“Pah-took ah-see-oon,” Deley muttered as she tried to wrap her tongue around the rogue’s words. The rahee's language was hard and rhythmic, like a drumbeat, and they fumbled awkwardly across her elven tongue. “Pah-took… Puh-tuh…. Puh-took.”
A chuckle broke her thoughts and she turned to see the wild-looking re'shahna with the black and white hair.
“It takes more than mere words to sway the horses, young one,” the re’shahna said as he walked up and patted the stallion’s neck.
Deley didn’t know why this individual was so kind to her, but his friendly demeanor felt real enough. “Tobiano, right?”
The re'shahna nodded, his two-toned forelock sliding over one eye.
“If not words, then what is it?” she asked.
“The bond,” he patted the black hoofprint tattooed to his chest.
Deley cocked her head, surprised he would even entertain her with an answer. “What is the bond?”
Tobiano’s smile felt comforting. “The spiritual connection between all things.”
“What things?”
“Give me your hand.” Tobiano held out his open palm and Deley tentatively placed hers inside. He flipped it over so her palm lay open and poured water from the skin on his belt into her hand.
She jerked it away. “Ugh, that’s cold! Why’d you do that?”
Tobiano shook his head as if she were blind. He tried to find the right words in the common tongue, but it was clear from his frustrated expression that showing her was easier. “This…” he pointed to the water dripping from her hand. “This is what the bond is.”
“The bond is water?”
“It is like water.”
Deley shook her head. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Water runs beneath the earth. It runs through streams; into oceans. Water runs through our bodies. Then we die. We return to the ground to become earth and water again; to sustain others as they sustain us now.”
Deley wiped her hands on her breeches. “What does that have to do with horses understanding you?”
Tobiano clicked his tongue and winked at Diego as they shared a glance. The beast turned and rubbed his head against the re’shahna’s chest. “Water’s way is the same as the bond’s. The bond runs through all things, so through it we all connect.”
“If that is the case, then how come his horse will listen to him but not to me?”
“What we say is not law,” he said. “Our words bind equines no more than your words bind me. Horses listen to us because we are brothers by nature. We trust each other.”
The rogue returned, a pack slung over his shoulder. He looked at the pair curiously.
“Are you ready?” he asked the re’shahna.
Tobiano dove forward, his body transforming into its equine form. Deley blinked her eyes once, then again, for in the re’shahna’s place now stood an elemental unicorn. Her jaw fell slack as suddenly the words of the re’shahna took on a far more literal meaning.
“What are you people?” she gasped.
The rogue used a loop sewn into Diego’s harness to launch himself onto the stallion’s back, his seat unnervingly close behind her.
“We are the closest thing you have to family now, Deley,” he said. “I suggest you get used to it.”
* * * * *
Jaspur and Tobiano left ahead of Qualle’s band with a few of the re’shahna warriors in tow. A pound of relief melted off of Deley’s shoulders as they left the tchaka behind. She had never felt comfortable in their presence. Even when they didn’t speak, Deley had felt the disdain in their glances. They hated her. Or rather what she stood for: a blend of races that shouldn’t be crossed. They called her names under their breath she couldn’t understand, but it didn’t take a linguist to know they weren’t kind.
Although the rogue’s company wasn’t much better, at least Tobiano offered warm smiles that made her fear somewhat bearable. His warriors, too, were a welcomed contrast to Qualle’s men. Despite their strange markings and exotic hair, none of them expressed the aggression of the tchaka. In fact, they hardly paid her any attention at all.
A re’shahna named Jakke led their path, and he chose a different route than Qualle and Patchi. While the re’shahna chieftain led the tchaka through the Forest of Whispers, Jakke and Tobiano carved a more arduous journey beyond Velagray’s borders to shield their passage toward the mountains.
“Not that I know where we’re going, but this seems to be the long way around,” Deley said to her captor.
Jaspur glanced down as if he just remembered she was there. “That is the point.”
“What are we doing?”
“We are finding a new camp,” the rogue explained. “One that is farther away from King Shadow’s city and the elven borders you lured his soldiers to.”
“Oh.” Deley felt guilty about that, but there was little she could do about it. “So… if you aren’t from Velagray, where are you from?”
“I was raised under the Connor family’s rule, when Velagray was still Nevaharday. I left the kingdom behind when King Shadow took the throne.”
“So you are a Nevahardan?”
Jaspur snorted. “Nevaharday no longer exists. I am simply a rogue.”
“Are you a re’shahna, like Tobiano?” she asked. “You don’t look like one, but you’re taller than the rahee I saw in the city.”
“My great-great grandfather was a re'shahna. The rest of my family were rahee.”
“How did you end up with this tribe, then?”
Jaspur grunted. “The less you know, the better off you will be.”
Deley sighed and leaned back against the rogue’s chest, her bound hands resting atop Diego’s harness. Unlike Tobiano, Jaspur held little interest in words and conversation.
“I always thought a rogue would be a little more interesting,” she remarked, her eyes trailing over her shoulder.
“And I expected this ride to be slightly less insufferable.”
“Insufferable? Is that what you think of curious women?” Deley let her gaze fall back to the boring line of riders in front of them. “I see why you haven’t found a mate, then.”
Deley’s ears tilted back as she heard the sudden tear of fabric. She started to turn her head again when a piece of brown cloth swept over her mouth. She struggled to pull away, but the rogue’s strength far outmatched her own. He tightened the fabric roughly behind her skull, his determination emphasized by the sturdy knot he used to hold her makeshift muzzle in place. She muttered something inaudible as she glared up at him.
“There,” the rogue mumbled. “Much better.”
Jaspur said nothing more to her, or to anyone, for the duration of their ride. He seemed to favor solitude while the warriors around him carried on conversations of their own. Deley noticed how they didn’t shy from Jaspur, but they gave him a respectful distance as if they knew better than to try to engage him in dialogue.
More and more, she began to wonder about the origins of the brooding rogue who was respected by his companions, yet isolated. Deley had only met a few with such fierce aversions toward company. All of them were wounded souls, scarred by deep tragedies.
By the time the sun loomed low on the horizon, the company found a lonely valley some twenty miles from Velagray’s border to make their camp. Deley could tell by how swiftly they pitched their tents and readied fires that the re’shahna were accustomed to a mobile lifestyle. She sat cross-legged on the ground, her binds still tethered to the rogue’s steed as she watched them all work.
“Where is Jaspur?” Tobiano’s voice caught her attention. Deley looked up to find the re’shahna standing over her, his frown emphasized by his furrowed brow. He knelt and untied the cloth around her mouth.
“Hunting,” she replied. Deley tried hard not to stare at the re’shahna, but it was difficult to peel her eyes away. Now that she’d seen his unicorn form, Deley began to notice just how much of him was equine in nature, like the way his ears swiveled back whenever he
was angry or twitched toward every sudden noise. She cocked her head to the side, wondering which instincts were dominant: the man or the animal?
“He should not have left you alone,” Tobiano muttered more to himself than to her.
“But I am not alone,” the half-elf tossed a thumb in Diego’s direction. “I have old Black here to keep me company.”
Tobiano sat down beside her, taking on the role he had originally given the rogue. “Why were you in Velagray, Deley?”
Deley groaned. “I told you, I was looking to find out who my father was—”
“I remember,” the re’shahna’s voice was stern as he interrupted her. “But I want truth, Lady Wintergray. All of it. Your answer sat in books. Instead, you went to Velagray. Why?”
Deley bit her lip. “I am not of noble birth, sirrah. Please do not call me Lady.”
Tobiano shook his head. “Show me your hands.”
Deley hesitated, but only for a moment. What she denied him, he had only to take for himself, so she offered her bound wrists for his inspection.
Tobiano examined them as he would a ripe fruit. “Soft,” he observed. “Without callous.” He looked up at her. “A noble’s hands.”
Deley pulled away and Tobiano let her.
“Your father…” he perched his elbow upon his knee. “Ask the rogue what he knows of him.”
The half-elf felt uneasy about the suggestion. “Are you sure that is a good idea?”
Tobiano smiled. “His anger toward you, do not mistake it. What you remind him of causes great pain. He cared very much for Rayhan.”
At that moment, Jaspur returned to camp, a doe slung over his shoulder. “Tobiano! May I have a word with you?”
Tobiano stood to greet him. “My ears are lifted to you.”
Jaspur dropped the doe in front of Deley’s feet. He spoke a slew of words in his native language with more animation than she’d ever seen out of the rogue.
Tobiano stood, placidly listening. When Jaspur finally ran out of steam, the re’shahna replied calmly, and in the common tongue no less. “If I am wrong about her, that fault is mine. She does nothing for us bound and gagged. Give her a chance.”
Another sharp remark slid from the rogue's mouth.
“We are re’shahna. If she runs, death will find her before she makes the tree line.”
Deley’s heart hammered in her chest. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, spoke volumes. He did not boast. In some strange sense, it seemed like he was trying to warn her. Wisely, for Deley had been contemplating bolting at the first opportunity.
Moments later, the rogue was untying her and Tobiano left them alone together.
“Do you know how to skin a deer?” Jaspur walked over to a tree and used the rope that had bound her hands to hang the dead animal face down from a thick branch. When he glanced at her expectantly, Deley closed her gaping mouth and shook her head. He pulled a stag horn dagger from his belt and offered it to her.
Deley took the blade, her own hands shaking. Jaspur rolled his eyes and stepped up behind her, his arms enveloping her own. He then took her dagger hand in his and pulled the skin from the dead doe, slicing it away from the muscle.
“Is this punishment for talking too much?” she gagged.
“No. This is sustenance.”
Deley swallowed the bile rising in her throat as the blood smeared across her hands and forearms. Jaspur tightened his grip on her hand as he tore through muscle into the animal’s chest cavity. From there, he continued the gruesome act of pulling out the innards. Deley immediately let go and tried to draw away as they spilled onto the ground. The rogue held her fast, his strong frame wrapped around her own like a cloak.
“Why do you look away, Deley Wintergray?” His words chilled her like a mountain breeze. “Do not tell me a little blood makes you squeamish?”
Deley’s heart rate jumped. She had extensive training with a sword, though it would do her little good against a man as dangerous as this one. She clenched her jaw.
“What is the point you are trying to make here, Master Rogue?”
He stared at her long and hard, as if he could delve into her thoughts with a single glance. “It is time you grow accustomed to gore. It is part of life in this part of the realm.” He jerked the knife from her hand. “Find some wood and start a fire.” Raising a single brow, he added, “Surely you can manage that.”
“But—” Deley started to argue.
“Go.”
Deley sighed and wiped the blood on her tunic as she walked away. Eyes followed her, reminding the half-elf that nothing she did would go unnoticed. She entered the surrounding trees and began the tedious job of collecting dry kindling and wood. Gradually, she wandered deeper until the sounds of the camp became muted and distant.
Calls that sounded like owls and coyote yips would pipe here and there, but she knew from her mother's teachings that they were patrol calls. When it came to camouflaging their movements, the re'shahna put even her elven kin to shame. It was how they faded into legend in the land beyond the mountains, though clearly they roamed this place freely.
Deley returned just before evening settled in and set about building a fire where the rogue cooked a decent stew out of the venison and some spices he carried in a separate pouch. They ate in silence while Deley stared at him, hoping he would start a conversation.
He didn’t. An hour went by, until finally she found the courage to take the initiative.
“Rayhan...” she tested the name as if tasting wine for the first time. “That is my father's name?”
Jaspur glanced at her from over his bowl. “Assuming what you claim is true, yes. Rayhan Mendeley was his name. Although most called him Rayhan the Chivalrous.”
“So all this time my mother had named me after my father and didn’t even tell me.”
The rogue shrugged as if he didn't care. “Elessara likely had her reasons.”
“Wait, you know my mother?” Deley had thought she’d done well to conceal her royal background. An effort wasted as she realized by Jaspur’s smirk that she had just confirmed a mere suspicion.
“Occasionally, Rayhan spoke of her, but we never met. I was still a young boy when your father went to Whitewood.”
“How old are you now?”
“The next moon will mark my forty-second year.”
“You're only nine years older than me,” she cocked her head, curious. “How old would my father be if he were alive today?”
“Fifty-four.”
She noted how Jaspur looked away from her when he spoke of Rayhan. Clearly, the subject was hard for him. “Tobiano said you and my father were close.”
Jaspur slammed Lumiere's tip into the ground so hard it stood upright on its own. He glared at Deley over the flames of the fire, his jaw grinding slow and deliberate against the lean meat in his mouth. “Were.”
“Did Rayhan love my mother?”
That question caught the rogue off guard. A silence built between them. When he finally spoke, his words were barely audible. “Very much so.”
Deley didn’t miss the anger that possessed Jaspur. Every muscle in his arm was tight, as if he were seconds from lunging into a fight. Every question she asked deepened his frown, his spirit weighed down by heavy memories. Deley felt a great wave of sympathy for the rahee hunched in front of her, but she had to know more. “If that is true, then why did my parents stay apart?”
“They weren’t given a choice. That is the weight of a noble's blood. You serve your kingdom, not yourself.”
“What was Rayhan like?”
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Jaspur snapped.
Deley jumped. She stared incredulously at the rogue before crossing her arms in a guarded hunch.
“Please,” Jaspur added, quietly this time. “I grow weary of this subject.”
Deley scooted closer to the rogue, hoping to connect with him. “I like to think my father’s spirit meant for me to fall into your company. That per
haps he felt it would be good for the both of us.”
Jaspur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his chest tight with pain. The way Deley wore her emotions like a glove was just like Rayhan. It was painful for the rogue, whose preferred contact with emotions was to nod at them as they were swept out of his heart's door.
He thought back to the countless lectures he'd experience in Rayhan's office. His cousin had always encouraged him to express himself more, just as Deley was doing now.
She smiled at him, and the rogue responded by tossing a thick blanket over her face.
“Get some rest,” he told her.
The half-elf clawed the blanket away from her head only to see the rogue had turned away from her, his cheek rested against Diego's shoulder. The stallion stared back at her from his spot behind the rogue, ears pricked. Deley wrapped the blanket tightly around her shoulders and settled on the ground, her eyes resting on Jaspur’s back.
Unable to sleep, she watched him, wondering what story he had to tell.
Who was Jaspur Clovenhoof?
What led him to become such a solitary creature?
She curled her palm beneath her head as she considered those questions until Jaspur’s chest rose and fell in a slow and steady rhythm. During the day, he wore the hard expression of a man who had weathered too many storms. Looking at him now, the angry wrinkles in his brow smoothed by sleep’s comfort, Deley imagined he was quite handsome once.
Eventually, the rogue began to dream. The signs were subtle at first. A twitch here, a mutter there, but then he must have fallen deeper into his imaginings for Jaspur began to speak in sentences. Although the words were muffled beneath his cloak, Deley pieced together enough to understand he was having a conversation.
She propped herself up on one elbow as she listened closely to catch his words. It was hard to make out, but she swore she heard Jaspur say King Mekkai and Whitewood a couple of times.
“You should not drop eaves. Not upon one as dangerous as he.”
Deley sat up. It was Tobiano again. He had a habit of sneaking up on her.
“Besides,” he added, “t’is poor manners spying on another’s dreams.”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 62