The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “Perhaps, but who would you choose to wed a son of Siren?”

  King Mekkai sat calmly on his throne, a somber expression on his face until Nadel’s smirk faded. “Your Majesty, you cannot bring Elessara into this…”

  Elessara? Jaspur had heard Rayhan utter that name before. He drew closer to the elven ruler, listening carefully as the king interrupted Nadel’s protest. “Whitewood supported Elessara’s studies so we could learn to communicate more efficiently with the rahee. This is her opportunity to make use of that work.”

  Nadel looked back at the door Rayhan and his company waited behind, then to his king, his expression exuding doubt. “Must I remind you that Siren Mendeley murdered Elessara’s mother?”

  “Everyone has lost someone in the war, Nadel, and many at Siren’s hand. Elessara’s tragedy makes her opinion even more credible. If she and Rayhan can show us progress, we will have a strong foundation for a peaceful future.”

  Nadel placed his hands behind his waist and squeezed them in an effort to hold his tongue. Jaspur understood the displeased elf's opposition. Ideally, King Mekkai’s plan made sense, but wounded hearts rarely heeded logic. “I suppose Elessara holds no say in this decision?”

  “She is my niece. It is in her blood to do what is best for her kingdom.”

  “I feel it is necessary to remind you that opening our doors to the rahee will be dangerous,” Nadel stated. “Particularly for the young Mendeley. With emotions high, the risk of an assassination grows significantly.”

  “I agree, which is why I will be entrusting you with the captain’s safety.”

  “Me?” The elf’s jaw stiffened. “Your Majesty, I think you overestimate my patience.”

  King Mekkai chuckled. “You have never failed an assignment, Nadel. You will not start now. Designate your best guards to the captain’s company. You will mediate his relationship with Elessara and ensure he is well protected during his stay.”

  Nadel gave a stiff bow. “It will be as you wish.”

  “Oh, and Nadel?”

  The elf looked up. “Yes, my king?”

  “Do keep him out of General Redwood’s way. The only time they should share a room is during our heavily guarded dinners and social gatherings.”

  The peculiar order piqued Jaspur’s interest. He had heard General Redwood mentioned in historical records. There was some kind of animosity between the Redwood and the Mendeley families, but Rayhan never specified what it was. Now Jaspur understood why. The complications of General Mendeley’s crime against the Redwood family made this arrangement precarious. Joining them together had the potential to bring the kingdoms together or tear a chasm between them.

  Nadel jerked his head in another stiff nod. “Understood.”

  “Good.” The king motioned toward the two guards standing near the throne room’s entrance. “Let the rahee in.”

  The doors groaned as they were pulled open once again. Seconds later, Rayhan Mendeley strode forward, his entourage marching silently behind him. Jaspur admired the confidence within the captain’s gait. Though young, he carried the sureness of a leader as he approached the dais. He bowed gracefully before the elven king before folding his hands behind his waist.

  “It is an honor and a pleasure to stand in your presence, King Mekkai.”

  “Rayhan the Chivalrous. Your reputation precedes you.” Mekkai curled his hands around the arms of his throne.

  The young captain touched his fingers to his forehead and extended his arm in a gesture of gratitude unique to rahenyan people. “I arrive with a heavy heart knowing the grief my sire has left upon your people. I cannot change what has been done, but I humbly intend to do whatever I can to make amends between our kingdoms.”

  “Well spoken, Captain, but if words were enough to mend the scars of our conflict, then you wouldn’t be standing before me today. Right now, our kingdoms reside in a tense agreement to stay behind territory lines and refrain from killing one another. Your king and I spoke in length about an arranged marriage that could unite our people and inspire peace. In response, he sends me a Mendeley to marry my niece. Knowing your father’s reputation in Whitewood, do you truly believe this is a good idea?”

  Silence filled the room like rushing water. Rayhan took a moment to gaze upon each person present, their expressions a blend of anger, trepidation, hope, and uncertainty.

  “Alone, my efforts would do nothing to sway the minds of our people. If anything, it may only anger them. What my king desires—what I believe we all desire—is something that will take great forgiveness and courage from all of us,” he motioned to the elven advisors and the many guards inside the throne room. “It is a united effort; an attempt at a new beginning that starts on both fronts. So I ask with all humility, are you willing to take that chance with us?”

  The elven king looked upon the seed of Siren Mendeley and did his best to suppress his shock. Unlike his father, Rayhan wielded his emotions with genuine transparency. He glanced to the wizard on his left whose spells would reveal any lies, verbal or emotional. The elf nodded, confirming the captain’s honesty.

  Jaspur gave a soundless applause. If King Donovan had been standing beside his captain, he’d be grinning ear-to-ear.

  “We are willing to take this chance, but I must advise you to tread carefully. Despite your good intentions, you have walked into a kingdom that harbors many painful memories from the war between us.”

  The captain nodded. “I realize there is much to be mended.”

  King Mekkai folded his hands in front of his chin. “Your face in particular will remind them of those times.”

  “You speak of my father,” the captain calmly observed.

  King Mekkai nodded. “You must understand my concern. King Donovan’s choice to send you as his suitor was either very clever or very foolish. I cannot yet decide, but I can tell you this: your stay will not be without conflict. The moment word spreads of your arrival there will be many who feel justified in confronting you. Will you handle these trials with the patience and wisdom you exhibit here in my throne room?”

  Rayhan nodded. “Aye, Your Majesty.”

  “I will hold you to that promise,” the king pointed to the two rahee behind the captain, their thick blue robes and silver trim marking them as nobles. “I assume these are diplomats of your king?”

  Rayhan motioned for the pair to step forward. “This is Terreen and Gwan. They are well versed in the ways of politics and elven culture. Both are serving as my counsel for the duration of my stay in Whitewood.”

  The pair bowed in respect to the elven king who nodded his acceptance. “A wise decision. This will not be an easy course, but if you represent yourself well, Captain, I believe great things can come of this arrangement. If I may suggest one bit of counsel of my own?”

  Rayhan’s ears perked attentively from beneath his wavy brown hair. “Please do.”

  King Mekkai stood from his throne and walked down the dais steps. “I am told you live by a strict oath of chivalry that rivals even the most noble of heroes.”

  Rayhan bowed his head in humble respect. “I am sworn to Chivalry’s Code, Your Majesty. The tenants and ideals within my oath reflect my own. I do not take them lightly.”

  “Then show that to my people. Open their eyes to your honor and perhaps there is hope for friendship between us. But heed my words: if you manage to inflict more pain upon my kin—any of them…” Mekkai frowned. “My kingdom trusts me, young Mendeley, and I am fiercely protective of their wellbeing.”

  “I will not betray your trust,” the captain assured.

  “Good.” He waved his hand toward the door. “Go now. You have had a long journey. Rest and let my servants tend to your needs. You will join us at dinner this evening.” The king nodded to Nadel who then led Rayhan and his entourage out of the throne room.

  Smiles lit Rayhan’s company. They were convinced the captain’s exchange with the king went well. However, there had been a keen warning in King Mekkai’s welcome
. One Jaspur saw scribed in his cousin’s furrowed brow. Rayhan would have to tread carefully here.

  As a Mendeley in Whitewood, he would not be granted any second chances.

  Without a Compass

  “Jaspur!”

  Jaspur felt his soul thrust back into the present. A groan erupted from his lips, though it sounded distant and detached. When he opened his eyes, he saw double and lurched with the turn of his stomach.

  “Damnit, Tobi,” he cursed through gritted teeth. “You know better than to wake me like that.”

  The re’shahna stood over the rahee curled on the bed and shook his head. “Look, brother. Sweat covers you. Wherever you traveled, it wore your magic thin. I had to wake you.”

  “I am fine.” The rogue stood, then swayed, his arm landing with a thud against the wall as he rushed to catch himself.

  Tobiano clicked his tongue. “Fine is not the word I would choose. To where did you stray?”

  It took the rogue a moment to realize Tobiano was talking about his vision. “Whitewood.” Jaspur rubbed his eyes as he tried to piece his thoughts together. “At the time when Rayhan was sent there as a suitor for an arranged marriage. I was only a few years old then.” His gaze gravitated to the worn mattress where the journal poked from underneath his blanket. He reached down to pick it up. “I probably sensed the memory through his journal.”

  Tobiano crossed his arms as he leaned against the bare wall. “It would not be the first time a vision found you through a vessel. Take care though, rogue. Remember when you first found your sword, Lumiere?”

  “Aye,” he grunted. “That was a hell of a ride.”

  “You traveled back centuries for only a short time. How did you feel upon return?”

  “Terrible.”

  “And now? How do you feel?”

  “Like a dummy after weapons practice.”

  Tobiano nodded. “See? Your magic has limits. Use too much and…”

  “I know, I know. I get stuck inside the Veil.”

  “Like a ghost,” the re’shahna wiggled his fingers.

  Jaspur smirked at the ridiculous gesture. “I remember my lessons.”

  And indeed, the rogue did. He knew the risk even before he invited the vision into his head. But with the discovery of Rayhan’s journal came a deep ache for the people Jaspur had buried with his past.

  It had been nearly two decades since he was forced to watch Shadow kill his cousin in front of him, but he had a hard time forgetting that moment. Many memories haunted Jaspur, but none more than that one.

  It fed an old hatred. His fist clenched into a deadly grip over his pack. He stared at his knuckles as they faded to white, trying to reason through the rage that growled inside his head.

  He needed to get away from Velagray and the memories that lingered there. “What say you to leaving this city tonight?”

  Tobiano raised a curious brow. “We could. Our business here is finished.”

  Jaspur shoved his cousin’s journal inside the bag. “If we leave now, we can make it to the Forest of Whispers while the sun still sleeps.”

  Tobiano looked down at his garb, or lack thereof, then back at Jaspur. “I came here in secret, brother. I fear my departure would be less so if I joined you.”

  Jaspur slung his pack over his shoulder. “There is a stable by the northern gates where I left Diego. Meet me there.” The rogue doused the dying coals and walked out into the hall, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Tobiano stared at the shuddering frame as he considered the sudden turn in the rogue’s demeanor. The abrupt change of plans; his quick temper. It was as if the vision had incited something desperate in him.

  “Oh no,” the re’shahna breathed. He threw on his cloak and lunged for the door, unable to move fast enough.

  Over the years, Jaspur’s hatred had become its own entity, hungry for retribution. If it gained a foothold, he would seek out the only thing that would satiate it.

  Blood.

  LOOSE ENDS

  The assassin that stalked through King Shadow's throne room had no birth name. Perhaps that's why he accumulated so many false ones. In the six months it took to track him down, the king's spies had stumbled upon numerous aliases for the elusive human; at least three for every city they traced him to.

  If it wasn't for the consistency of his kills, they may never have found him. Or, rather, he wouldn’t have found them. The assassin caught wind of the spies’ inquiries in Brennensdale, a city nestled on the other side of the northern mountains.

  He tracked them to a small tavern where he and his blade asked some questions of their own. By the end of the assassin’s interrogation, the promise of a job with a royal commission was the only reason Shadow’s spies returned with their heads attached to their shoulders.

  King Shadow scanned the list of aliases the man had gone by, then looked up at the cloaked figure standing calmly before the dais. Most kings wouldn’t take a chance on a killer this shady, but Shadow understood his nature. In the end, the mystery of the man’s actions resided in the coin behind them, and the king’s coffers held more than enough to earn his loyalty.

  Shadow crumpled the list in his hand and tossed it at the human’s feet. “You seem to go by many names, Assassin. Which one should I call you?”

  The voice beneath the long black hood remained void of emotion. “I have no name, Your Majesty. If you insist on one, I am certain your enemies will think of something.”

  Shadow rolled his eyes. “The re’shahna have a name for your sort. We call them darthek.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  The king wore a crooked smile. “The word means faceless. My people use it to describe outsiders who choose to disconnect from society and everything that makes them... human.”

  The assassin gave a careless shrug. “Darthek it is, then.”

  “Let us get to know one another, Darthek. You can start by removing your hood.”

  The assassin did as he was told, and what the king saw surprised him. Unveiled, the legend of many streets was a human in his mid-thirties with a round face and a reserved expression. No major scars marked his body.

  Darthek had a head of well-groomed, copper hair he kept in a short tail behind his head. He wore no armor to protect himself. Only a pale green tunic that spoke of a modest but profitable lifestyle.

  Overall, he appeared remarkably normal.

  Shadow rubbed his fingers together as he studied Darthek with growing satisfaction. The king usually disposed of his own problems, but this assignment was different. It involved scouting out a missing girl, and Shadow’s exotic appearance would expose him long before he caught wind of her.

  The king’s tar-colored hair was woven in thick dreads pulled tight across the top of his skull. He kept the sides shaved like most re’shahna. It was an unusual style anywhere beyond the tribe in which he was born among.

  His pair of horse-like ears twitched curiously as he considered the assassin. Leaning back against his throne, he let his heavy cloak pool into the seat, revealing a remarkable suit of black leather armor.

  “You are perfectly unassuming,” he muttered. “Exactly what I need.”

  “I was promised good money with this job,” the assassin stated.

  “And you shall receive it—if you complete the assignment,” the king assured.

  “What is this assignment, exactly?”

  King Shadow stepped down from his throne and motioned for the assassin to follow. “A loose end I need tied. She was an ally of this kingdom’s former ruler, but she disappeared the night I took the throne. I tried to track her down for many years, but the trail ran cold.”

  “Until recently?” Darthek assumed.

  “Yes. Rumors have been circulating in Sarrokye about horses exhibiting oddly intelligent behavior.”

  “Such as?”

  The king led his assassin through the main hall where a stained glass dome, dimmed by dust and grime, struggled to show color beneath the light of a gra
nd chandelier.

  “Twenty mounts stolen by a band of highwaymen stopped in the middle of a trade route and refused to move. All of them. They stood completely still for hours until a caravan of merchants stopped to help. When they found the horses all wore a different brand, they confronted the highwaymen. The guilty then fled the scene.”

  “Odd, yes. But is it really that remarkable? Perhaps the horses huddled together out of fear.”

  Shadow poised an inquisitive finger. “Possibly, but what occurred afterward hints toward something more calculated. Once the highwaymen fled, the horses disbursed upon their own accord, returning directly to their masters.”

  The assassin shook his head at the absurdity of the story. “Perhaps they knew the way home?”

  The king raised a brow. “Horses are herd-minded creatures, Darthek. For all of them to turn and walk away with their wits about them hints toward an intention, not instinct.

  “One of my spies was serving as a hired sword to protect the caravan. He relayed this story to me firsthand, stating that the horses moved with an eerie calm.”

  “Any other peculiar instances?”

  “Several more of a similar nature over the last six months. A spooked mount suddenly finds its wits mid-stride to avoid trampling a young girl; a gelding seeks out a band of gypsies in the marketplace and leads them to its wounded rider. All of these incidences took place either within the city of Sarrokye or less than a mile outside of its gates.”

  Darthek squinted his eyes in thought as he tried to guess where Shadow’s story was leading. “I’m guessing these absurdities have something to do with your ‘loose end?’”

  “They have everything to do with her.” Shadow motioned for the guards to open the front doors of his castle. “Do you know why I took this kingdom from its former master, Darthek?”

  “No.”

  “Before I became its leader, this was a naive kingdom called Nevaharday, founded centuries ago when the rahee ran out of the mountains to escape a civil war in Bresan T’ahnya. It was created as a ‘haven’ where they forbade the use of magic.