Drawings of a dun mare with brown socks, cloven hooves, and an elegant horn filled the first few pages. Jaspur remembered her well. She was a unicorn. More specifically, an earth elemental named Siabra. She had been Rayhan's mount and one of the general's most devoted companions.
After Nevaharday fell, Siabra had lingered with Tobiano and the rogue for about a month. She walked with her head down and refused to eat. Then one morning she was gone.
There had been no sign of a struggle and no trail to follow. The rogue and the re'shahna scoured the northern mountains for her, but Jaspur never found out what became of the dun mare. His chest tightened at the thought, and he flipped the page, not wanting to think about it.
Following Siabra were sketches of the royal horse mistress, Arelee Denicarli. This reminder was no better. Arelee’s was yet another face that haunted Jaspur’s nightmares.
She had been a childhood friend of his. Jaspur had convinced his father, King Donovan, to let her become the first female to breed and train the royal steeds.
There had always been something between Rayhan and Arelee that Jaspur never quite figured out. Although Rayhan had refused several marriages in devotion to an elven lover, there was an intimacy in the candid sketches of Arelee that Rayhan had scribbled here. The rogue brushed his fingers over the detail placed in her thick raven curls and chocolate eyes. Even on paper, Arelee's expression was full of life.
Suddenly, it was hard to swallow. Jaspur’s eyes started to burn with unshed tears he stubbornly held back. Rubbing the brown scruff on his cheek, he averted his gaze before old attachments could find a steady hold.
“Are you okay, Jaspur?”
The rogue looked up at the re’shahna who was watching him again. He ran his thumb across the page once held by the cousin who had loved him like a brother. “The world has grown much darker since Rayhan the Chivalrous left it.”
“Much has changed,” Tobiano solemnly agreed.
Jaspur took a deep breath and turned the page, this one illustrating the tall stone walls of Nevaharday’s northern entrance. Behind them, cobblestone walkways wound up and around the heart of the city to a castle on a hill. Water paint splashed against the walls, displaying a vibrancy of color somehow lost under Shadow's reign. “This world hasn't a place for his chivalry anymore.
“It has every place,” Tobiano interjected, his tone firm with conviction. “Great is the world's need of it.
“You never met my general.”
“No,” Tobiano confessed. “But the re’shahna know of Rayhan the Chivalrous. His deeds are still sung by bards many times over.”
Jaspur Clovenhoof sighed, for none knew the heart of Rayhan Mendeley better than he did. The general had trained the prince, loved him, and coached him to believe in notions like hope and chivalry.
Foolish notions. Jaspur had come to realize their pointlessness when Rayhan’s ideals turned Nevaharday’s general into a martyr. The memory drove a stake through Jaspur's heart as he recalled Rayhan's murder.
Before he could consciously think to stop it, the image of a wine red slit carved into the general’s throat flashed in his mind. It commandeered his field of vision, his magic pulling the rogue into a vivid recollection of Rayhan Mendeley's demise. Jaspur’s heart rate leapt as his breaths came in short, quick gasps.
“Jaspur…” He heard Tobiano's voice, though it sounded distant. “Anchor… Find an anchor.”
Jaspur clinched his eyes shut as he heard the gurgles of General Mendeley drowning in his own blood. The book slid from his hands and it took the dull thud of its pages hitting the ground to remind him of the present. He clinched his thick hair in his hands, a strained grunt escaping his lips as he focused all of his senses on the physical world around him.
“Come back,” Tobiano’s voice was louder now as the rogue felt the memory fading. He slowly loosed his hands from his hair, suddenly aware of the sweat that drenched his brow. He could hardly breathe, but the memory had passed. He looked up to see Tobiano’s worried face and found two calloused hands gripping his shoulders. Their eyes met and the re’shahna sighed in relief. “I warned you about harbored emotions. How many times must I do so again?”
“Why do you think I aim to forget them?” the rogue muttered as he jerked away from the re’shahna’s touch.
Tobiano leaned down to pick up the journal that had triggered the terrible memory. “The past is not what harms you,” he brushed the dust from the leather cover, his expression solemn. “It is the guilt you attach to it.”
“Guilt which I have earned,” the sharp edge in Jaspur's words made Tobiano stand a little straighter. His light green eyes stared hard at the rahee he had taken under his tutelage. “There is no forgiveness for what happened the night Shadow stole my throne. I will kill him. He will suffer just as my cousin suffered.”
“Fine is the line between vengeance and justice,” Tobiano replied. “Blur it and you become no better than him.”
Jaspur plopped back against his pillow without reply.
The re’shahna knew a futile lecture when he saw one. He returned to the tiny table by the window. “You should rest.”
Jaspur was too tired to disagree. It had been two days since he’d had a real night’s sleep. Rolling onto his side, he let fatigue wrap his body like a blanket.
Meanwhile, Tobiano focused again on the scroll. The re’shahna leaned into the light of the candle, his attention engrossed in the runes beneath his hands. His heel tapped an anxious rhythm against the chair leg as he worked through thoughts troubled by the contents of the scroll. He read it once, twice, then three times, trying to wrap his head around his chief’s intentions.
Unbeknownst to the re'shahna, a vision knocked upon Jaspur’s magical senses as sleep tightened its grip over his consciousness. Jaspur looked through the peep hole in the fortified door that guarded his mind. On the other side sat a forest. Curious, he opened the door.
Darkness became a blur of colors and foreign smells as Jaspur felt his spirit falling through a canopy of red leaves into a host of trees thick with untamed magic.
He knew how to plant his will, shutting the mental door between himself and a vision. But just as he was about to do so, he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in a very long time.
“Jaycent.”
Pain struck his heart, and he faltered just long enough for the vision to take hold. It was like tripping over a tree root as Jaspur tumbled into its grip. Within seconds, he became an invisible passenger to an event thirty-three years into the past.
Rayhan the Chivalrous
It took every bit of discipline Jaspur gained from Tobiano’s teachings not to fight his ethereal tumble. He waited for his momentum to slow, then planted himself firmly with his mind, allowing the vision to materialize around him.
It was like watching clouds drift aside to reveal a solid picture. He released the breath he’d thought he’d been holding, though he had no physical lungs to expel them from. Not in this realm. He was little more than an unseen observer experiencing glimpses of the past.
A glance around told him he was inside a throne room, but he had never seen this one before. He started to look for clues when a figure burst through the broad double doors.
“My King!” an elven servant scrambled into the audience room and knelt hastily before his ruler. He looked frightened. Stubborn strands of his sleek brown hair clung to his sweaty face.
A tall, stern-looking elf with autumn red hair stood up from the throne and studied the servant bowed before his seat.
“The rahee,” the servant panted. “They are here. Seven in all. One rides a unicorn mare…” he took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. It sounds like madness. Yet I swear upon my life, one of them looks to be Siren Mendeley!”
Jaspur urged himself closer to the throne, intrigued. From the sound of things, his gift had landed him in Whitewood, and it didn’t take much to figure out which rahee they were talking about. It was Siren’s middle son, Rayhan. His cousin’
s journal must have linked Jaspur to Whitewood and a piece of Rayhan’s past.
King Mekkai patted the young elf’s shoulder. “Slow down, Renavere. Start with the mare. Describe her to me.”
Renavere took a deep breath and divulged what he knew. “She is an elemental unicorn, my king. Dun in color with four brown socks and a mane and tail of similar color.” King Mekkai walked toward the marble balcony and looked down upon the canopy of trees that spanned as far as his eyes could see. “Nadel is escorting them. He should arrive at the eastern gate at any moment.”
Jaspur followed the king and noted how His Majesty’s eyes trailed toward the wall of vines guarding his palace. From what the rogue knew of Whitewood, the kingdom was alive with natural magic. It protected the elves like a jealous lover, yet there was fear in the king’s eyes.
“Siabra,” he murmured, and Jaspur understood.
Ins spite of all the king’s power, elemental unicorns were stronger. They were physical incarnations of magic and without equal. So when one arrived in Whitewood as the mount of a rahenyan captain… Jaspur couldn’t blame him for feeling some trepidation.
To King Mekkai’s credit, he didn’t ban the beast from entering. He listened to the report of his guard and watched as the vines that formed their gate recoiled to make way for Whitewood’s new guests.
An elf named Nadel was first to appear within their courtyard, his expression taut with displeasure. Behind him followed a lithe mare with cloven hooves, elegant brown legs, and a thin tail that resembled a tasseled whip. Upon her brow a milky horn defined her nature.
The mare perked her ears toward the balcony, her intelligent gaze resting on King Mekkai. She must have spoken telepathically to her rider as well, for Rayhan tilted his head to look upon the elven ruler. King Mekkai’s eyebrows twitched high above his sapphire eyes. Renavere had not exaggerated. Siabra’s companion was clearly Siren’s son.
Beneath a set of bangs swept neatly to the left were brown eyes, a sharp nose and a square jaw reminiscent of Rayhan’s father. The king watched his soldiers order the company to dismount. He waited until the rahee were escorted into the palace before he returned to his audience chamber.
“It couldn’t be…?” Renavere followed the king to the dais like a loyal puppy. Jaspur paid close attention to King Mekkai who stood before his throne with both hands on his hips, deep in thought.
“No,” the old king brushed his fingers across his chin. “Siren is dead, Renavere. However, the old general sired three sons before he died.”
“You think that is Siren’s son?” Renavere echoed. “This boy looks like a reincarnation.”
Mekkai slowly nodded. “I have heard of this one. His name is Rayhan Mendeley. He is the only one of three brothers to build a notable reputation. The young rahee lives strictly by a soldier’s oath called Chivalry’s Code. He never deviates from its path; not in battle nor his personal life. The bards call him Rayhan the Chivalrous.”
There was a loud groan as the two great doors opened again, followed by a pair of clicking boots. Jaspur turned with the elven king to face the soldier who had escorted the horse folk into Whitewood.
“They also call him Captain,” the one Renavere called Nadel entered the conversation and pulled a roll of parchment from his belt. Behind him, the doors shut with a deep moan. “And he is King Donovan’s chosen suitor, if you can believe it.”
Mekkai took the parchment from Nadel’s outstretched hand and unraveled it, reading its script out loud.
“To the Honorable King Mekkai,
We were not on good terms the last time we met. The war between us began when two of our royal brethren were murdered, each by an assassin believed to belong to the other kingdom. Both of us denied any role in these heinous acts. Now we know that to be true, but false evidence at the time had spurred our doubts. We fought each other and to what end? Looking back, I believe the dead would be ashamed of our actions.
Noble Mekkai, this is not an attack on your character, but rather the confession of a humbled king. Both of our kingdoms suffered many losses, most notably the lives we sacrificed because our heated tempers and broken hearts were too stubborn to deal civilly with one another. A year has transpired since our fierce war ended. Life has moved forward, and I believe it is time we did the same.”
The elven king nodded to himself as he read King Donovan’s words. The true killer, or killers, behind the assassinations remained a mystery to both kingdoms. They had officially declared all suspects innocent three months after the war ended, when witnesses and the poison’s source ruled them out. With a heavy guilt, the two kings realized their enemy was an outside force, intent on pitting the two kingdoms against one another.
Indeed, whoever set them up had nearly gotten their way. Both kingdoms suffered heavy losses, and all they had to show for their war was a deep-rooted animosity for each other when they should have been working together to find the perpetrator.
“Since then, I have thought deeply about what it would take to rebuild the alliance between us. You personally suggested a marriage, and I agree. But there is one more thing that must be restored before we can take this step.
During the war we lost hundreds of acres of land to you. This land is where the wild equines are known to roam, including herds of regal and elemental unicorns. I know how your people feel about these immortal equines. A healthy fear of their magic prevents the elves from using those grounds and yet it is forbidden to our use all the same.
King Mekkai, as you know we are the horse folk. Just like the elves are deeply connected to the forest, so we are with the wild equines. They are sacred to us. All I ask is for you to return this land to my people. In exchange, I will send you seventy-five of our prized war horses, open to breeding and fully trained by our royal horse master. The value of these beasts is a gift worthy of a dragon’s hoard. I will also reopen our gates to your people, providing full access to our trade and markets. All of our native goods will be available to the elves, and your traders will be welcome again in our city.
As for my ambassador, I send you my best. A bright new leader has risen through the ranks. Under the compassionate and capable hand of Captain Rayhan Mendeley, I have watched our men rebuild their spirit, along with our towns.
I realize you may question the wisdom in sending Whitewood the son of Siren, but he is far more than that. Rayhan is my nephew and like a son to me in many ways. If you give him the chance, I guarantee he will earn the respect of your people. He has the patience, the courage, and the wisdom needed to overcome the tension between us. I have given him full authority over the agreement between our kingdoms. To any decision he makes on behalf of Nevaharday, I grant my full approval.
You said yourself, ‘It is time we leave the past where it belongs.’ Everything I promise here in this letter is yours. If you accept, bind it in writing and let us seal it with a union. Captain Mendeley carries my sister’s blood in his veins. Nevaharday holds the greatest respect for any lady blessed to share his honor and inheritance.
I offer you my best, King Mekkai, to show you my sincerity. Take time to truly consider my offer. Get to know Rayhan and let a lady of your choosing do the same. Think of your people and the children who will take their place.
I patiently await your response, and hope that this may be a bright, new beginning for us both.
Signed,
King Donovan Connor of Nevaharday”
Marry one of his nieces to Rayhan Mendeley. A Mendeley! The request was a great one, but so was the reward if King Mekkai accepted. The rahee were renowned for their intelligent mounts. He would give a hoard of gold for just one of their breeding horses. The king handed the parchment to one of his guards before meeting Nadel’s disgruntled gaze.
“What do you think of this?”
The captain of the elven guard crossed his arms. “Do you want me to speak honestly, Your Majesty?”
The king tossed a flippant hand into the air. “You have never been the sort to give a
soft opinion. I certainly do not expect one now.”
Nadel sighed as he contemplated the situation. “The horse folk have no incentive to start a war with us again. King Donovan’s offer is likely genuine, though who he sent is questionable at best.”
“Questionable?” Mekkai raised a fox red eyebrow. “Or clever?”
The soldier’s fingers drummed against his bicep as he mulled over the king’s words.
Mekkai sat on his throne and watched the cogs turn inside Nadel’s mind. It didn’t take long for the soldier to catch his meaning.
“You think Rayhan is King Donovan’s attempt to redefine the image Siren Mendeley left behind?” Nadel guessed.
Mekkai nodded.
“That is a dangerous plan, Your Majesty,” Nadel huffed. “Our people associate Siren with more than just the war. He was accused of torture and civilian slaughter. When the name Rayhan Mendeley drifts into Whitewood as Nevaharday’s chosen suitor…” he let the king’s imagination finish the sentence.
King Mekkai propped his elbow on the armrest of his throne and perched his chin in his palm. “It is true. The Mendeley name has earned the scorn of Whitewood’s people. Many will protest, assuming it is a slap upon the face of our people.
“But I see King Donovan’s point. In Rayhan’s short years, he has managed to set himself apart from his father. His reputation is without tarnish, both within and beyond Nevaharday.”
Nadel frowned. “Few within Whitewood would have the patience to step back and evaluate a Mendeley’s character, no matter how spotless his reputation may be.”
“Few is more than none,” King Mekkai leaned back against his chair and tugged absentmindedly on one of the golden chains hanging from his long, pointed ear. “No matter who King Donovan sent as a suitor, it would take years for true peace to settle between our kingdoms. What we need is for one elf of notable reputation to find common ground with Rayhan. If we can show our people a rahee and an elf can love one another, Whitewood will take pause and consider giving peace a chance.”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 47