The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “And what if he is already tainted?”

  Patchi smiled. “If you do not trust us, then trust the path Tennakawa has set in front of you. She led you to my people, just as she led Jaspur. His role will play out the way it must. Focus on your own and have faith. The spirit of the horse folk does not choose her heroes lightly.” The re'shahna chief nodded ever-so-slightly to Tobiano.

  Tobiano took his cue and stepped out of the caravan in search of Jaspur. It wasn’t hard to find him. All he had to spot was Diego’s large silhouette several yards outside the camp. He walked the trail of bent grass caused by the stallion’s tread. Jaspur sprawled upon his back beside Diego’s hooves, his pale blue eyes counting an endless spread of stars.

  Tobiano lay down beside his pupil and tucked his arms behind his head. They shared a silence together for a while, appreciating the vastness of the heavens. When Tobiano tilted his head to study the rogue, he had a hard time naming his expression.

  “What is on your mind, brother?” the re’shahna finally asked.

  “First, I am haunted by visions of my murdered cousin, then we are intercepted by Siabra and a half-breed who claims to be Rayhan’s daughter. Add my mate from another life being hunted by a power-hungry tyrant…” the rogue’s voice sounded distant. “I’d say my troubles are bountiful tonight, Tobi.”

  The re'shahna nodded. “Aye... how are you feeling amidst it all?”

  Jaspur blew a strand of hair from his eyes. “I am afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “That I will never escape the mistakes of my past.”

  “The past cannot be erased, Jaspur. Like it or not, the Prince of Nevaharday is still a part of who you are.”

  Jaspur’s expression hardened. “That’s where you’re wrong. Prince Jaycent no longer exists. That entity; that soul people once knew is gone.”

  “Oh?” Tobiano countered. “That is not how it sounds.”

  “Nonsense,” Jaspur muttered.

  “If Jaycent Connor is dead, then so are the memories and relationships that existed with him. Yet all of these things matter to Jaspur. Why?”

  Jaspur opened his mouth only to find he didn't have an answer. For years, he had convinced himself shedding the life of Jaycent Connor would free him from the pain and guilt that came with it. Eighteen years later, it seemed all his running had only sent him doubling back to where he started.

  Jaspur began to absentmindedly pluck blades of grass from the ground. “I am not ready to face all of this. Not yet.”

  Tobiano sighed. “You should speak to Patchi.”

  Jaspur shook his head. “No. If he knew half of my concerns, he would forbid me from continuing with these visions.”

  “With good reason! You are pushing yourself to exhaustion.”

  Jaspur rolled to his feet, wincing as he did, and brushed himself off. “I cannot stop now. If this fiasco with Siabra and the bastard elf says anything, it’s that none of this is coincidence. There is a purpose behind it all, and I intend to discover what it is.”

  “Perhaps Shadow is toying with you. Again,” Tobiano flipped the coin, reminding Jaspur that nothing involving the illusionist king was ever as it seemed. “Perhaps he knows you are alive and all of this is a deception set in motion to break the rogue who thought he got away.”

  “No. That isn’t it.” Jaspur clenched his fists.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I can feel it in my gut. This is real.”

  “But how can you be sure?” Tobiano pressed.

  Jaspur frowned. “If Levee were here, she would tell me to follow my instincts. There was a time, too, when you would have said the same.”

  Tobiano turned his gaze back to the sky. “Do not forget you have already committed yourself to a purpose. One that is here in the present.”

  Jaspur shrugged. “Who’s to say these things are not part of the same purpose?”

  A low rumble stirred in Tobiano's throat. These days he and Jaspur were like fighting rams, their horns locked in a constant struggle. “Every time you pursue these visions, you grow weaker. You think I do not see it, but I do. We cannot afford you to be fragile, brother. Not at this late hour. The rebellion is about to begin.”

  Jaspur ruffled Diego’s mane. “You worry too much, Tobi.”

  “I fear for you, Jaspur. You spend more time in visions than you do with the waking. When we go out on assignments, you defy orders. What is more, you kill too quickly. It is as if death holds no consequence to you anymore.”

  “The people I kill are thugs and criminals,” Jaspur’s chest puffed in defense.

  “Oh? And what of your sins, rogue?” he posed. “If the hero of the horse folk encountered you today, would he spare you a date with his sword?”

  Jaspur refused to answer that question, and Tobiano pulled the sword from Jaspur’s sheath. He held it between them, its ivory sheen gleaming in the moonlight. “You wield great power…” He stared at the blade, so cold and quiet to his touch, before handing it back to the rogue.

  Lumiere flared to life the moment Jaspur’s hand touched its pommel, its pale blue glow crawling through the rogue’s veins. Tobiano shook his head. “Marvelous as it is, such power can be tainted by poisons like anger and vengeance. You are sick with both, brother. They will take you if you do not face them soon.”

  Jaspur sheathed Lumiere, clearly exasperated. “You cannot coerce me to shed my hatred for Shadow.”

  “Aye, only you can make that choice.”

  Jaspur thought about the re’shahna’s words and the troubling message they conveyed. It all sounded so dark. Yet the night he watched his city burn, Jaspur came to believe the only way to defeat darkness was to bend the rules as well. He gave up his code to fight on Shadow's terms, and that choice had changed him. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Tobi, but I doubt there is enough of the old prince left to meet your expectations.”

  Jaspur walked away, and the re'shahna closed his eyes, his hand drifting to the scroll tucked in his waistband. “For your sake, brother, I pray you are wrong.”

  ALL THINGS CONNECT

  Jaspur stormed away from his mentor and beyond the camp, his feet tramping down the slope toward the river's edge. Diego shook his mane as he followed at a lazy clop, for wherever the rogue went, so did he, but Jaspur hardly noticed his equine shadow. He was too engulfed in the swarm of his own negative thoughts.

  Although he knew Tobiano was only trying to help, all his encouragement did was fuel Jaspur’s temper. The re’shahna claimed that the rebellion aimed to defeat Shadow and win back Velagray’s people was Jaspur’s purpose, yet in his heart he didn’t feel it. At the end of the day, he just felt tired.

  Tired of Patchi’s expectations.

  Tired of the never-ending slew of missions.

  Tired of bearing the weight of the re’shahna’s hope.

  Jaspur didn’t believe in hope anymore. In truth, he didn’t even believe in himself.

  The rogue came upon a large rock about six feet wide. Numb and exhausted, he stripped and dropped his clothes over Lumiere before submersing himself in the river. The surging water sent a shiver over his skin. He surfaced with a gasp and shook the water from his hair. Diego gave a worried grunt and pranced into the river.

  The rogue reached out and touched the wet silk of Diego's dark coat. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’m fine, Di.”

  Fine. Wasn’t that the biggest lie of all? Jaspur wasn’t fine. He’d never felt more alone or afraid in his life. With the rebellion came a lofty expectation he wasn’t sure he had the heart or skill to fulfill. The undertaking of killing King Shadow felt too monumental. The rogue's only advantage was the light magic he wielded through Lumiere; a potent weapon that could destroy the tainted power inside the illusionist, if he could subdue him.

  Jaspur might as well try to restrain a god. To even get to Shadow, he would have to bypass an army of traitors, monsters, and demons, and that was the easy part! He then had to strike a mortal blow to an imm
ortal re'shahna that could change form and create deadly illusions with the snap of his fingers.

  It was like being handed a fork and told to slay a dragon.

  Jaspur sighed. He wished Levee was still with him. She had always managed to see possibilities against impossible odds.

  It had been eighteen years since Jaspur had let go of his mate. When he heard she had moved on to pledge herself Milo, he tried to forget her only to realize he could not.

  He used to tease Rayhan for being so devoted to a woman he’d lost. In his youth, he didn’t understand how someone could be so fixated on one when there were so many others willing to fill the void. Having Levee, however briefly, made the rogue understand.

  Some things were irreplaceable.

  Jaspur placed his hands on the surface of the river and watched the cool liquid slide over his calloused fingers. He closed his eyes and tried to recall Levee's face. Each year it grew a little harder. He was beginning to forget details, like the number of freckles on her cheeks or the way she parted her hair. Even then, they were just memories. He didn’t know Levee in a present sense. The one the tchaka called Melah was a stranger to him.

  Jaspur tried to imagine how she’d look after so many years. He pictured caramel skin and thin eyebrows framing eyes as round as almonds, then irises of a deep evergreen flecked with brown and gold. A few subtle lines traced the corners of her eyes from a thousand smiles that still found their way to the surface despite years of running from Shadow. Her hair would be lighter now. Jaspur could picture it. Golden highlights streaked an auburn mane, her cheeks dappled with freckles.

  His hand drew slowly from the water, his fingers reaching for the mental picture that felt so real inside his mind. He could feel the warmth of her skin, so soft to his touch. She inhaled, her lips parted slightly as she leaned her cheek into his touch. Jaspur leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers as he swallowed the lump that began in his heart and rose into his throat.

  “Levee,” he whispered longingly.

  * * * * *

  Levee gasped and sat upright. She looked around the bare walls of the boat’s cabin, expecting to see the face of a ghost staring back at her, but all she saw was an empty room. She sighed, her hand falling to the net on her lap as she listened to the muffled sound of waves lapping against the hull.

  “Just a dream,” she whispered to herself. Her hand drifted to the necklace tucked inside her white blouse. Attached was a dull hook, and beside it an old copper coin with a unicorn bust engraved upon its surface.

  “Just a memory,” she said more resolutely. Jaycent had died eighteen years ago. She had moved on, but still there were moments when she remembered. No matter how much time passed, those moments still hurt.

  Levee took a deep breath and kissed the coin, her lips muttering words of peace to the memory of her first mate. She smiled as she remembered his last heroic act. He had left without saying goodbye only because he knew she wouldn’t accept it.

  Instead, he had left her his kunah: the copper coin necklace that represented his name. At first, she had been angry at him for making that decision, but as time passed and her emotions settled, she found herself okay with it.

  Jaycent had died trying to save his people. Indeed, he had distracted Shadow long enough to allow the gypsies to smuggle several citizens out of the city. In the end, her mate had died a selfless hero, and for that she forgave him, and even loved him more.

  Setting the net aside, Levee stretched and climbed off the family-sized bed that took up most of the cabin space. Over the years, she had found the strength to move on. She fell in love with an old friend. One that had been with her all along.

  Trotting up the steps, Levee stepped out onto the deck where she found Milo sparring with an eager teenager near the vessel’s forecastle. Her eager teenager, for Levee had a seventeen-year-old son named Sadikaye.

  A smile twitched at Levee’s lips as she watched the pair dance and duel across the deck. Sadikaye defended against Milo's pressing scimitars with mesmerizing grace. His long arms and legs worked to his advantage, keeping him just outside of Milo’s reach.

  Sadikaye’s lithe frame twirled about as he spun his staff in a series of fluid swings. Each one parried the strikes that fell in fierce succession from Milo’s padded blades, his eyes calculating every move before it came.

  Although neither Levee nor Milo had ever fought with a staff, Sadikaye had gravitated to it. His fascination began as a child when he picked up Milo’s walking stick to battle imaginary fiends. Most of his maneuvers were self-taught; the result of innumerable hours of practice and more than a little natural talent.

  Still, there was a familiar echo in the teenager’s movements. One that Levee had seen before. His tall frame moved with the hypnotic sway of a serpent; shifting, swinging, and stabbing in a flowing dance that marked his fighting style. Levee’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Sadikaye make a swift and sudden transition to the offensive, for sometimes his passion took the fight just a little too far.

  Lifting his staff above his head, Sadikaye blocked Milo's downward strike, then retracted and returned with a sudden thrust toward his abdomen. Milo had to throw his hips back to avoid the strike; a move that pinched a nerve in an old wound in his hip. He grunted, only to feel the crack of a staff across his jaw as Sadikaye whipped around with a wicked right slice.

  “Sadikaye!” Levee quickly intervened.

  The teenager tossed his staff to the deck and dropped to his knees beside Milo, who was lying on his back. “Pa? You okay? I'm sorry! I got carried away.”

  Milo chuckled, and that sound grew into a boisterous laugh as he looked up at the boy’s panicked face. Sadikaye glanced at his mother, perplexed. “I went too far, didn’t I?” he lamented. “I’ve knocked his marbles loose.”

  Levee knelt beside her mate and snapped her fingers above his nose. “I’m not sure there were many left to jostle, Sadi.”

  Milo stopped laughing long enough to gasp at Levee’s remark. “You wound me with such words!”

  “I’ve wounded you?” Levee smirked. “Are you sure it wasn’t Sadi’s stick?”

  Milo sat up and propped himself on his right arm. With a grin, he reached out and ruffled Sadikaye's long brown hair. “He’s gettin' too good for me, that much I know. I think it’s time we find him a new mentor.”

  Levee helped Milo back to his feet. “For the sake of your health, I agree.”

  “I’m sorry, Pa,” Sadikaye said again.

  Milo adjusted the worn cowpoke hat on his head. “Don’t be. It was a good strike.”

  Sadikaye grinned proudly until a bird’s caw lifted their eyes to the sky. A raven swooped down to perch itself on the boat’s railing. Sadikaye was the first to approach it, his head cocked to the side as he spotted a small piece of parchment tied to its leg. “Is this for us?”

  Levee walked up to the raven, noting how the tips of its wings had been dyed a dark purple. She untied the note from its leg and shooed the bird away.

  “Gypsies?” Milo hobbled over to the rail and peeked over his mate's shoulder.

  Levee unfurled the note and nodded. “This one is from Bry.”

  Already tall for his age, Sadikaye was able to look over his mother at the small parchment in her hand. “What's it say?”

  Leaning against the rail, Levee read the note aloud. “A new shipment arrives early at port. Have payment ready upon arrival.”

  “What?” Milo and Sadikaye spoke in unison, drawing a smile from Levee's lips.

  “It means a messenger awaits us at port. We should get back, Milo. They would not have sent a raven unless it was urgent.”

  Milo nodded, his mirth gone. “Aye, but we play it safe. Both of ya in the cabin until I get a good eye on what's waitin' on the docks.”

  Sadikaye picked up his staff with a bit of sass. “Always the cabin. At this rate, practice is all I'm ever gonna see.”

  Levee frowned as she grabbed her son's arm and guided him down th
e steps. “You will live to fight many battles, Sadikaye. When you do, you’ll start to see the wisdom in Milo's tactics.”

  Sadikaye pulled his arm free, and for a moment Levee looked upon his stubbornness and saw his father. “Don't you ever get tired of Pa takin' care of our business?”

  Levee planted a stern look on her son. “Milo may greet the messenger, Sadi, but when it comes to gypsies, it is I who ‘takes care of business.’”

  * * * * *

  Milo slowly guided his ship to dock. Once there, he dropped anchor and set about tying her off as if it had been just another day at sea. He dipped his old cowboy hat over his ocher eyes, shielding them from the harsh, white sun. Other sailors had teased him about the unusual accessory, but he didn’t care. The worn leather hat was a trophy from a former life. He’d earned it.

  Milo Kasateno was born a Sarrokian. His sun-kissed skin, bright eyes, and curly black hair testified to that. His family had a long history of sailors who made the Hikayah port their home. The people here knew the Kasateno name and respected it; respected him. His father’s name was still spoken with honor, even though he died protecting Hikayah’s merchants from pirates many years ago.

  Milo had been fourteen when his father’s boat never returned. Grief-stricken and desperate to keep her son from the influence of Hikayah’s rough streets, his mother dragged him to Nevaharday where he fought the snobby prejudice of northern rahee as he carved a new life as a farmer.

  For him, the hat represented his tenacious ability to adapt to just about anything. Thus, when he returned to his home, he wore it with pride.

  “Back early, eh Milo?” Sven called.

  Milo glanced up to see the old sea dog he often shared the dock with walking toward him, a slender gypsy on his heels. He stood up, careful not to favor his good leg. A fight with an ogre in Milo’s younger days had left him with a slight limp, and he didn’t want strangers to mark it as a weakness.

  “Light catch. Wasn't worth it,” he replied. “Who ya have there?”