The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “Could this be…?” Jaycent wondered aloud. His people called it The Great Tragedy, but even those words seemed weak against the bloody massacre piled around him.

  The sound of clopping hooves caused Jaycent to dart into a nearby alley. He pulled the wounded soldier alongside him just as a trio of night mares skidded around a corner. They ducked behind an abandoned stall just as the evil mares sped by.

  “Demons?” the soldier muttered. “The king should have burned the traitor to ashes when he had the chance.”

  The pain and determination in that soldier’s voice echoed in Jaycent’s—or was it Connor’s?—heart. It was hard to tell the difference, for though Jaycent felt like he was in control, he knew things that he shouldn’t, like the layout of a courtyard that no longer existed in the ancient city’s ruins.

  Launching into a dead run, Jaycent ran into one of the main roads where he leaped onto the counter of an empty food stand, using his momentum to propel himself onto its slanted roof. The soldier followed and Jaycent caught his arm, pulling him up so they both could climb onto the flat rooftop of the house behind the stand.

  Jaycent moved with the swiftness of a stag, his long legs leaping from one rooftop to another. There were seven blocks between them and their destination. Somehow he knew that. Fourteen rooftops southeast of their location would bring them to the royal courtyard.

  A whistle reached Jaycent’s keen ears and he dived into a roll just as an arrow flitted past his head and ricocheted off of the roof.

  “Archers,” he warned over his shoulder to his companion.

  The soldier slid behind a chimney stack and yanked his bow off his back. “I will take care of them. You keep moving!”

  Jaycent tossed the soldier an incredulous look. In all his years of war training, he had always been told never to leave a soldier behind. As a swarm of mimic archers drew nearer, he knew the young re’shahna would die. He hesitated, shaking his head. But then the words of his father echoed across his mind: Forget the peril that brought you here and what you’ve been taught... Trust in your instincts.

  “We need the princes to live if we are to win this war,” the soldier shouted. “Go, brother!”

  The soldier was right. Memories of one of Connor’s visions filtered into his consciousness, telling him that one of the two princes was to become a guardian like Tobi.

  Bresan T’ahnya needed this prince, and they needed Connor to save him.

  Jaycent pressed his fist against his breast; a gesture of gratitude. Then he turned on his heels and left the soldier to his fate.

  Every war had its sacrifices.

  * * * * *

  “Wait!” Gavin stepped in front of Pip, blocking the assassin’s view of the dangerous re’shahna. The rahee widened his good eye when Gavin blew out the flame flittering in his palm. “Are you itching for a fight? This is not what we agreed upon. You want your relic and I want my answers. But I’m not going to get them if you kill the ones I need to question!”

  Pip rolled his eye. “Fine. Ask your questions.” He shoved the Legion soldier toward Tobiano. “But when he reveals what I already told you, I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

  “What bargain?” Tobi asked. Gavin straightened and tried his best to look brave, but the re’shahna could tell Tennay’s boy was losing confidence. “What bargain, Gavin?”

  “I came here for answers,” Gavin barked. “The truth, re’shahna. You brought the Prince of Nevaharday here. Why? Who are you and the prince fighting for?”

  “This killer… you joined his side for that?” Shock and sympathy swept over the re’shahna’s features. “Do not be foolish, yearling. We have shared with you our purpose. You endanger yourself and others for nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” the half-blood argued. “I know Jaspur is the Prince of Nevaharday and that he sides with the gypsies!”

  “The Connor Prince fights for his people,” Tobi corrected. “Not one sect, but all. T’is his purpose; the path he has chosen.”

  “All of us, huh?” Gavin shook his head in disgust.

  “Aye.”

  “Tell me, re’shahna,” Gavin growled. “Does he side with the ones who killed my father?”

  “Tennay is dead?” Tobiano shook his head. “How?”

  “I think you know. My father’s killer was in the room before you left. If you were innocent, he would have come for you, too!”

  Tobi shook his head again. “You are wrong, Gavin. To us, Tennay was an ally. We would have fought any who tried to take his life,” the re’shahna’s gaze drifted back to Pip and his smug smile. “Though what you tell me leaves many questions. All who try have failed to unearth the relic inside these catacombs, yes?”

  “Yes,” Gavin confirmed.

  “Tennay’s foes included?”

  “Yes.”

  “So then if the killer discovered companions who could retrieve his treasure for him, would he not spare their lives long enough to retrieve the relic from them?”

  “Well spoken, Tobiano,” Pip applauded, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “A convincing show, really. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a gypsy with that kind of tongue.”

  “A flattering notion,” remarked the re’shahna.

  “So you admit you are an ally of the nomadic vermin?” the assassin pointed and Gavin visibly tensed, ready to explode upon an ally of his father’s enemy.

  “I am old, Assassin,” Tobi replied. “I recognize signs the boy cannot. Your arm bears the wolf head mark of Shadow the Illusionist; your fingers, the flames of darkness. So tell me, deceiver, how many have you killed while hunting a blade you cannot touch?”

  Gavin’s head swiveled toward Pip. “What is he talking about?”

  “Enough with your vague riddles,” the assassin demanded, countering the re’shahna’s accusations. Pip clinched his fists and flames flared between his fingers. “It is because of the answers you selfishly extracted from Tennay that his enemy disposed of him.”

  “Wrong,” the old warrior replied. “The blame belongs to you, an agent of Shadow who cares only for the chance to taste greater power.”

  “You?” Gavin gaped at Pip. “You killed my father?”

  The assassin shook his head. “Don’t be a fool, Gavin. He is in league with the gypsies. Why would you take his word over mine?”

  “Because I am Tobiano Lightning Dancer,” the re’shahna replied. “Second chief of the re’shahna and a guardian of the magic your master so selfishly seeks.” He wrapped the leather cord of his necklace around his fist and tore it from his neck. The shard warmed to his touch, sending currents of magic through Tobi strong enough to rival Pip’s magical fire. “So mark my words, Pip, servant of the Dark Illusionist.” Tobiano lifted his blade. “You have played your game and now its end is nigh.”

  * * * * *

  Jaycent scrambled through the memories of Connor Clovenhoof, following instincts he believed partially belonged to the dreamer-cleric. He closed his ears to the desperate calls of what seemed like re’shahna and rahenyan warriors, but was really a trick of Shadow’s mimics.

  He saw other horse folk follow the ruse, but Jaycent couldn’t stop to warn them. He had to catch up to Shadow. The illusionist was bent on destroying Bresan T’ahnya’s royal sons, and with it the tribe’s future.

  He had to stop him.

  The prince lifted his knees to his chest as he leapt to the next rooftop, his boots barely dodging the flaming manes of a rearing night mare that snapped at his heels from the alley below. He hit the surface running, his free hand clinched to produce a concentrated ball of energy in his palm. Jacyent could hear the ring of steel and cries of pain just beyond that building.

  Only a few yards farther…

  A prayer muttered between his lips; words that Jaycent didn’t know but Connor clearly did. As his feet left the edge of the roof, the prayer rose into a roaring war cry as he dived the twenty feet to the courtyard ground. A roll broke his fall, and he follo
wed through onto his feet, his sword in one hand and a magical orb in the other.

  “Connor Clovenhoof,” a calm voice greeted. Jaycent’s heart lurched when he saw two flaxen-haired re’shahna lying face down in the grass at Shadow’s feet, their gold and maroon garb stained with blood. “You arrived too late, it seems.”

  Jaycent didn’t bother to respond, not with his words. Fury ignited inside of the prince, and all that mattered then was destroying Shadow once and for all.

  He held his free arm back, letting the energy within his hand compound. Then, with his sword drawn, he launched into a fierce slice, forcing Shadow to raise his blade in defense.

  Sparks of blue blasted from their swords as they clashed, and between their crossed blades Jaycent launched a sphere of pure energy straight into Shadow’s chest. The magic exploded between them, launching the illusionist into an iron gate and pushing Jaycent back several feet.

  The prince slid against a layer of pebbles and dirt that coated the courtyard walk, but held his footing. Skidding to a stop, he flung himself forward with reckless abandon as the illusionist started to pull himself off the ground.

  Shadow was not a fool. He had spent countless years becoming a master of conjured images, and Jaycent barely dodged the illusionist’s real blade as the traitor spun to his feet with two swords in hand.

  The prince landed hard on his back and rolled right just as two blue blades speared down into the grass where he had fallen. Only the left one penetrated the soil, and Jaycent made a mental note to keep an eye on that one.

  When Shadow faced his foe, the marks of Jaycent’s magical orb became gruesomely apparent. The whole left side of the illusionist’s face was streaked with blood, the skin burned away. The upper part of his tunic had been torn to shreds, its left sleeve sagging over a bare and gouged shoulder.

  Yet Shadow hardly slowed as he advanced upon his enemy. The prince pushed up from his crouch, sword drawn and ready for round two. With a roar of hatred, Shadow came on, alternating between fierce horizontal slices and quick jabs that had Jaycent dancing on the defensive.

  The prince parried gracefully as he watched his enemy’s pattern, deciphering the illusionist’s rhythm. Shadow was formidable with a blade, but predictable, his technique absent of the creativity known to both Jaycent and Connor. Jaycent parried another predictable thrust, deflecting the illusionist’s spiraled blade out wide and kicking him in the gut.

  Shadow doubled over, but followed with a low upward slice that Jaycent nimbly jumped over. The Nevahardan prince embraced his instincts, Connor’s blade singing through the air like an extension of his arm and heeding his commands with frightening precision.

  Hungry for justice, the blade emitted visions of the carnage Shadow left in his wake to its wielder, feeding the swordsman’s fury. The offensive slid into the prince’s hands, his relentless barrage of strikes moving too quickly for the illusionist to do anything other than parry.

  It went on for several minutes, Shadow barely keeping his footing against Jaycent and his vicious sword. With every hit, Connor’s blade seemed to grow stronger, its surface assuming a blue aura that exploded in bursts of light with every strike, blinding Shadow’s sensitive eyes. The prince of Nevaharday scored a hit, then another, and another, inflicting serious wounds upon the illusionist.

  Seeing defeat was imminent, the traitor called upon his own innate magic. He swept his cloak out in front of him as he spun away from Jaycent’s killing blow. From behind the fabric, four Shadows emerged, each one appearing weak, wounded, but relentless, a sly grin across their bloody mouths.

  Jaycent leapt back, trying to decipher which of the four was the real enemy, and which were just an illusion. The four figures came on swiftly, leaving no room for error. His first strike would have to be true.

  “Even if you kill me, Shadow,” Jaycent dodged behind a unicorn statue, “it will do you no good. You’ll bleed out before you find a healer’s touch.”

  “Oh, Connor, do you really think I’m that easy to fool?” the illusionist chuckled, then coughed, and he and his illusions spat flecks of bright red blood. “I’m a re’shahna after all. I know the formula for immortality.”

  “No unicorn would lend its blood to you,” Jaycent growled, confident Shadows words were a bluff.

  “Who said it had to be given?”

  One of the figures threw their sword, forcing Jaycent to drop to the ground. It was only a figment though, and the prince launched himself into a backward roll onto his feet as two of the others dove at him, their sword disappearing into the grass where he had been.

  The prince whipped out his sword, another slew of archaic phrases rising to his lips as his ancestor’s memories played out through him.

  “It’s too late, Connor!” Shadow shouted, his laughter echoing from yards ahead. He pulled a vial from his cloak and yanked the stopper off with his teeth, spitting it into the grass. “I don’t need Skalabur’s touch to become indomitable. Just a swig of blood, a few mystic words, and a horn to do the deed.”

  Jaycent recalled the story of the blue yearling whose horn was carved into Shadow’s sword. “No,” the prince whispered. He felt the warmth of magic pulsing through him, its climactic energies liming his veins in blue. “No!” the prince yelled, and he charged toward the illusionist.

  But it was too late. The blood of the fallen unicorn had been consumed, and Shadow’s eyes lit up with the same hue that coated Jaycent’s sword. He could see the illusionist’s lips moving; could see him raising his carved blade over his heart.

  Jaycent didn’t know anything about magic, but Connor did. And in his mind, the prince could feel his ancestor’s thoughts. Both were at the peak of their magic, the energy within them barely contained within their bodies. If he clashed with the illusionist before the spell was complete, it would create a reaction that would consume them both.

  So be it, the prince thought.

  Jaycent swung his sword in an angled slice, its blade whistling through the air toward Shadow’s spiraled blade. The weapons touched, ringing with a loud and awful resonance that reverberated through their bones. The air between them fractured.

  Then the city disappeared as everything turned white.

  * * * * *

  Jaycent moaned as the chill of the catacombs prodded him back into the present. The battle against Shadow had only been a vision, yet his body felt battered anyway. He rolled onto his back and pushed himself up against the rough wall of the tomb, wincing as his head throbbed with every little movement.

  “Easy,” said a voice he couldn’t place. “Visions that far into the past take their toll. Let me offer what healing I can,” the prince had to blink several times before his eyes came into focus. He looked up to find the spirit of Connor Clovenhoof kneeling in front of him.

  The long-dead cleric reached out, placing him palm upon the prince’s forehead. Jaycent felt the pain inside his mind and body ease.

  “What happened?” he asked his ancestor.

  “You passed,” the re’shahna said with a smile. “Lumiere put you in my boots to test your courage and is pleased. It has chosen you as its new wielder.”

  The prince squinted. “Lumiere?”

  “The sword,” Connor motioned to the pearlescent blade still sitting in Jaycent’s hand. The prince tightened his fingers around its grip and pulled it into his lap.

  “What happened that night?” he asked Connor. “After you collided with Shadow?”

  The ghost heaved a heavy sigh. “I was too late. Shadow had recited the immortality verse and pierced his heart before my strike connected. The unicorn’s blood revived his life while I lost mine.”

  “So if Shadow defeated you, why is Bresan T’ahnya still in the hands of the re’shahna?”

  “Shadow never actually killed either of the king’s twins,” Connor explained. “The two he had slain were decoys. The true sons of the king were already outside the city rallying the help of the unicorn herds. Skalabur and many others came to our
aid after I died, chasing away Shadow and his minions.”

  “So you died for nothing,” the prince lamented.

  “Quite the opposite,” Connor corrected. “I mortally wounded the illusionist, forcing him to enact the spell for immortality.”

  Jaycent shook his head. “How is that a good thing?”

  “Unlike other strands of magic, unicorn magic will evolve to reflect the heart of its wielder. Tell me, Jaycent. What is the corrupted image of Skalabur’s kin?”

  “A night mare,” the prince muttered.

  “Or... If it was a male?”

  “A dread stallion?” The prince widened his eyes.

  “Aye, and pray tell, what is the weakness of these powerful creatures?”

  “Daylight and pure magic.”

  “Precisely! What Shadow saw as triumph was actually the birth of his greatest weaknesses. Not only is he weakest during the day, but he is now vulnerable to light magic, which is the strand Lumiere pulls its powers from.”

  Jaycent held the blade up against the torch’s blue light. “That makes this sword Shadow’s bane.”

  Connor stood as Jaycent slowly rose to his feet. “Yes, although it will take more than just the blade to defeat him. The illusionist has grown stronger in his absence, dividing our tribes and recruiting allies well-versed in the dark arts. To reach him you must match his strength and break through his ranks.”

  “I will do whatever it takes.”

  The cleric nodded, then turned to the wall and began muttering a slew of verses beneath his breath. With his finger he drew three blue lines, which expanded to create a dimensional door. “This will return you to your friends.”

  “You have my thanks,” bowed the prince.

  Connor motioned with his arm for Jaycent to step through the door. “Finish what I could not, brother. For all of our sakes.”

  * * * * *