Just as Sadikaye began to let himself ponder what kind of hero he would make, he heard a whipping sound and felt the bow drift to an odd angle. He stood up straight, his thin brows knitting together when the boat came back around to tap against the dock. Outside, howling winds pushed in the opposite direction. Someone must have pulled the vessel.
Sadikaye moved away from the window and tip-toed up the cabin steps when he realized he should tell his father. He glanced over his shoulder and started to call for his pa, but stopped.
Perhaps it was nothing. Sadikaye could always check first. And if there was an intruder, well… he was trained to fight, after all.
A flash of light filled the sky as he stepped onto the slick deck, followed by a thunderous crack. Sadikaye covered his eyes with his forearms as he squinted against sheets of rain. He pressed forward against the storm’s barrage to walk the rail as he searched the dock for some explanation.
He expected to find the harbor master or one of the many captains anchored here. Instead, he saw nothing. No one at all, and he knew deep in the pit of his stomach something was wrong.
Sadikaye took a step back as he reached blindly for one of the spears hanging against the cabin’s outer wall. “Pa—”
Sadikaye’s alarm was cut short as a strong arm shot out from behind and hooked around his neck, choking off his words. Clinching his muscles against the stranger’s powerful grip, the young rahee jammed his elbow hard into his assailant’s side once, then again, but it did nothing to loosen the lock on his windpipe.
Snarling in a silent growl, Sadikaye threw his weight back, slamming his attacker against the wall with a loud thud. Poles and spears clattered to the ground and rolled about their feet, but it did the trick. A gasp sounded in his ear as he managed to knock the wind from the stranger’s chest. The deadly arm loosened just enough for Sadikaye to tuck his chin, allowing him to take a shallow breath.
Dropping low and forward, Sadikaye threw his assailant over his shoulder before springing up to grab one of the spears that had fallen to the deck. The speed that made him so dangerous with a staff became apparent to his assailant a few seconds too late. Before the stranger could find his feet, a spear struck his heart, skewering him like a sunfish.
“Pa!” Sadikaye shouted again, for surely Milo had heard the racket by now.
He didn’t have time to consider his dilemma, or the fact that he had just taken his first life. Four more figures came over the rail like silent hunters, forcing him onto his toes. Sadikaye backed toward the stern with spear in hand, his eyes fixed on the four blades crowding him.
“Drop the spear, boy, before I gut you on your own deck,” a knife poked the small of his back, right where his kidneys sat, and Sadikaye realized these men were professionals, for he never saw where the fifth man came from until he was upon him.
Sadikaye started to drop the spear when he heard a sharp whistle. One of the four men went flying off his feet to slide across the deck. Another whistle followed, striking another one of the surrounding henchmen in the shoulder with an arrow from Levee’s bow.
“The only guttin’ on this ship comes from my hand, sirrah.”
That was Milo’s voice. Sadikaye would recognize it anywhere. The light burn of the dagger’s tip whipped across the small of his back as Milo’s scimitar batted it aside before spinning around to engage another man who came in swinging.
Sadikaye didn’t waste the opportunity his Pa had given him. He stepped forward, then around, his spear rising to slap aside the second jab he knew was coming in from behind. Spearhead clanged against dagger, its jagged edge locking against the enemy’s blade. With a quick jerk, Sadikaye yanked the weapon out of his assailant’s hands. He sprouted a wicked grin as he spun the weapon over his head, then out, tossing the dagger like a missile straight into the chest of the man coming on with an arrow still in his shoulder.
“That all you got?” he shouted as he fell into a defensive crouch, spear ready.
Sadikaye regretted his taunt when ten more men crowded the deck. Some climbed up from the rail while a few jumped down from the cabin roof. Beneath Sadikaye’s adrenaline grew the unsettling realization that this was an ambush.
A few feet ahead, Milo fought viciously, his twin scimitars working in brilliant sync with one another as he liberated the wrist of another attacker before following with a stab straight through his enemy’s throat. Still, they were outnumbered three-to-one and Sadikaye was keenly aware that he wasn’t ready for such a challenge.
The flash of a blade set Sadikaye back a step, forcing him to focus on the killer in front of him. His ears went back as he sized up the human with blonde hair. This one was different from the other attackers, his clothes woven from fine satin. Sadikaye swung his spear out in a wide arch, forcing the man beyond arm’s length as he snatched another spear from the ground. “You’re messin’ with the wrong ship, human.”
“No, this is definitely the right ship.” The man held a finely crafted dagger in front of him. It was his only weapon, though he smirked like he held the upper hand. Sadikaye couldn’t believe the audacity! The young rahee threw one spear like a javelin, distracting his assailant as he seized the offensive with a defiant cry.
The human batted the projectile away with his dagger before raising his forearm to deflect a solid hit from the side. Sadikaye winced as the pole of his spear cracked against the man’s metal bracers, and he regretted leaving his staff inside the cabin.
“Sadi!”
Sadikaye turned toward Milo’s voice. His pa nodded toward the ground and Sadikaye saw the scimitar sliding toward his feet from across the deck. He dropped to the ground, narrowly escaping a swift prod of that beautiful dagger as he crawled across the deck toward Milo’s offered blade.
His fingers met the pommel at the same time a metal-toed boot greeted his ribs. There was a loud crack and Sadikaye felt the blade slip through his fingers as the air left his lungs. White pain shot through his chest, and for a moment he lost his bearings as he felt his body roll across the deck.
Gritting his teeth, Sadikaye pushed himself to his knees. Nausea swept through him, but he sobered quickly when a cold, steel edge found his neck.
“No!” Levee shrieked.
For a moment the entire ship held its breath as the well-dressed human held Sadikaye’s life in his hands. The young rahee gripped the arm that held the blade to his neck with both hands and pushed with his shoulders and back in attempt to break away, but it was like trying to tip the city wall.
The knife angled against his neck pressed harder, and Sadikaye stopped squirming when he felt the warm trickle of blood trail down his neck. “One more step, and I’ll release him,” the human shouted to the boy’s mother. “To his gods!”
Levee started forward, but Milo grabbed her arm and held her back as the man’s cohorts closed in around Sadikaye and his family. Whatever was happening, it had been well-organized.
Milo cursed as he began to recognize the man who held Sadikaye’s life in his hands. “You’re the human from the market.”
Sadikaye bit down on what little piece of the stranger’s hand he could, and clinched until the voice behind his ear became a growl. The knife disappeared and he thought he had gained the advantage until the man’s pommel came down against his head. Sadikaye barely heard his mother’s scream before the world went dark.
“What is it you want?!” Levee pressed furiously against Milo’s grip, but he held fast. The Sarrokian knew from the man’s hard expression that one step closer would mark the end of Sadikaye’s life.
“We don’t want any trouble here,” Milo shouted. “Name your price.”
Darthek jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “At the end of the dock sits a caravan. Your lady gets inside, and you do not follow where it goes.”
“Why?” Levee demanded to know. “What is this about?”
“Rumors of your gift have spread north, Melah,” the man replied. “Where they’ve reached the ears of King Shadow.”
Levee grimly pulled her arm free of Milo’s grasp. “I will go, so long as no harm comes to my son.”
The assassin offered a brief nod. “I am here to procure you and no one else. Come willingly, and I will let the boy go.”
Levee looked up at Milo, a fierce determination beneath her knitted brow. “Whatever happens, protect Sadikaye.”
Milo nodded, but the rain soaked tendrils of his black curls couldn’t hide the fury behind his ocher gaze. He glared at the man as Levee walked toward him. When she stopped just shy of his reach, the assassin tossed Sadikaye to the deck. At the same time the man’s associates closed in on her, their black tunics forming a dark and protective ring around Milo’s mate. The man who owned the hart grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her back onto the dock.
Milo rushed to Sadikaye as soon as the group left his boat. Dropping his remaining blade, he gathered the boy into his arms. Tears of anger were lost amidst the violent rain, which grew harder the farther Levee was drawn away. His breath came in furious heaves, his anger mounting as they shoved his mate inside the caravan. Hooking Sadikaye’s arm around his neck, Milo gathered his twin scimitars in one hand.
“Pa,” Sadikaye moaned, his dazed eyes cast down the dock.
Milo hugged Sadikaye tight against his side.
“Don’t worry, son,” he muttered. As the caravan drew away, he made note of its direction before rushing them back into the cabin. Setting Sadikaye on the bed, he grabbed a key from a drawer and set about opening an old chest. Inside was a wrapped bundle and a travel bag that he threw over his shoulder.
Sadikaye got up and stumbled toward the wall. He grabbed their cloaks from the shallow closet along with his staff and his Pa’s old walking stick. Tying his cloak around his damp body, he looked to his father, mirroring his determination.
“We’re goin’ after her,” the boy insisted.
Milo stared at the young boy in front of him as pride and pain swelled inside his chest. He planted a hand on Sadikaye’s shoulder.
“Aye. And when we find her, I’m havin’ a talk with that man, blade-to-blade.”
Family Ties
Jaspur kept a low profile over the next few days, his spirit heavy with uncertainty. A week ago, he believed his life as Jaycent Connor was a chapter of his past, overshadowed and forgotten under the emergence of the rogue and his singular purpose.
It took his shattered soul a series of glaring reminders to crumple that illusion. Each one sent him reeling until he felt physically and emotionally defeated. Surrounded by a camp full of re’shahna and tchaka whispering of revolution, he wanted more than ever to shrink back into the narrow scope of Jaspur’s life.
He tried to pretend the visions and all that came with them never happened, but the rogue couldn’t close the box he had opened. Rayhan’s memories left an emotional connection full of fury and heartache that frightened him more than the gods.
“Jas-pur!”
The way his name was called, its two syllables in different octaves, made the rogue’s shoulders sag. He closed the pack slung across Diego’s withers, a pained expression on his face.
“Nothing good ever comes from that greeting,” he lamented.
Tobiano grinned. “Oh, but luck is yours today! Patchi has bestowed upon you a new apprentice,” the re’shahna carried the end of a rope attached to the binds around the half-elf’s wrists. He handed the end to Jaspur.
The rogue lifted both eyebrows. “He bestowed a what?”
“An apprentice,” Tobiano patted his shoulder. “Patchi paid a hefty sum to free her from Qualle and his band. She is to serve you until her debt is repaid.”
“There are a hundred re’shahna here who could benefit from an apprentice. Why saddle me with this burden?”
“You know why,” Tobiano called over his shoulder as he walked away.
Jaspur gave a frustrated snort and flattened his ears. He understood Patchi's intentions perfectly well. A half-elf, half-rahee carrying Rayhan Mendeley's ring left little to be debated. She was either Rayhan's seed like she claimed, or she was a spy trying to win Jaspur's trust. They needed to get to the bottom of it, and none knew Rayhan better than the rogue.
Deley held out her bound wrists, a hopeful gleam in her eye. “Clearly, neither of us enjoy this arrangement. Why not untie me and let me go? You can continue doing whatever it is you do and I can go—”
The rogue jerked her so hard forward, she nearly stumbled head first into his shoulder. “Stay here,” he tied her binds to the piece of Diego’s leather head stall that hung beneath his chin. “Do not move.”
“You’re tying me to a horse? Really?”
“By all means, try to get away. I will pay you hard gold if you succeed,” he patted her cheek and walked away to share a heated exchange with Patchi.
Jaspur’s words made Deley hesitate, but only for a moment. She studied the stallion she’d been tethered to, his silver eyes calm and attentive. The half-elf approached him, her bound hands reaching gingerly toward the horse’s head. If she could just untie herself...
Diego jerked his chin away and stomped his hoof.
“Come now,” she crooned. “How would you feel in my boots?”
Diego swatted his black tail defiantly. With a nod of his head, he swung the rope into his teeth, his nostrils flaring in a challenging snort. Deley couldn’t believe it.
“Oh, you are a smart one,” she whispered. “I heard the rahee’s horses could understand their masters. Can you understand me, too?”
Diego straightened his neck and perked his ears toward her.
“You can! Isn’t that interesting?” Deley circled toward the stallion’s front, her steps cautious. The stallion tossed his head in a nod and for the first time Deley saw the scar beneath the beast’s forelock. Perfectly round, it was hairless with a dark sheen like polished onyx.
“What happened there?” Her fingers slowly reached toward the stallion’s crest.
It was a terrible mistake. She knew it the moment she saw the whites of Diego’s eyes. The stallion jerked his neck back, throwing his weight with him as he lifted his large, black hooves off the ground.
“Whoa,” Deley held out her bound hands in front of her and skittered back as far as her rope would allow. “Easy boy, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
A series of throaty grunts rumbled from the beast's throat as he fell back on all fours. He scuffed one of his front hooves across the ground, peeling back a layer of grass like icing on a sweet.
“Jaspurrrr!” Deley’s call swelled into a shriek as Diego whipped her rope back, throwing her face first into the ground. She coughed and squinted up to find Diego’s leg raking more furiously against the earth. Dirt flung behind him, the garish hole like a tell-tale warning of the open wound she’d suffer if no one stopped the wild beast.
“Seladay!”
A shadow cast over her and Deley saw a boot plant itself beside her cheek. The warm lining of a cloak tickled her waist and she rolled onto her back to see the rogue standing over her. He looked upon the beast like a stern father.
“Patuk asiyun.”
At the sound of the rogue’s voice, the stallion’s hooves became still and his muscles relaxed. Deley had heard of the rahee’s sway over equines, but to see it was phenomenal.
“Get up,” the rogue stepped over her and took the rope from the stallion’s teeth.
“I don’t understand,” Deley crawled to her feet, her eyes glued upon the rogue. “Did you just tame him with your words?”
“It sounds to me like you understand very well.” He tugged her toward Diego’s
withers. “Get on his back.”
“But you—”
“On his back or on the ground. The choice is yours.”
The rogue cupped his hands expectantly, and Deley stepped up, allowing him to lift her onto Diego’s back.
“Are you sure I am safe up here?” she asked.
Jaspur tied her up again, this time to the black harness that crossed over the stallion’s withers. “Stay still and you should be fine.” He yanked the knot tight and Deley clung instinctively to Diego’s thick mane. “We leave in a moment. Try to be clever again and I will let him finish what he started.”
Deley huffed, annoyed by the rogue's curt tone. “I am starting to think I was better off with Qualle’s people.”
“That can still be arranged,” the rogue reminded her as he walked away again.
Deley slumped in her seat, her mind a conflict of despair and intrigue. It was clear the horse-folk had no intention of killing her. Where they were headed or what their plans were, she had no clue. They were enemies of her enemy, but there was no comfort in that. Not when they treated her like a prisoner.
Was it luck or misfortune that she landed in the hands the re’shahna and their rogue? Deley only wanted to know who her father was, and what he was like. Her mother had studied the horse folk all her life, but chose to keep Rayhan’s name a secret. All of Whitewood did. Whoever she dared to ask turned their head and changed the subject as if speaking his name was an act of dishonor, yet her mother described him as the most honorable man she'd ever known.
Elessara spoke of Deley’s father many times when they were alone, disclosing little details that only baited her curiosity. Supposedly, he was somewhat able to do what the rogue had just done, though he only knew a few commands here and there. The majority of the rahee's language was lost to the horse folk over the centuries as they adapted to the common tongue.
How then did her captor know it so well?
The Rogue Trilogy Page 61