.

  It had to hurt. She could feel him tense under even the lightest touch, but Levee couldn't help herself. Feeling his warm skin and the heartbeat beneath it reassured her that he was still here. Not lost to her like the family she had known before.

  Milo took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “What's on your mind?”

  Levee parted her lips, but words eluded her as a whirl of emotions swirled inside her weary frame. Her hand slowly, tentatively, slid up his chest and to his cheek. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Milo could taste the fresh tears in her kiss. Stubbornly ignoring his body’s ache, he pulled her close against his chest.

  The door swung open.

  “Oh my!” Tay gasped, hand over her mouth. Levee quickly pulled away, embarrassed by the intrusion. She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands nervously in her lap.

  Milo chuckled. “Hey, Ma.”

  “Now don’t ya pretend I didn’t see nothin’,” she chided. One hand on her hip, she wagged a finger of warning. “I expect an explanation the moment this healer’s done his business.”

  Tay waited as Levee migrated sheepishly to the wooden chair by Milo’s bedside before ushering the healer in. He was an older fellow with silver hair that hung in a low ponytail down his back. He did his best to hide a receding hairline underneath a woolen cap, but it showed every time he padded his shiny brow with a damp cloth from his pocket.

  “Mighty warm for the end of summer,” the healer observed as he set his bag down on the nightstand. “Though it probably feels nice to you, eh Milo?”

  The Sarrokian grunted against the pain as he forced himself to sit up. “Even the hot days are nice compared to Sarrokye, Master Gray.”

  “It’s the cool mountain breeze. Keeps your blood from boiling.” Gray was a charming fellow. Levee had always been fond of the old rahee. Creases from countless smiles lined his eyes, and he had a way of making bad things seem okay.

  “Now then,” the healer stretched his arms as he gave Milo a once over. “Let’s see what kind of mark this beastie’s left.”

  The healer requested that Levee and Tay leave the room as he removed Milo’s trousers with tender care. Both Levee and Tay hovered outside of the bedroom door, listening to the series of hmm’s and mmm’s the healer muttered in different octaves. A couple of muffled curses from Milo slid through the thick door, causing Levee to pace nervously.

  “While we’re waitin’,” Tay tried to sound jovial, though the strain in her tone told Levee his mother was just as worried as she was. “Why don’t ya tell me what’s brewin’ between the two o’ ya?”

  “Oh, that…” Levee mumbled. “It wasn’t what it looked like, Tay. Really. It was just a kiss.”

  Milo’s mother dealt no reproof. “When did this start, child? Do ya fancy him? Is it love?”

  Levee, amazed at how open Tay was to the prospect, did her best to keep up with the slew of questions. “Not long ago. Just after the competitions. I do fancy him… though I’m not sure I know what love is yet.”

  “Well, I approve as long as you behave yourselves! I’ll beat some sense into ‘em if he tries any funny business.”

  Levee felt a wave of heat as her entire face turned red. “I really don’t think you have to worry about that, Tay. He said he’d court me properly.”

  A proud grin lit up Milo’s mother’s face. “Good! Milo may be a lil’ rough around the edges, but he’s always been a good boy, ya know.”

  To Levee’s relief, the door clicked open and Master Gray invited them back in. Milo lay tucked beneath his sheet, looking grumpy after one too many proddings by the healer’s invasive fingers. The old rahee looked hopeful though, and it raised Tay and Levee’s spirits.

  “Tough boy you got there, Miss Tay,” the healer remarked. “I’m not sure how an ogre managed to slip by the Guard, but your son saved this village a whole lot of grief today.”

  “Will he be okay?” Levee asked.

  “Milo suffered quite a hit this evening. Nothing is broken, but there’s a deep bruise on his hip.”

  “Is it serious?”

  The healer shrugged. “I can’t tell whether there will be any long term damage until the swelling goes down, but he’s lucky. Aside from his hip, all he has are a couple of thick scrapes on his torso.” Master Gray pulled a jar of salve from his bag and handed it to Tay. “Put this on his wounds once in the morning and once at night. It will help speed up the healing process. I suggest you grab him a bottle of something strong, too. Once the adrenaline fades, he’ll be hurting pretty bad.”

  When Tay didn’t speak, Master Gray smiled at the worried mother and patted her on the shoulder. “He’ll be fine. I promise. Just keep him on bed rest for the next week so his body can focus on getting better. Milo should be back on his feet again soon enough.”

  “Bless ya, Master Gray,” Tay said. Levee pounced on the side of the bed where she gathered Milo in an embrace that had the healer raising eyebrows. Milo kissed the lass’ cheek and Tay gave a helpless shrug. “There’s no keepin’ the two apart.”

  “To be young again,” Master Gray watched the couple for a lingering moment, admiring them as only one who’s known love can do, then took up his bag.

  “We wouldn’t have the energy for it,” Tay laughed. They made for the common room, giving Milo and Levee their privacy.

  Alone again, Levee found a comfortable spot by Milo’s side, careful not to tap or pinch any of his injuries. “Promise me something.”

  Milo’s fingers traced her arm back and forth, his eyes heavy with fatigue. “What’s that?”

  “Swear to me you won’t do anything that stupid again,” she whispered in his ear. “Any other loss, I can handle, but not you.”

  The confession moved Milo deeply. He stretched his arms above his head and Levee used that moment to curl up against his chest.

  The words “I love you” nearly slipped between his lips, but like so many other things, Milo held them back. Kissing her forehead, the Sarrokian sank back into his pillow and settled on two words instead.

  “I promise.”

  Deadly Dreams

  Jaycent opened his eyes only to find himself shrouded in darkness.

  “Here we go,” he sighed. Every night now, his dreams began in a place black as pitch with only his hands to guide him. This time, though, his palms were greeted with the abrasive bark of evergreen trees, not the smooth, cold touch of stone.

  Standing in a forest that refused any hint of moonlight, Jaycent plod forward with slow, calculated steps. The ground beneath him felt littered with debris he hoped was dead foliage as it crackled beneath his boots. But the texture felt too hard; the snaps too solid. It was like walking on fragile bones.

  Already, Jaycent hated this place. No wildlife could be heard. Not even a frog or an owl, yet something lingered like a hunter in the darkness. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and the air grew ever cooler as fog rolled in around him. Damp, it crept across his skin, eliciting goosebumps.

  Something about it felt dirty. Jaycent tried to wipe it off, but his attempts were useless. The fog grew steadily thicker, wrapping him in its chilly embrace. He tried to move away from it, pushing through the trees, twigs, and brush. His feet moved ever quicker as the fog followed him, licking at his ankles. He stumbled several times, an
d when the prince looked down he saw the fog reaching like fingers around his boots.

  It was a figment of his imagination. It had to be. Fog doesn’t have fingers nor the solidity to grab anything. He figured the brush was tripping up his feet. It seemed like a more sound explanation than blaming the eerie wisps.

  Still, he fled. Brambles tore his clothes. Thorns scraped his skin. Jaycent didn't care. He'd never felt dread like this before. The chill of the night sank into his skin, coursing through every vein as cold sweat ran down his brow and across his cheeks. Droplets trickled down his lips, leaving the bitter taste of salt on his tongue.

  Up ahead, the slightest rays of light teased him from behind a thick layer of foliage. The prince leapt into a wall of vines, clawing his way through the organic knot like a trapped animal. There, just on the other side, he could see an open patch of land. The moon beckoned him forward, offering him sight if only he could get beyond the forest’s stubborn veil. Tearing open a gap, Jaycent squirmed through the tangle of vines with enough force to send him tumbling forward onto the ground. Tearing his boots free, the prince crawled his way into the open.

  Like the forest, everything here was damp and cold. The earth sunk beneath his hands and feet as he struggled to stand. No grass sprouted from the ground. It was a stretching landscape of thick, sucking mud. The fog followed, seeping in around him. Deep from within the crowded trees, a low growl rumbled.

  Jaycent instinctively reached for his sword only to grab a fistful of air. The horror of being unarmed in an open space welled inside his chest. He scanned the woods in search of what hunted him, but it was impossible to decipher what was real and what was illusion in the endless scope of shadows.

  “What are you waiting for?” Ears flexed back, Jaycent clenched his fists. “I'm right here. If you want me, take me!”

  A shuffling to his left caused Jaycent to turn. A wolf stalked into the open, its fur bristled. The canine’s lips curled in a snarl, its upper jaw housing fangs far bigger than any normal beast. Matching claws poked from each paw like curved daggers, and they moved quickly to close the space between wolf and rahee.