The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Jaycent knew he couldn’t outrun what was faster than him, but he also knew to face this predator would be to face his death.

  “It's just a dream,” the prince whispered under his breath. He braced himself as the wolf closed in.

  The prince had heard the term “fighting demons,” but tonight those words took on a whole new meaning.

  He gave a valiant cry.

  The wolf struck.

  * * * * *

  The moon was at its peak when Diego sped across the pasture, his hooves kicking up clumps of grass as he tore toward the gate. The stallion leapt the enclosure and bellowed a neigh that made the patrolling soldiers shiver.

  It was a warning, and the only one the castle would get as Diego flung himself up the front steps in a flurry of thick black mane and powerful legs. The guards abandoned their posts in a desperate scramble for safe ground as over two thousand pounds of fur and muscle skidded toward them and halted just shy of the door. With another spine shivering cry, Diego reared onto his back legs, slamming his sharpened hooves against the thick, oak entrance.

  “Diego!” trumpeted a voice from one of the narrow second floor windows. The unicorn fell on back on all fours, and from above the general could see the muscles bunching in his haunches. As the unicorn swung his lethal horn back and forth, Rayhan knew whatever troubled him was beyond the realm of discussion. “Guards!” he barked. “Let him in before he tears the doors down!”

  “But General—” one of them ducked midsentence to avoid the spiraled lance that tried to swipe him aside. Again, Diego struck out against the door with an irate whinny. Wood splintered under the beast’s frantic barrage, and Rayhan slammed his hands against the window’s edge.

  “No excuses! Get on your feet and make it happen!”

  Quivering, the guard reached for the handle and pushed. Diego shoved his way through with reckless desperation. Bounding up the stairs, the stallion took the steps six at a time as he made for the prince’s chamber.

  Fear seized Rayhan’s heart as he realized the unicorn’s destination. He swiftly ran after the resounding hoof beats galloping down the royal corridor, hoping that no harm had come to the prince.

  Whatever stirred Diego had to be a threat quite fearsome. Rayhan felt for the dagger tucked in the waistband of his pants—the only piece of clothing he had managed to pull on when the stallion sounded his first alarm—and hoped the meager defense would be enough for whatever loomed ahead.

  Another shrill cry Rayhan was certain woke the dead king himself rebounded off of the walls. The general picked up his pace until he caught sight of Diego ramming his body against the prince’s door.

  “Easy boy,” the general coaxed. The stallion’s flanks were covered in cold sweat and the whites of his eyes shown bright, even in the dim-lit corridor.

  “Wake him!” the beast shouted. “We must wake him!”

  Rayhan slipped around the black beast and lifted the double handles of the prince’s chamber door. Diego followed with antsy steps, trying to weave his massive body around the cautious general.

  His nostrils flared when Rayhan flung the covers from Jaycent’s bed. The scene set the prince’s cousin back on his heels. Underneath the blankets, Nevaharday’s heir writhed in his sleep, clawing his neck and chest as if an unseen enemy pinned him to the bed. Blood streaked his body as he gasped in agony.

  “Jaycent!” Snatching the prince’s wrists, Rayhan fought to keep his cousin’s fingers from digging deeper into his own flesh, but the prince, well over six feet in height, bucked in protest. The general pinned his cousin to the feather mattress in attempt to subdue him and, using all of his strength, held the prince’s hands against the pillows above his head.

  He barely kept the clawing at bay and nothing seemed to awaken Jaycent from his nightmares. His chest heaved and his back arched as he gave a strangled cry of pain.

  “Hold him still!” Diego commanded.

  “I’m trying,” the general grunted. “What sorcery is this?”

  The unicorn closed his silver eyes and used his magic to find the prince, and with him the answer to Rayhan’s question. Gradually, the sounds of the present faded from the stallion's ears as he called out to the prince with his mind. His skin twitched as the atmosphere around him changed. Though he was standing in the prince's chamber, his senses moved into a metaphysical plane; one that existed beyond the Veil of time and death.

  Diego could hear the cries once again, but this time they came from a whole new environment. He grunted softly, his senses picking up the smothering presence of sinister magic. Fog shrouded the unicorn’s view as he wrestled his way through the thick foliage which seemed to cling to his every step.

  “Prince,” he called into the darkness. Screams echoed back. The unicorn's ears pricked and he cantered toward the sound. “Prince!” he called again.

  Back in the present, Rayhan restrained his cousin the best he could. He felt helpless. A growl broke from the royal’s lips, and the veins in his neck pressed against his skin as he flailed like a wild animal. The general wouldn't be able to restrain Jaycent’s primal fight much longer.

  He remembered the prince’s nightmares when he was young. Could it be that they had returned? For Jaycent’s sake, he prayed it wasn’t so.

  “Bring him back to us, Diego,” he muttered.

  Inside Jaycent’s dreams, the stallion moved swiftly. Though the mist tried to blind and confuse him, the unicorn trusted his hearing. Pummeling through leafy barricades, Diego entered the muddy clearing where the prince fought for his life. Pinned against the ground, Jaycent gripped the ankles of a giant wolf, dodging its drooling fangs as best he could.

  Diego let out a battle cry, horn poised like a lance as he cantered toward Jaycent’s predator. The wolf looked up and narrowed its red eyes just as Diego skewered the canine through its shoulder.

  He hurled it off of the prince's chest with a vicious whip of his neck. The wolf yelped, rolling across the mud soaked ground and leaving a trail of red blood behind him. Diego’s black mane and tail whipped in the breeze as he stood guard over Jaycent’s moaning frame, his silver eyes hard and bright, like dwarven mithral.

  But the wolf was not a mortal creature. Not like the rahee between Diego’s hooves. The stallion understood the wolf’s magical nature as it climbed to its feet, a fight still rumbling in its growl.

  The canine slowly began to circle the two companions, its muzzle distorted in an angry snarl. Diego followed the foe’s every move, his onyx horn held at the ready. In the blink of an eye, the wolf darted forward, snapping at the unicorn’s legs.

  Diego gave several fierce jabs of his horn in return, but had a hard time landing a solid blow on the agile beast. The wolf dashed between Diego’s two back legs and latched his teeth onto the thick hairs of the stallion’s tail, thinking to lure him away from his rahenyan prey. Furious, the unicorn bucked, careening the wolf back into the woods from whence it came.

  A howl drifted from within the cover of trees and brush, and Diego knew it wouldn't stay gone for long. He cautiously knelt beside Jaycent's crippled frame and curled protectively around the injured rahee.

  “Come back with me, Prince,” the unicorn whispered. The wolf's crimson eyes stared hungrily at them from the shadows near the forest's edge. “I beg of you, wake from this nightmare.”

  Back in his own bed, Jaycent’s muscles relaxed, and his eyes fluttered open. Confusion hung in the depths of his gaze as he began to recognize where he was and who was with him. Diego stood at foot of his bed, nudging the prince's feet with his nose while Rayhan sat at his side, worry inscribed across his face.

  When Jaycent tried to lift himself up, he grunted in pain. Running his hands across his bare chest, he beheld in horror the blood that stained his palms.

  “No… this is impossible,” he muttered in a hoarse voice as he studied the wounds on his body. “It was a dream.” He looked up. “Diego, it was only a dream!”

  The stallion bowed his head. “My de
ar prince, let us get you cleaned up.”

  “It was a dream,” Jaycent echoed, though his quivering hands betrayed his faith in those words.

  “You wouldn’t wake,” Rayhan stated sharply. It was the closest to being afraid Jaycent had ever seen his cousin. “You were cured of your dreams when you were still a boy. And even if somehow that cure had been broken, no nightmare would have you mauling yourself in your sleep.”

  “Enough, General,” Diego’s voice was stern. Begrudgingly, the general held back his thoughts and led Jaycent to the washroom where he cleaned and dressed the prince’s lacerations. Jaycent stared dumbfounded at the gashes that spanned his arms and torso.

  “Has something like this ever happened before, Your Highness?” Rayhan asked.

  “The dream started like the others,” Jaycent mumbled.

  “Others?”

  “Other dreams. They began a fortnight ago, though I assumed they were born from the stress of the foreign ambassadors’ visits. Even then, this—,” he held his arms out for inspection, “has never happened.”

  “What exactly did happen?”

  The prince shook his head. This no longer felt like a dream. Not the cuts on his body nor the heat of the wolf's breath on his face. It was all very real, to a point where even logic couldn’t refute the scenario before him.

  Jaycent rose unsteadily to his feet. “I need some air.”

  “Your Highness, you are in no shape to be going anywhere. Perhaps you should try to get some rest,” Rayhan suggested as he helped the prince dress. “You can use the bed in my chamber. I will see to it that no one bothers you.”

  Jaycent grimaced as the cloth rubbed against his skin. “You want me to sleep? Tell me you're joking, cousin.”

  “Diego and I will be there to wake you should anything happen.”

  “Sleep is impossible at this point,” the prince scooped up a pair of boots along with his black cloak, and pushed past the general with a finality he couldn’t combat. Rayhan looked to Diego for some assistance.

  “I will go with him,” the stallion assured.

  Together, the prince and his unicorn walked down the staircase, avoiding the eyes of worried servants and guards. Jaycent was thankful for the cloak's long cowl, believing the less his people saw, the better.

  Not a word was exchanged between him and Diego as they left the quiet stables behind. Jaycent could hardly restrain his pace to a walk, eager to escape the royal grounds. They approached the northern gates that led into the city, ignoring the sentries’ salutes as they passed.

  He pulled his cowl further over his eyes, wishing Diego wasn't as distinguishable as he was. Jaycent wanted to disappear; to fade into the hugging houses that lined the cobblestone street. But no matter how far he strayed, he couldn't put enough distance between himself and the memory of that hungry, red stare. Every time he closed his eyes the wolf was there, its pupils gleaming with malicious intent.

  “I need a drink,” Jaycent muttered. On the corner of the curving street, a wooden sign creaked as it swung back and forth, teased by a light breeze. There was an engraving of a busty female knight on its surface. Underneath the words “Armed Maiden” were carved in thick, red letters. He motioned for Diego to stay in the shadows and the stallion grunted in protest.

  “I won't be long,” the prince promised. “Just stay out of sight.”

  “Prince, this place will not make your dreams go away.”

  “No, but it will take the edge off,” Jaycent walked into the bar, leaving Diego to stand discreetly in the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

  Inside, the smell of old ale and sweat filled his nostrils. It was late at night; a time when Nevaharday’s lowest class crawled out of the city’s bowels. Jaycent scrunched his nose at the filthy aroma permeating the small tavern. Around him ruffians joined the alcoholics at the bar while gamblers swapped coins over dice. The prince walked unobtrusively up to the counter and took a seat on one of the chipped bar stools.

  “What's your poison?” a female bartender asked. An overly tight corset pushed her bosom so high that Jaycent pondered whether she used it as a second counter space. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his throat.

  “Where’s Talya?” His voice sounded rough, as if he’d swallowed broken glass.

  “She’s doing business in the back. But don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” the bartender winked. Jaycent hid his disdain under his cowl.

  “I'll take the strongest thing you have.”

  The bartender grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter and poured him a glass. Her greasy hair was tied in a loose knot on top of her head, its unhealthy tendrils hanging over rust colored eyes.

  Jaycent propped his elbow on the counter which caused his sleeve to droop to the crook in his elbow. He managed to cover his arm pretty quickly, but not before the bartender caught sight of his bloody bandages. The prince’s wounds appeared to excite the damsel, if you could even call her that. She looked him up and down with ravenous eyes and handed him a full glass.

  “Consider it on the house.”

  Jaycent downed it in one swallow and slid the glass back to her. With his eyes closed, he let the liquid fire slide down his throat and into his stomach, warming him from the inside out. “Thanks.”

  The bartender gave him a mischievous smile and poured him another. “So what are you? Some kind of rogue?”

  “What is it to you who I am?” The glass disappeared under Jaycent’s cowl again, and didn't return until it was only a quarter full. She leaned forward in a way that left little to the imagination.

  “I just like to know my customers.”

  Of course you do, Jaycent thought. He offered her the first roguish name that came to mind. “Jaspur.”

  “Jaspur?” scoffed a rahee sitting on a stool to his right. Jaycent vaguely felt he’d seen the fellow before. The hunch was only bolstered by the stranger’s all-too-knowing stare. “Fitting name for a fellow who hides behind a hood.”

  The bartender lacked such caution. She cozied up to the prince and asked, “Would you like to know who I am?”

  Flicking the empty glass toward her, Jaycent rose to his feet. “No.”

  “Hmph,” the bartender huffed and snatched up the glass, but her frown didn't last. With a flick of his thumb, the prince tossed a gold coin onto the counter. She tucked the tip into her top and winked. “You may not be good with words, Jaspur, but you know how to please a lady.”

  Jaycent had to bite his tongue to keep from saying more. Although he wasn't picky about where he got his drinks, the Armed Maiden this late at night felt unapologetically ribald.

  He brought his cloak in tighter around his tall frame and sought another seat away from the skeptical patron and overly friendly wench. Spying an empty table behind some gambler’s game, Jaycent slouched into its far chair, comforted by the fact the only thing behind him was the wall. He perched his boots on the seat opposite of his and absentmindedly stared at the crowd of late night tavern dwellers.

  While the drink dulled the ache that stung his body, it did little to distract his mind. The wolf still lingered inside his consciousness, its eyes chilling and familiar. He had seen them before, not so long ago.

  On a knight without a name.

  Jaycent lifted his head a little higher, hoping to spot some recognizable faces. The gypsies still made up a fair portion of the Armed Maiden’s patrons, though they congregated on the opposite end of the tavern where they kept to themselves.

  The prince’s temper rose as he recalled the incident in the alley. Which, if any, were with him the night he fell unconscious? The nomadic rahee were a tight-knit group. Some of them would probably have the answers he needed. But before he could formulate a plan on how to approach one of them, a voice broke his concentration.

  “Hey you, under the hood.” Jaycent’s head snapped right to where a burly human stood behind a round table. “Why don’t you join us?”

  Jaycent sensed trouble, but the ruffian did little to
shake him. Nothing could after a night like this. “I’m not a gambler.”

  “Come on. It’s all in good fun,” the man motioned to the dice on the table, and Jaycent didn’t miss the greedy smile on his face. “We noticed you had some pretty change in your pocket there at the bar. Surely you can spare a coin or two?”

  The prince placed a thoughtful finger over his lips. He didn’t care much for humans, who had introduced gambling to his people in the first place, but the gleam in this man's eye rubbed the already irritable prince the wrong way. Sliding back his chair, he strode to the table and snatched up the dice before the man could get his hands on them.

  His Highness had many entertainers visit his castle, some of which had taught him the tricks of traveling game masters. He tested the weight of the dice and smirked. “You take me for a fool?”

  The man’s eyes widened, flabbergasted by the accusation. “What?”

  “Do not feign ignorance with me,” Jaycent slammed the dice on the table. With deft hands, he snatched the dagger from the hip of the man standing next to him and plunged its tip into one of the wooden die. It split in half, revealing a small weight glued to one side. “Your game is as crooked as you are.”

  Jaycent yanked the blade free of the table and handed it back to its owner, who slowly backed away. Heated stares from the players at the table fell upon the cheater, while everyone else in the tavern turned toward the hooded vigilante who had exposed him.

  What am I doing? The prince thought. Rayhan had accused him of being reckless before, but this made the top of his list of foolhardy antics. One slip of his cowl would send a wave of gossip throughout the city.

  But while caution spoke in one ear, opportunity whispered in the other. Jaycent wasn’t Jaycent to the people here. Not with his face hidden. Surveying the tavern, he saw a new type of respect staring back at him.