The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Several times their eyes would peer above the streets to the city’s wall walk where General Mendeley, their beacon of hope, was perched. Rayhan sat atop his mare, his ear turned toward an unusual companion. The Sarrokian standing beside the famous war leader pulled his cowpoke hat low against his brow.

  “You spoke with the gypsies? They promised to come?” the general asked. Milo leaned heavily against a cane, his amber eyes set upon the empty trade route. The drumbeats of marching mimics echoed over the hills, too far to see but close enough for the wind to carry their cadence.

  “Aye, and they swore it,” Milo assured. Levee said the nomads always held fast to their word, but the empty road forged doubts in the anxious Sarrokian’s mind. He had heard the reports of mimics and night mares flooding the northern forest. Perhaps they had been delayed. Or worse, overrun.

  Milo took a deep breath and pulled his thick cloak tighter around his shoulders. He wished more than ever that Levee was here. Rayhan constantly assured him the girl could not be in safer hands, but it did little to calm Milo’s nerves. He couldn’t sleep soundly until he saw her again with his own two eyes.

  “General!” a deep voice broke through the whistling wind. Both Milo and Rayhan turned to see Diego cantering toward them from outside Nevaharday’s gate. Rayhan’s eyes widened at the sight of the missing unicorn, who had disappeared along with the prince and Levee months ago. Perhaps his promises to the Sarrokian weren’t as empty as he’d feared.

  “Open the doors!” the stallion called. “And keep them open!”

  “For what purpose?” General Mendeley asked. His eyes darted beyond the northern entrance to the sea of swaying trees, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Trust me,” Diego reared and pawed his hooves insistently. “You will see soon enough.”

  Rayhan shouted for the northern gates to raise the portcullis. The Sarrokian limped to where the soldiers worked furiously to lift the heavy grating, his cattish eyes searching for what the unicorn was hinting toward.

  At first he saw and heard nothing but the distant beat of mimic drums. They were growing louder, reminding them all that time was growing shorter. He held his breath when he heard the thud of reinforcements dropping and the doors creaking open.

  Diego galloped in, parting the clutter of standing bodies as he made himself a path to the steps. He leapt the stairs six at a time and cantered to meet the general.

  “Keep your eyes on the road.” The unicorn said. He shook his coat, his silver eyes returning to the empty trade route where the path disappeared into the forest. Seconds passed and nothing happened. Soldiers looked at one another in confusion as the city fell into silent anticipation. Ice pelted against every pair of eyes and cheeks.

  Then it happened. One lone figure rode out of the cover of trees, his hood shed for all to see. His flaxen hair was saturated and stuck to the side of his tan face. Upon his chest he wore a mithril breastplate, its surface gilded with the symbol of a centaur. A telltale birthmark claimed his left eye, and Milo grinned ear-to-ear. The gypsy leader’s voice rose up above the pounding wind as he let out a glorious cry.

  His shout was echoed by many more voices still hidden within the cover of the forest. Patchi lifted his arm and drew it down toward the open gates, spurring dozens of gypsies to step out onto the trade route. Cheers rose up among Nevaharday’s people while soldiers gawked, humbled that the nomadic folk had traveled so close to their gates without alerting a single watchman. Their count rose from dozens to over one hundred as riders, archers, and swordsmen fell in line behind their leader.

  Citizens moved out of the way as Patchi led his troops solemnly through the entrance, their prejudice muted by the gypsies’ willingness to march to their aid. Several still wore colorful scarves that covered their ears and black ran down their faces as the rain smeared the coal that lined their eyes.

  Still, none could deny these strange folk appeared far more formidable than Nevaharday ever gave them credit for.

  “Did you bring any women or children?” Rayhan asked as he met Patchi next to the gate.

  Patchi shook his head. “The rest have migrated south where they will join with other kinfolk until these lands are safe again.”

  The general raised a curious brow. “Why not bring them here instead?”

  Patchi scanned the crowded streets. “And put them where?”

  The gypsy’s point didn’t need reinforcement. The hopeful stares of the displaced families said it all. He shouted orders for the archers to join the Nevahardan ranks on top of the wall and offered a cordial hand to the general.

  “I trust this alliance will not end once the battle is won,” he softened the statement with a friendly smile, and Rayhan shook the small leader’s hand.

  “May it be won, friend,” the general conceded. “For all quarrels between us are surely over.”

  A COLD STEEL CADENCE

  Jaycent sat up with a start. A cold bead of sweat dribbled down his brow and neck as glimpses of his people huddled in the streets lingered in his mind. The vivid images stole any notions of sleep from his consciousness.

  He cast the knot of cloaks around his chest aside. What he had seen must have been the present. The storm that raged in Nevaharday had slid by Bresan T’ahnya no more than a day ago, leaving only the white snow and howling wind in its wake.

  At first, Jaycent thought the distant thrum of Nevaharday’s opposing mimic army still echoed in his ears. But when he listened closely, Jaycent realized the cadence was different. His ears flicked behind him to the cliff where Levee had kept her watch. Two-legged stomps mirrored the drum’s rhythm, with every fifth beat chimed by the clashing ring of metal.

  An army was on the move, but not one comprised of monsters. What he heard was a disciplined force.

  Beside him, Levee tugged her cloak tighter around her frame and sat upright. Groggy green eyes searched for a reason behind Jaycent’s baffled expression.

  “What is that sound?” she asked.

  Jaycent was moving quickly now. He yanked his cloak over his torso and tucked Connor’s journal into the back of his belt. “I am about to find out.”

  Levee peered over the stone peak that had been her watch. Her eyes grew wide and her ears flexed back.

  “Jayce…” she waved him over. “Take a look at this.”

  The prince was already standing behind her, his pale blue eyes glued to the shimmering line of silver plated armor moving proudly through the moonlit ridge. The procession of men paraded like conquerors through the untamed landscape, their steel armor banging in rhythm to a chant spoken in a language rarely heard in the streets of Nevaharday.

  Their horses were coated with sheets of dark, silver metal that clanked as they moved and their armored brows bore long steel lances that resembled a unicorn’s horn.

  They marched loudly, fearless of confrontation. “‘Through starlit skies a cold steel cadence thunders’…” Jaycent muttered as the first line of Connor’s entry suddenly made sense.

  Levee tilted her brow and stared at her mate. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jaycent responded with an incredulous shake of his head. To follow such an overwhelming force went against his common sense, but something told him this legion paved the road they were meant to follow.

  Either way, there was no time to err on the side of caution. Not while Nevaharday sat upon the eve of warfare. With a swell of hope, Jaycent gave into the challenge before them while donning a wild grin.

  “Our trail to Shadow’s bane is no longer cold,” he flipped his hood over his face and started down the peak. “Fetch Tobi and tell him our wait is over. We will follow this army wherever it leads.”

  * * * * *

  When Levee returned to camp, their bags were already packed and the dying embers of the fire were covered with a thick layer of snow. Tobi sat upon his own pack, hunched over his knees with a wooden pipe in his mouth. With every puff, a cloud of sweet smoke would slip between his lips and drift
across his pensive expression. Levee knew the re’shahna was aware of her presence, yet his eyes remained distant, deep in thought.

  “Tobi?” she whispered.

  The re’shahna looked at her, the pale moonlight spilling slender rays over his face. “I have been wondering how much longer I would wait for your return.”

  “Below the cliffs, there marches an—” Levee began.

  “I know,” Tobi interrupted. He savored the taste of the smoke on his tongue before releasing it into the winter air.

  Levee stood in silence, her momentum lost to uncertainty. She didn’t understand what was wrong with the re’shahna, but she could read from his expression that it was something internal, like the acceptance of a sobering reality.

  Tufts of black and white mane hung over the far side of his face, and he looked at the stars poking bright little holes in the cloudless sky. Levee wondered what was going through his mind.

  Did Tobi not perceive her urgency? Or did his patience stem from an awareness of things that she and Jaycent had yet to perceive?

  A chuckle broke the re’shahna’s silence, reminding Levee that he could hear her thoughts. “Have you ever heard the story of Seqwa, little gypsy?”

  She leaned against the rough bark of an evergreen tree, baffled. “You mean Pegasus?”

  Tobi nodded. “She was a horse once. Her herd would tease her because she spent too much time with her eyes to the sky, dreaming of what it was like to be the white birds in the blueness.

  “She would run against the breeze, chasing after her avian friends and lifting her legs high with a spirit determined to soar above the ground.

  “But Seqwa did not have wings to pull her aloft. So at night she’d beg the moon to fashion her feathers from the stars.”

  Levee wrestled to stay attentive. “Tobi, the army…?”

  The re’shahna continued without skipping a beat. “One night the moon replied, ‘Hoofed Daughter, the blueness of the sky and the greenness of the earth are two different realms. Should I give you wings, you will break the divide and no longer belong to either one. The birds will not understand you, your herd will envy you, and you shall be alone among the creatures you once called friends.’”

  Levee looked from the re’shahna to the cliffs and back again.

  “The horse did not believe the moon,” Tobi continued. “She thought the others would get used to the change. Wearied by the mare’s persistence, the moon granted the horse her wish and the next morning she awoke tucked in a new set of wings which she flaunted in front of her earthbound kin.”

  “Tobi,” Levee spoke up again, but the re’shahna ignored her.

  “Their awe soon grew into jealousy, and the herd turned away from her. Saddened, the mare took to the sky where she thought to join the birds and their flocks. But there, too, she was shunned for she was too big for their nests, and her wings too wide to fly among them.”

  Tobi took one last puff of his pipe before disposing of its contents. “With a heavy heart, Seqwa realized what the moon had meant. She could not break the divide and be a part of both land and sky. She, like every creature, was only meant to walk one path.

  “When she tried to walk two, she lost them both. Distraught, she flew so high she got caught in the net of the heavens. There her constellation sits, even today.”

  Levee shook her head, perplexed. “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?”

  Tobi sighed. “Sometimes we face two paths, Melah, but we can only choose one...” Tobi threw his and Jaycent’s packs over one shoulder, then tossed Levee her own. She caught it with both hands.

  “What kind of paths are you talking about?”

  Tobi walked up to Levee and put a hand on her shoulder. “If you had to choose between saving your kingdom and saving your race, could you?”

  “You mean to say…”

  “I say nothing,” Tobi quickly corrected. “I only consider what could be. Jaycent reminds me of Seqwa, desiring to meet his responsibilities as a prince while playing his role as a hero. But what if those paths are not the same?”

  Levee’s breath caught in her throat and she stared at Tobi long and hard. “You’ve expected Nevaharday to fall all along.”

  “I fear it will,” Tobi confided. “I hope I am wrong, and that Patchi and your people stand strong against Shadow’s attack. But history does not speak kindly of the odds.”

  “Why haven’t you told him this?”

  “I do not yet know the fate of Jaycent’s kingdom,” Tobi reminded her. “And even if I did, what good would it do tell him?” Levee started to answer, but the re’shahna cut her short. “None. Jaycent must focus on the task ahead of him. That is all that matters. If he does not find the secret to Shadow’s bane, then no amount of allies will save our people from the terrors Shadow will contrive against us.”

  Levee looked down at her mate hunched eagerly behind a rock at the bottom of the slope. Tobi’s words felt cold and unfair. Yet the more she considered the re’shahna’s reasoning, the more she begrudgingly agreed. “If this is about him, then why are you telling me?”

  Tobi gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Should my fears come to pass, it is your voice he shall heed above all others.”

  “Do you really believe I, or anyone, could sway him to let Nevaharday go?”

  The re’shahna could only shrug. “It never hurts to be optimistic.”

  LONG LIVE THE KING

  Jaycent crouched behind a pile of boulders fashioned by an old landslide. He studied the passing soldiers, their steeds armored to look like steel unicorns. Jaycent recognized the potential in those horn-shaped lances if the horses knew how to wield them.

  But did humans see such potential in their clever steeds? Jaycent didn’t have a lot of experience with the human race. They were few and far between in his city.

  Two pairs of footsteps advanced upon him from behind. Jaycent relaxed, recognizing the re’shahna’s long gait and Levee’s light-footed steps.

  “Humans,” he marveled to his companions. “I never would have thought…” The prince’s words tapered off into silence as the pair settled against a large boulder.

  “Only because you have never seen it before,” Tobi squatted next to his royal friend. “Not all humans are blind to the brilliance of their four-legged companions. The army you see before you belongs to Brennensdale, a city who reveres unicorns almost as much as our own kind.”

  “So the re’shahna are familiar with these men?”

  “Aye,” Tobi pointed to one of the flag bearers. “My people would not mistake those gold and purple banners. Bresan T’ahnya has labeled them as chargri. They have been banned from our lands for many years now. This is the only road on our side of the ridge the humans are permitted to use.”

  “Chargri?” the prince frowned. “How are they thieves?”

  “Perhaps it is an unfair name. It stems from a single encounter,” Tobi admitted. “It was during a time when the re’shahna communicated with neighboring kingdoms.

  “Even then, few understood the ways of our people. Many believed we owned the unicorn herds—the chargri included. Our trouble with them began when they approached us with the request to buy unicorns for their cavalry.”

  “Is that the same cavalry we see before us now?” Levee guessed.

  “Aye, the Dale Legion,” Tobi answered. “Their request created a great dispute.”

  “What did the re’shahna do?” Jaycent asked.

  “Our elders explained to them unicorns are intelligent creatures, able to think and speak upon their own volition, and to sell them would be an act of slavery. Most understood, but there were a few who defied us.

  “They took it upon themselves to invade our land and capture the unicorns during the night. The herds lost three yearlings before the war stallions and re’shahna chased them away for good.

  “Between the unicorns’ magic and our own, we made certain the humans learned to steer clear of our territory.” Tobi chuckled t
o himself. “They now believe our land is haunted.”

  Levee closed her eyes, reaching out to the horses masked behind the plated armor. “These men seem anything but cowardly,” the gypsy observed. “Their horses march with the pride of many battles won. They trust their riders and try to emulate their fearlessness.”

  The trio waited a long time for the last line of soldiers to fade into a slender line on the southeastern horizon.

  “Come,” the prince bid. “Let us discover what we may.”

  * * * * *

  The trio kept a fair distance, their footsteps padding like fleet-footed deer as they skipped between the many stone lips and rises. They had no reason to suspect being heard. Not by the ears of men. However, none of them could have expected the presence of a peculiar half-blood soldier taking up the rear of the chargri’s ranks.

  Gavin Rallargo’s ears were short and subtle compared to his rahenyan father’s, but they were no less keen. Their tips poked from beneath ruddy strands of short, wavy hair, twitching as they filtered through the numerous sounds coming from all around the noisy company.

  Born and raised in Brennensdale, the half-blood knew little of his rahenyan heritage outside of the stories his father used to tell him as a child. Yet the traits he’d inherited from the horse folk had earned him the attention of Captain Toglehoff, a hero among Legion soldiers.

  The captain saw the potential in the half-blood’s sharp hearing and instincts, and sixteen-year-old Gavin proved him right during their skirmishes with the mimics.

  Battles against the monsters had quadrupled in the last year. Their latest mission had taken six months as the Dale Legion swept the surrounding territories clean of Abysmal filth. Now they were making their celebrative march home, yet Gavin never let his guard down.

  He turned and looked over his shoulder, his ears catching footfalls no more than a mile behind them. Nothing caught his eye when he scanned the jagged mountain pass. That didn’t mean much, though. Gavin always trusted his ears over his eyesight, and they told him his army had acquired a “tail” about an hour ago.