The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Brilliantly colored glass fashioned to reflect a familiar centaur symbol filtered light into the marble sanctuary. Gargoyles shaped like winged mares and fierce horned stallions lined the second story railing, and behind them were walls upon walls of books.

  Jaycent wondered what sort of works filled the pages of those old tomes. Lore? Science? History? Manuscripts? It appeared as if half of the cathedral was devoted to knowledge.

  Around them rahee mingled with the monks, perfectly at ease in a place that warmly welcomed their kind.

  As they walked through the center of the sanctuary, several heads looked up at Jaycent and a few monks whispered amongst each other. He tried to avoid their gaze, letting his attention stray back to the architecture instead, when he bumped into another rahee stepping out from between two book cases.

  Jaycent leapt back a step, his hand on his hilt. The rahee he collided with widened his good eye, then laughed.

  “At ease, soldier,” he mocked and saluted, then laughed all the louder. He leaned against one of the shelves and waved a book harmlessly in front of him. “Am I to beat you with knowledge? Relax. Hikshu’s house is no place for quarrel.”

  Jaycent let out a breath, though his pale blue eyes still narrowed in doubt. A patch covered one of the stranger’s eyes, half-shielded by a tuft of raven hair, and his black leather tunic only bore one long sleeve.

  The exposed shoulder was inked with the head of a wolf. From the canine’s mouth slithered the image of a black snake that curled down and around his arm, its head coming to rest on the back of his hand.

  But it wasn’t his garb that bothered the prince. There was something unsettlingly familiar about this exotic stranger.

  “Indeed,” the prince muttered. His fingers clinched the dirk on his hip.

  The rahee gave a crooked grin and casually strolled away.

  The monk let out an audible sigh and shook his head. “Do not be troubled with that one, my friend. I do not know his story outside of these walls, but Pip is harmless in here.”

  “I am not yet convinced of that,” Jaycent glanced over his shoulder to see the tattooed rahee plop himself into a well-cushioned chair and open his book.

  “Neither am I,” Levee remarked.

  Tobi said nothing, but the way he draped his arms around his two companions and hastened their steps told Jaycent the old re’shahna agreed.

  The stacks disappeared behind them, and the monk led them through several halls to a simple wooden door. Through it the foursome went, descending a spiral staircase that carried them down, down, down into the cold, dank levels of the underground.

  Condensation dripped from the stone tiles above their heads, the cracks between them widened from years of subtle shifting. Torches lined the walls every few feet, scorching them with sooty streaks as they chased away the darkness. A cool, gentle draft coaxed them onward, and Levee ran her hand across the wall as the tile gave way to natural rock. “So the hall we’re looking for isn’t part of the cathedral.”

  A cavern larger than Nevaharday’s royal barracks stretched wide before them. “Quite the opposite, actually,” the monk replied. “These catacombs were built by the Dale after the battle the re’shahna call the Great Tragedy.

  “We built it to help provide an honorable burial to the multitude that fell. The cathedral was built over the hall shortly afterward to protect and preserve it. Not that we can do much of the latter anymore. The door sealed itself when Connor was buried inside.”

  A chill coursed through Jaycent’s body as the monk led them to the edge of the cavern where a single, round stone was embedded into the wall. “The necropolis door,” the prince said. “It sealed itself?”

  “I suspect old Connor had a trick or two up his sleeve before he died. He took special measures to keep the relic buried with him from falling into the wrong hands.”

  Jaycent studied the peculiar door, its rounded edges tucked perfectly inside the wall. There was something familiar about it, though he had never seen it before. He reached out and touched the door’s surface.

  Instantly, it came alive, the edges glowing in a soft blue hue that carried up his arm with a warm sensation. Levee gasped and took a step back, bumping into Tobi. The re’shahna put his hands on her shoulders and stared intently at the prince, watching his every move.

  “Through starlit skies a cold steel cadence thunders through the night,” the prince muttered under his breath. “Its resounding echoes one must follow for Evil’s bane to meet its demise.”

  “What is he saying?” the monk asked, to which both Levee and Tobi replied with an insistent “Shhh!”

  “Through golden gates a mystic place where the hall of the dead awaits,” Jaycent recited. The door flared brighter as the blue magic crept over the rest of his body.

  He inhaled, feeling the warmth of the blue energy filling him like an empty vessel. He ran his hand across the engraving of a rearing unicorn fitted in armor, its horn poised toward the ground as if ready to strike. As he did so, his fingers slipped into a small indentation where a circular pendant seemed to be missing from the straps crossing the unicorn’s breast.

  Jaycent’s free hand went to his chest where his kunah sat. It pulsed with energy that grew warmer the closer he came to the door.

  The prince shook his head in disbelief as it all came together. Connor had planned this moment many years before Jaycent was ever born. He slid the coin over his head and fitted it within the slot.

  “Inside its doors hides equine lore and a blade that will seal his fate,” Jaycent completed the riddle that had awakened the door and watched as the stone around the seal started to crack. Like a dragon stirring after centuries of slumber, the ground began to tremor and shake, and the door rolled open with a long, deep moan.

  “By Hikshu’s beard,” the monk repeated, marveling at the scene.

  The seal rolled aside, and old torches that should have rotted long ago flared to life, illuminating a hall covered in cobwebs and dust. The rock that once barred the catacombs faded back to gray, and Jaycent pulled his kunah free. He turned to the doorway, its opening draped in a sheet of glimmering, blue magic…

  And he sensed he would have to make this journey alone.

  “Tobi,” he began.

  The re’shahna smiled and tilted his head in understanding. “Tennakawa walks with you, brother.”

  Jaycent tapped his forehead in silent thanks and Levee’s eyes doubled in size when she realized what the prince meant to do.

  “No,” she protested. “We’re going with you.”

  Jaycent shook his head. “Lev…”

  The gypsy pulled her shoulders free of Tobi’s grasp and stepped forward. “We’ve come this far together, prince. Why should you do this alone?”

  “Levee,” Jaycent hooked his arm around his mate’s slender shoulders when she tried to walk through the glowing door.

  “No!” she cried, and he could feel her body trembling inside his arm.

  “Levee, listen to me,” the prince whispered. He drew her close to his chest and tilted her chin so that her eyes focused on his.

  “Why should you go alone?” she demanded, but the fight drained from her voice when she saw the glow in his eyes. She peered over his shoulder toward the door, then back at her mate, and realized that the magical seal had some connection with the prince, and him alone.

  He hugged her tight, his chin rested against the top of her head. “Do not think I doubt your strength, my darling,” he whispered in her ear. “But this time I need you to trust in mine. This task belongs to me, and me alone.”

  Levee slid from his arms and swallowed back her selfish need to follow. “Go then,” she sniffed, “and be swift about it.”

  Jaycent kissed her cheek and turned toward the glowing door, its edges pulsing brighter with every closing step. With a deep breath, he passed through the magical barrier.

  All his companions could do was watch as Jaycent disappeared into the musty halls of the ancient catacomb
s.

  NEVER TRUST AN ASSASSIN

  Pip sprawled across a chair as he observed the young half-blood soldier sitting adjacent to him. None of the monks had questioned the rusty haired boy when he arrived last night, though he’d lingered there well into the morn.

  Gavin slouched silently in one of the cushioned couches circling the middle of the foyer, his eyes glued to the door. Nothing seemed to sway his focus. It was too much for Pip to resist.

  “Some god Hikshu must be,” the one-eyed assassin remarked. “Its followers spend their entire lives trying to discover the secrets of the world, but they don’t even notice the sullen soldier camped out in their foyer.”

  Pip knew Gavin. Although it had been years since he’d spoken to Tennay Rallargo’s boy, time had not erased his old friend’s son from memory.

  The kid was mourning. That much seemed evident. So when the assassin acknowledged him, the sound of a friendly voice nearly shattered the boy’s brave facade. Gavin offered an emotional account of his father’s tragic fate to which Pip listened intently. He nodded at all the right moments, waiting until the boy had no words left to speak. Then he hooked an arm around Gavin’s shoulders and met his tear-soaked stare with a promising smile.

  “Vengeance is a dish best served cold, my young friend,” Pip said. “And I am the best chef in the city—if you catch my drift.”

  Gavin caught it, and he didn’t like it. But in the midst of his pain, he saw no other options. Wiping the fresh tears from his face, he agreed to the assassin’s offer, and the pair took turns napping while they waited for Jaspur and his companions to enter the cathedral. Pip knew who they were as soon as they walked by, for Gavin tensed.

  Pip rose to his feet and strolled to the rows of book cases lining the cathedral’s perimeter where he could get a better look at Gavin’s prey. An accidental bump enlightened him to the tall one’s quick instincts and high guard.

  Beyond that, Pip noted a puny dagger was the only weapon the stranger carried with him. Odd, the assassin thought. Gavin said this rahee was a Nevahardan soldier, yet he wasn’t armed like one.

  Pip was worldly enough to know that those who carried little in the way of steel often possessed more powerful weapons or allies of great report. He hid his concern beneath a confident smile, shrugging off the tall one’s skepticism with a carefree laugh.

  But that gaze, blue as the ice caps above Ridged Peak, reminded the wily assassin of a powerful royal he had killed many years before. His heart beat a little swifter at the thought. Returning to Gavin’s side, Pip sat down and observed the boy’s reaction from the corner of his one good eye.

  “What did you say his name was?”

  “Jaspur,” Gavin muttered.

  Pip perched his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his palm as he watched Gavin’s book fall abandoned into the young soldier’s lap.

  “Jaspur, Jaspur…” the assassin tapped his chin with a pensive finger. “The name doesn’t ring any bells, but that face looks awfully familiar.”

  “Maybe he worked with you and Father back when the two of you served as Nevahardan soldiers,” Gavin offered absentmindedly, his attention focused on the trio’s departure.

  “Too young,” Pip remarked. It had been a long time since he had been a soldier. While it was true he had served in Nevaharday’s guard once upon a time, it was never a life that suited him.

  Few could kill as swiftly, disappear as easily, or think as quickly as the lethal assassin did. Disenchanted with the service and its chivalrous code, he traded his rank for bounties and bidders the moment his tenure of service was up.

  Yet something about this stranger took him back to that chapter of his life. Pip scoured his memories, trying to pinpoint where he had seen “Jaspur” before. His finger stopped tapping when recognition struck, its tip paralyzed against the edge of his chin.

  “It couldn’t be…”

  Gavin’s head snapped in Pip’s direction. “What couldn’t be?”

  “Has it really been two years?” A crooked grin spread across Pip’s face and he glanced at the boy reclined in the chair next to his. “How old are you now?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Pip chuckled. “He has changed drastically since I saw him last, but I’ll never forget those eyes. They’re just like his father’s,” Pip clicked his tongue and shook his head. “It’s a shame he sided with the nomadic folk.”

  “Who?” Gavin pressed, agitated.

  “The prince, Rallargo,” the assassin replied with a flick of his wrist. “Jaycent Connor, son of the late Nevahardan king? Friend and ally of the damned gypsies!”

  Gavin stared long and hard at Pip as if trying to discern whether or not to believe him. The assassin had once been a trusted friend to the Rallargo family, but as the boy grew older and learned of the murderous occupation he had assumed in Brennensdale, his faith in Pip had faltered.

  And for good reason, Pip silently mused.

  When Gavin was younger, the assassin had partook in many meals with the Rallargo family in their home. Those nights the boy would sit at the table with Pip and Tennay, and listen as they spent hours discussing ways to unravel the secrets beneath Hikshu’s cathedral.

  Tennay’s son found it exciting back then, believing his father and Pip to be vigilantes who would find a way to save Nevaharday from the “gypsies” and their “foul intents”.

  Neither Gavin nor his noble father had any idea that betrayal called itself a friend. The assassin knew the gypsies were never Nevaharday’s enemy. The story Tennay and his son came to believe was merely a lie he had helped create.

  Pip’s true master, Shadow, had spent the centuries orchestrating the tension between Nevaharday and the nomads still loyal to Bresan T’ahnya’s ways. He was just a small player who accrued a large fortune for his role.

  Gavin was nowhere close to fathoming the extent of the assassin’s great deception, but he was smart enough to know Pip only served Pip, and all others fell toward the wayside when weighed against his ambitions.

  Gavin had no desire to work alongside Pip, but the boy knew he needed help. To the assassin’s delight, the boy had offered to identify the trio that could lead Pip to the relic if the assassin promised to help him find and kill his father’s murderer. Now the young soldier chewed on his bottom lip as he stared at the hallway the trio had disappeared through.

  “Relax, boy,” Pip casually flipped the page of his own book. “No need to kill His Highness just yet.”

  “Who said I wanted to kill him?” the soldier tossed a heated glare toward the leather clad killer.

  “The daggers in your eyes tell me quite enough,” the assassin winked.

  “My blades are reserved for the one who killed my father,” Gavin insisted. Though his turmoil of emotions wanted to place much of the blame on Jaspur and his companions, his conscience refused to entertain the notion.

  Pip snapped the book he was browsing shut and shook his head at the boy’s words. “Your father killed himself, Gavin.”

  The boy swept his ears back at Pip’s audacious remark, but it did nothing to rattle the assassin’s boldness.

  “Don’t get angry with me, boy. My words may sound cold, but I speak the truth. Tennay’s need to blab about the fabled relic inside the catacombs is what landed him in trouble.

  “He should’ve stilled his tongue or walked away and forgotten about the cathedral’s treasure, but he didn’t. He had a choice. In the end Tennay died because he didn’t keep his mouth shut.”

  “You sought the relic with him, remember?” Gavin threw his tome at the assassin, who merely caught the book and set it on the small table between them. “You still seek it!”

  “Hush,” the assassin hissed. His eyes glanced around to see if anyone had overheard Gavin’s words. “Unlike him, I know how to be subtle about it. A trait Tennay never grasped, much less taught his hot-headed son.”

  “My father gave his life to help his people!”

  “And now he’s dead,” Pip stat
ed, his voice void of any shred of emotion. “A fruitless accomplishment.”

  Gavin rolled his eyes and turned away. “Perhaps in your eyes. But unlike you, my father had a code of ethics.”

  “I have a code,” Pip feigned offense.

  “Yeah?” Gavin snorted. “What is it? To kill the targets with the largest purses?”

  Pip chuckled. “You’re too young and innocent to understand the ways of my trade, though the choice is rather simple. I either kill or let myself be killed. And between you and me, I prefer my body warmer than room temperature.”

  With a smirk, Gavin stood and started in the direction the trio had disappeared.

  “Whoa there!” Pip launched to his feet in pursuit. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To find out what these three foreigners know about my father’s murder.”

  Pip quickly cut the boy off. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

  “You said you would help! Now you’re planning to stop me?”

  “Well, yes,” Pip replied as if it were obvious. When Gavin just growled at him, the assassin sighed. “Look, you enlisted my help, so I expect you to play your cards the way I tell you.”

  “Forget it. You’ll get your relic either way.”

  “No, I’ll get the relic my way,” Pip said firmly. “Which entails letting the three foreigners get inside the catacombs and retrieve it before we confront them.”

  “Why? So you can skirt your promise and disappear with your treasure in hand? I know your loyalty only extends as far as your coin purse.”

  “So we don’t see eye to eye on a few things. That is no reason to go making rash assumptions.”

  “Pip, we don’t see eye to eye on anything,” Gavin corrected.

  The assassin shrugged. “Look, kid. If you’re going down there, you’re not going alone. It’s that simple.”

  Gavin pushed past the assassin. “Just try to stop me.”

  A firm hand swiftly seized the boy’s arm and Pip smacked the young soldier’s forehead. “Use your brain, Rallargo. There are three of them and one of you, and from the looks of him, the prince alone could break you in half. Now I could let you go down there on your own, but I’m a superstitious lot, and your father might haunt me for the poor decision.”