“I am sorry,” he whispered over and over again. “So very sorry.”
Diego sighed against the prince’s cheek, his voice lost with the extraction of his horn. Even if he could speak, there were no words he could offer the broken prince.
But there was one place Diego knew of that might bring Jaycent back to his senses. It was a haven apart from the city and the blood it’d been bathed in.
The stallion butted Jaycent with his nose until he roused the prince’s attention and motioned with his head for the prince to mount. It was a command, not a request, and Jaycent solemnly did as he was told before Diego climbed back onto his hooves.
“Take care of him,” the gypsy bid, aware that the stallion would be able to do more to patch Jaycent’s soul than he ever could. Diego gave a short nod and glanced back at his companion. Satisfied the prince was lucid enough to hold his seat and grip the stallion’s mane, Diego wheeled and sped off into the wintry darkness.
Jaycent ignored the tightness in his chest as he leaned into his companion’s gallop. The whip of the stallion’s crinkled mane against his face and arms kept him alert, and though he couldn’t see the mountains in the distance, Jaycent could smell the scent of pine on the breeze and knew exactly where Diego was headed. The prince urged his companion on with wild abandon, not caring if they roused attention.
Let his enemies come at him. Jaycent didn’t care. In spite of his grievous wounds, his spirit welcomed a fight, if only to channel the tumultuous fury that roared inside of him.
It could have been the swiftness of Diego’s hooves, or even the challenge in Jaycent’s ice blue eyes, but none intercepted their long rush toward the mountain peaks. In fact, there seemed to be a hush about his kingdom, as if the realm itself had stopped to mourn the tragedy that had struck the people of the horse.
They ran headlong through the night and into the sunrise until Diego’s weary legs met the incline of the mountain’s rocky base. Jaycent dismounted then, tackling the mountain on foot as Diego trotted behind him.
A hike became a climb as the two companions worked their way up the jagged paths, and Jaycent became aware of how far he’d pressed his limits when his wound reopened against the strain. Decent sense should have stopped him, but Jaycent was far from feeling sensible.
He kept on climbing as if to flee everything that is and ever was. Jaycent’s eyes grew weary with fatigue, his arms and chest ached in protest, but the primal growl on his lips let the mountain know he refused to give up.
Only one place seemed safe in this unfair world, and Jaycent would stop at nothing to make it there. The prince fought his way higher and higher up the mountain’s slope until at last he caught sight of a tiny pond.
He stumbled past its frozen waters, kicking up snow as he pushed through the weighted boughs of evergreen trees. Beyond the needle curtains stood a narrow stone outcrop where the horizon stretched wider than his eyes could fathom. He moved to the ledge’s edge and slumped onto his knees, his bloody hands hanging limp inside his lap.
For the first time since his parent’s murder, the prince of Nevaharday felt free to let his tears escape. They trickled down his dirt-sodden face, leaving clean trails across his cheeks and chin before dripping into his palms. Each salty trail was followed by another, and another, until his bleeding chest shook with sobs unlike any that had ever rocked the stone-faced royal.
In his refuge, Jaycent let sorrow overtake him. All the pain, all the blame, and all the regrets that he had harbored for so long, he bared onto the cold, unshakable rock until it was the only thing keeping him from sinking into despair. He lay there until the burning sun crested the eastern ridge, its warm colors setting fire to the smoky sky.
Fury cradled the prince’s defeated heart, stroking away the sorrow with pictures of the gruesome demise Shadow deserved. Adrenaline coursed through Jaycent’s veins, reanimating the murdered spirit of Jaycent Connor into a new entity.
Holding his wrists before his eyes, the prince clinched his fists, denying the silver shackles that had led him to this point.
“So it was the Prince of Nevaharday you meant to kill?” he snarled. Tearing the cuffs from his wrists, Jaycent flung them over the ridge with such force that it threw him forward onto his palms.
His thick, long mane of hair slid over his shoulders and caressed his face, reminding him of all the times he’d shielded his true feelings behind its curtain. With a swipe of his hand, Jaycent gathered his hair into a thick tail. Using the dagger from his hip, he ripped through its lengths. The loose ends flutter over the ledge, his hair reduced to chin-length locks that rubbed against his scruffy face. There would be no shield to hide his fury anymore.
Weakness melted into indignation as the prince pried his chest away from his knees to tilt his head toward the sky. With a deep, quaking breath, Jaycent held his arms out wide and let out a warrior’s cry.
Creatures scurried into crevices, birds stirred from their nests and flew from the trees, and every ear that heard the echoing sound of undiluted anguish took pause and shuddered.
“Is this what you wished for?” he shouted unto the mountain peaks, hoping by some grace of the gods that his voice would carry to Shadow’s ears.
The illusionist had torn asunder a line that never should have been crossed, and from this day forward every henchman of darkness unfortunate enough to look upon Jaycent’s gaze would see the face of their demise. Jaycent Connor finally found his patience, for with it would come a resounding justice that would cost Shadow his life.
A rustle stirred the prince from his dark brood, and his hand slid to Lumiere’s hilt when a shadow cast over his morning light. Jaycent turned to face whoever dared to approach him in his vulnerable state only to arch his eyebrows in surprise.
Tobiano offered him a hand. “Forgive me, my friend. Never should I have left your side.”
Jaycent grunted. “You were right all along.”
“And knowing such, I still let you go.” Tobiano shook his head. “A foul mentor I am.”
“You could not have dragged me away from this fate.”
“But I could have faced it with you,” the re’shahna paused and smiled as Diego brushed up beside him in welcome. Curling an arm under the stallion’s neck, he ruffled the black beast’s forelock. “You plan to challenge him again? Shadow, I mean.”
“Had you any doubts?”
“Nay, not a one. But even a hero should not face that one alone.”
“I am already alone,” the prince muttered.
Tobiano paused, his expression serious. “Come now, Jaycent. All is not lost just yet.”
His Highness lifted his head, his eyes narrowed in sober resolution. “No longer call me Jaycent. I cannot bear it. It is the name of a prince that no longer exists in this godforsaken realm.”
Tobiano placed his hands on his hips. “Then what should I call you, my friend?”
There was a long pause as the two companions stared at one another.
“Jaspur,” the rahee decided, his pale blue eyes cold with vengeance. “Jaspur Clovenhoof.”
“Clovenhoof,” Tobiano echoed, the hint of his trademark smile twitching at the edges of his lips. “The name suits you.”
Jaspur flicked his hood over his face and brushed past his companion, who glanced at his wrists and hair with perceptive understanding.
“From the ashes of the royal is born a rogue,” he mused. “Tell me, Jaspur, will this new persona have the strength and patience to prepare for his enemy properly?”
A bitter smile curved one side of the rogue’s mouth. “I have nothing left but time, Tobiano,” he signaled for Diego to bow and mounted, one arm hugging his wounded chest. “And I suspect there is still much for me to learn under your tutelage.”
Tobiano looked at the bright morning rising behind them, then back at Jaspur. Sighing, he nodded and took on the form of a piebald stallion, his lion-like tail whipping anxiously.
Beware then, Shadow, the re’shahna thought to hims
elf. For none hath more fury than the wounded soul born this morn.
Chivalry’s Code
BOOK II
The Rogue Returns
“Who is he?” the bartender muttered to the burly fellow sitting on a stool in front of him.
The patron took a swig of his ale and wiped his mouth, his eyes pinned to the average-looking man running the counter. “Not sure, Teeg. The fellow ain’t much of a talker. He’s a horse-ear. That, I can tell. But he won’t say much about himself or what brings him to Velagray.”
Teeg shook his head. Velagray wasn’t a city that welcomed strangers. Not with the way King Shadow’s militia worked the streets. The more the bartender heard about this fellow in the corner, the less he liked. The way the stranger slouched with his arms crossed, his stare shrouded by a worn cowl, was disconcerting. “What’s he do for a livin’?”
“He ain’t for tellin’ that either, though I’d put money on ‘em bein’ a mercenary of sorts.”
“He got a name?” Teeg asked as he poured a glass of wine for another patron.
“Jaspur,” his buddy grunted. “Or so he says anyway.”
Teeg glanced once again at the cloaked figure sitting alone at the table in the smoky tavern’s back corner. The stranger had darkened the doors of the Armed Maiden for the first time four days ago and had returned to that same table every night since. He was silent and unobtrusive, taking a place that was out of the way but well within earshot of several of the tavern’s patrons.
Teeg had seen stakeouts like this before and guessed that Jaspur was waiting for something or someone to reveal itself. If it was information he was after, the stranger was wasting his time. King Shadow made sure the lips of his citizens were tightly sealed.
A paranoid ruler with zero tolerance for disobedience, Velagrans learned the hard way about the well-paid ears their king had stationed throughout the city. Dressed like locals and travelers, they seized anyone who voiced the slightest dissent toward His Majesty. Particularly if one uttered a longing word for the city’s former ruler.
Teeg had moved to the city formerly known as Nevaharday years after Prince Jaycent had lost the throne, but he had learned through the mistakes of others that uttering the name favorably guaranteed you a one-way trip to the gallows. Punishments like this gave Velagray the reputation of being the least-friendly city in the realm. Few outside tradesmen ever visited anymore, finding the locals’ distrust to be uninviting and unprofitable.
Needless to say, this shady fellow making the Armed Maiden his new haunt did not bode well for Teeg’s nerves or his business. His patrons had visibly thinned as others took note of the tavern’s new regular and his disturbing silence.
The barkeep needed to have a talk with this stranger. Teeg smirked to himself. He did not look forward to the task. The cloaked figure was tall—unusually so for the horse folk he’d seen here in Velagray. Most rahee, as the strange race called themselves, stood below six feet tall with ears like the fauns sometimes seen in the elven forests.
Jaspur was 6’4 and had to duck through the doorway of the Armed Maiden. He often kept his ears hidden, but the barkeep could tell he was a rahee by the way they poked against the side of his cowl when he heard something.
The rahee in Velagray were docile enough, but he’d heard stories of the kind that lived beyond the city gates. The locals called them gypsies because they never stayed in one place, and they were as clever as they were dangerous.
Mercenary? Gypsy? Rogue? Teeg had several theories on who Jaspur could be. None of them gave him the desire to rile this stranger with questions, but something had to be done or his tavern would be out of business by the end of the week.
The barkeep threw down his rag with a sigh. “Guess I’ll have a word with him.”
His burly friend offered up a nod and wished him luck as Teeg pushed through the half-door that separated his bar from the main floor. Wiping his hands across his breeches, the barkeep strode over to the hooded figure leaning in his chair, its back set guardedly against the wall.
“Hey friend, do ya mind shedding that hood of yours? You’re scarin’ a few of my regulars.”
The stranger sat up and flipped his fur-lined cowl back so that it settled across his shoulders. Teeg stiffened. Two bright blue eyes fell upon him with a cold indifference, their pale depths contrasted by the brown stubble that covered his cheeks and chin. He looked to be in his forties, though gray peppering his thin beard hinted toward a hard living.
“Better?” the stranger asked. His all-too-calm, tenor voice didn’t make Teeg feel any safer.
“Who are you, if you don’t mind me askin’?” The barkeep tried his best to sound polite.
The stranger crossed his arms over his chest, revealing two leather gauntlets armored with a ridged onyx stone that was unfamiliar to the barkeep. “Your friend did not tell you?” He scratched at the scruff around his chin. “That was why you sent him over here, was it not?”
The barkeep shifted his weight from one leg to the other and shrugged nervously. “Is it wrong for me to be concerned with who enters my tavern?”
“I pose you no threat,” the stranger assured.
“Perhaps not, but I have a business to run here… Jaspur, was it?” His guest nodded, and Teeg took a seat opposite of him. “I understand you’re not from Velagray, but these streets are known to carry spies. It makes folks around here suspicious of anythin’ unfamiliar. Now for four days straight you walk in here, order a single mug of ale, and sit alone in this corner ‘til close. Can you see where I’m going here?”
“I am no spy, if that’s what you suspect.”
“Perhaps not, but just sayin’ so isn’t goin’ to put these folks at ease.” Teeg jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the customers staring at them from several stools by the counter. “My patrons fear ye might be workin’ for an unforgiving master. One nobody likes to take risks around. So what say you to sharin’ a bit more about yourself?”
The rogue’s thin eyebrows dipped over his eyes like two dark shadows. “What master is this, that everyone fears him so?”
Teeg grunted. “If ye don’t know, you shouldn’t be askin’.”
Jaspur took a sip of his mug. “But I did.”
A silence settled between the rogue and the barkeep as Teeg considered his words. King Shadow’s spies shouldn’t need confirmation as to who it was the people feared. This could be a trick to catch Teeg speaking ill of Velagray’s king. “You’re askin’ the wrong man, horse-ear.”
Jaspur’s ears flicked back against his skull. “Horse-ear” had become a common nickname for rahee since humans like Teeg began to populate the city. It wasn’t considered a kind term.
Jaspur narrowed his eyes, and the barkeep swallowed the lump in his throat. “Or rahee, if that’s what you prefer. I ain’t meanin’ no disrespect.”
The rogue let it go at that. “I lived here once. Before this place was called Velagray. I grew up on these streets and drank in this very tavern, at a time when the drink was my master.”
The barkeep stared at Jaspur for a long time as if he were trying to decide whether or not to trust him. “Why come back?”
“To see what is left of the city I knew.”
Teeg shook his head. “I ain’t for knowin’ what this city was like before, but folks ‘round these parts say nothin’ is as it was.”
“I am not so certain of that, friend.” There was a flicker of something behind those cold blue eyes that Teeg thought he’d seen somewhere before. “What I see at these tables hints to a familiar spirit. It is why I find myself coming back.”
“You came back just to watch these folks drink their lives away?” Teeg shook his head.
“I came back to see if there is anything left worth salvaging.”
Teeg stared hard at the stranger in front of him, terrified of what those words meant. The barkeep knew what they sounded like. Treason echoed like a warning bell inside his head. He stood and nodded toward the front door. “I don�
�t know what you’re gettin’ at, but I think it’s best if you leave. Now.”
“Or what, barkeep?” Jaspur’s voice sounded calm, even humored, though Teeg sensed a very real threat behind it. “You will call the guard?” The silence between them answered the rogue’s question and Jaspur smirked. “You fear them more than you fear me.”
“Rightly so,” Teeg rubbed his forehead in frustration. “King Shadow and his men are not a force anyone should toy with. Not even you, tough as ye seem.”
“Fair enough.” Jaspur cocked his head to the side. “I do not want to step on any toes while I am here. Humor my ignorance and tell me, are there any places I should avoid?”
“I’d say anythin’ inside Velagray’s walls,” Teeg grumbled.
“I heard there was a place in the lower quarter where I could find relics from a time when this place was still called Nevaharday.”
Teeg’s eyes widened. He looked nervously around his tavern before leaning in and muttering, “Hush about the past if ye know what’s good for you. Best stay away from ol’ Rethro’s wares, too. Gettin’ caught with his contraband will book ya a ticket to the gallows.”
Jaspur nodded, then glanced toward the door. “Warning noted. Perhaps I will explore the upper city for a while. Give your establishment a reprieve from my presence. It is the least I can do.”
Teeg nodded his appreciation. Lowering his voice, he added, “I don’t want no trouble here, rahee.”
“And no trouble shall be brought, sirrah,” the rogue smiled and stood, his towering frame dwarfing the barkeep and robbing him of his courage. Teeg’s shoulder’s dipped a little and his hand drooped back onto the table. “However, I will be keeping my room in the Armed Maiden for another night.”
Teeg watched Jaspur pull his cowl back over his face as he made his exit, his eyes following the rahee through the window until he melted into the shadows of the darkened streets.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 45