“But why,” the rogue coughed as his body trembled. From Rayhan’s memories it seemed all the pieces had fallen perfectly into place.
So what was he missing?
What went wrong?
WHO ARE YOU, JASPUR?
“Jaspur!”
The patter of feet preceded a pair of knees as they slid onto the ground next to him. What happened next he could not have prevented. There was no way to know until it was too late.
Jaspur tried to stand only to find his body unresponsive. Tobiano’s strong arms found their way around the rogue’s shoulders, catching him before the ground did. Panic struck the rogue as he coughed against another wave of bile. This was not the body he had left behind. He tried to lift himself up again, but his arms buckled beneath his weight. Jaspur’s head spun. He struggled to find a mental foothold inside his mortal frame, but stability felt like a slippery slope.
“Tobiano,” he croaked. Every word was labored, as if his throat was made of rotted parchment. That's when he knew. He had experienced this sort of sickness before. A pain so fierce it bit through muscle and bone. It drilled deep into the essence of his being, straight into the raw core where his dreams gave birth.
“You push yourself too far,” Tobiano scolded. “Your magic has limitations, Jaspur.”
“Really?” he hissed as his stomach lurched again. Riding the wave of nausea, he managed to quip, “I couldn’t tell.”
“Deley!” Tobiano called. “Fetch blankets!”
“Forget the blankets.” Jaspur tried to stand only to stumble into his mentor. He cursed under his breath before losing what was left of his dinner. As he stared at the ground in attempt to make it to stop moving, he realized how reckless he had been.
His steps into Rayhan’s past had taken him far back in time. Visions like that took their toll. Tobiano had warned him from the beginning, and yet he had spent an extensive amount of time there without resting in between.
“I did not teach you to guard your mind so you could throw it away on a personal vision quest,” the re’shahna reprimanded.
“This isn't a personal quest, Tobi,” Jaspur coughed. “This is about the bigger picture.”
The grip of Tobiano’s hands tightened. “What do you mean?”
“The journal, the ring, Deley...” Jaspur doubled over as another wave of pain nearly jerked him unconscious. “None of it is coincidence. The half-elf is Rayhan’s daughter.”
“What does that mean to us?” Tobiano tried to wean the details from the sick rahee, but he was in too much pain to speak. The half-elf returned with two blankets and Tobiano quickly set about wrapping Jaspur's shivering form. “Deley, help me lead him to the fire.”
Deley ducked under one of Jaspur’s arms and wrapped it over her shoulders. With Tobiano’s help, they walked him to where the fire’s dying light revealed gaunt shadows on his face.
“What’s wrong with him?” Deley asked as they lowered him onto the bedroll. “He was fine a few hours ago.”
Tobiano’s mottled ears fell back against his head, his expression grim. Deley stared back, her brow creased with concern, and in that moment the re’shahna chose to trust her. “I told you Jaspur saw visions.”
“Aye. And?”
“Visions are not like dreams. His soul moves through time and space. It takes magic to do this, but magic has limits.” He sighed. “Far he has traveled these last few nights. Too far. Now he is weak.”
“Weak?” Deley shook her head. “Tobiano, he looks near death.”
Jaspur coughed, his frame shaking violently. “I am.”
Tobiano frowned. “Ginger will help ease the pain. I will find some.” He turned and left, leaving the rogue in Deley’s care. The half-elf settled down beside the shivering rogue and lifted his head and shoulders into her lap. Her hands were slender, like Levee’s, and they reminded him of her as they stroked his hair.
Jaspur shook her hands free of his mane. “I don’t like that.”
“A woman’s touch?” she actually smiled. “Why am I not surprised?”
Her mirth disappeared when a wave of nausea wrenched the rogue into a fetal position. Jaspur rolled onto his side and clawed his way out of her lap where he dry heaved, his arms trembling at the strain of holding himself aloft.
Pity gripped Deley’s heart. She reached out to assist him, drawn by her empathy. “This is no ordinary magic, is it?” she asked softly.
Jaspur shoved her away. “My gift is none of your concern.”
Deley caught herself with her hands and turned to face him again, frustrated. “Every elf in Whitewood—even half of one—is trained in magic. I may be able to help you, but you have to let me.”
“I don’t need your elven voodoo,” he grunted.
“You need something,” she insisted. “Your gift only works when you sleep, correct? So what if you fall asleep only to have more visions? Innate magic feeds off your life force, Jaspur.”
“I know that,” with a feat of strength, Jaspur pushed himself into a sitting position and rested his head on his knees. “I have dealt with its burdens my entire life. I can handle it.”
“This is handling it?”
Jaspur hadn’t the energy to scoff. “One mistake in eighteen years does not mark me as incompetent.”
“It does if it kills you,” Tobiano had returned, a pouch and water skin in hand. He handed it to Deley, then nodded over his shoulder to a re’shahna with a sheer white mane and a brown birthmark over the right half of his face. “This is Jakke. He is one of our healers familiar with Jaspur’s gift. There is a tea we can brew that will help. You remember this one, Jaspur. A rest so deep your visions cannot reach you—”
A loud horn cut his words short. Jakke looked at Tobiano who stood taut as a bow string. They listened carefully for one… two… then three horn blasts.
Jaspur lifted his weary head. “Night mares.”
“Jakke, get the rogue inside a caravan. Ride hard toward the mountains,” Tobiano turned and shouted a couple of orders that had his warriors clearing their camp and mounting horses. “Seladay!” Jaspur's stallion pricked his ears and cantered over. “Take Deley upon your back. Give her a visual of what we are up against, then flank the caravan. Protect Jaspur and Jakke from any pursuit.”
“You’ll need me,” Jaspur warned.
“Aye,” his mentor agreed. “And look at you now.”
The re’shahna leapt forward, taking his unicorn form as he rallied half of their force and led them to answer the horn’s grave call. Everything moved in a jumbled rush as Jaspur was whisked onto the back of Jakke’s caravan, blankets and all. The white-haired re’shahna jumped into the back and ordered the driver to head north at a brisk pace.
Jaspur rattled unceremoniously in the wagon’s bed, his scowl evident even from beneath the thick fur of his cowl. Diego whinnied to him and the rogue gave a clumsy salute.
Diego then snorted, and Deley understood a conversation had transpired between the pair. She gaped at the stallion under her seat as he tore away from the caravan, his long legs covering ground with a speed that put the messengers' horses to shame.
One by one, the warriors and their mounts fell behind the black beast, his thick tail waving like a war banner behind him. Up a steep incline they charged, the stallion snorting in rhythm with his gait. Hooves clattered onto dirt, then stone, and they stood above the valley where the horn had sounded.
Deley sat up, her voice lost as she spotted fifty soldiers and ten gangly creatures called mimics flanked by skeletal unicorns. She counted twelve of the abysmal equines, just before they looked up to spot her. From their mouths came a terrifying cry.
A fierce pain jolted through Deley’s arm. She clenched her arm against her stomach in a stifled cry. Clawing back her sleeve, she saw her slave brand glow like a burning ember against her skin.
“No,” she whispered. Before, she had thought the mark nothing more than a claim of ownership. Now it made sense. King Shadow would never have trusted her
with a unicorn mount if he didn’t have a way to get it back. With a sick realization, she understood this force had come for her and Siabra. Tugging the stallion’s thick mane, she took a deep, shuddering breath. “We have to warn the others.”
Jaspur’s stallion scuffed his hoof against the stone, his ears pressed back in defiance. He snorted indignantly toward the formidable force before rearing with a shrill neigh. Eyes turned to him and he sidled, his head tossing in agitation.
“Tobiano,” Deley called.
Tobiano cantered over, his mossy eyes taking in the unsettling view. Siabra shadowed him, the whites of her eyes revealing her fear. Jabbing his shoulder into Diego’s chest, Tobiano herded him back until the black stallion finally turned away. An arrow whizzed toward him, and he sprang aside just quick enough to dodge it.
Siabra nipped at the black beast’s haunches, sending Diego galloping back to the retreating caravan while she turned to meet the coming foray. Diego’s charge was even swifter than before, his loud breaths beating to the cadence of his furious gallop. Deley winced at the sound of battle cries and swords colliding as the rest of their group clashed against Shadow’s men.
Whispering encouraging words over the stallion’s ears, Deley prayed they made it out of this battle alive. As she and Diego came upon the caravan, the expression on her face told Jakke their enemies were approaching fast.
“Vabree ne’eerjah,” Jakke shouted. Thirty re’shahna fanned out behind the caravan. Jakke then climbed onto the seat next to the driver and slung his bow off his shoulder before tearing an arrow from his quiver. Jaspur’s steed spun around, apparently following the same orders, and Deley saw their opposition: six night mares, dark and devilish, had made it passed Tobiano’s forces.
Their bodies were emaciated and sunken as if they’d been ripped from their graves, but that didn’t slow them. Their cloven hooves tore into the earth, rapidly closing the distance between themselves and the caravan. The skin of their gaunt jaws stretched too thin in attempt to cover their claw-like teeth. Pieces of their hide tore from the strain, yet still their fangs gnashed with hunger.
“Gods save us…” Deley breathed.
Many of the re’shahna’s steeds hesitated, their fear bubbling to the surface as their companions urged them to hold fast. A wall of thirty warriors stood between the night mares and Jaspur’s caravan, but even as their arrows rained down upon the enemy, none of the night mares slowed.
“Seladay!” Jaspur’s voice, raspy and dry, managed to rise above the commotion. He hooked his forearm inside the handle on the back of the caravan, his free hand clenching his gut. “Break their charge!”
A harsh scorn from Jakke followed, but Deley wasn’t given a chance to decipher it. Diego reared, forcing her to scramble for a firm hold as his hooves raked the air. She clinched her thighs and shook her face free of the stallion’s thick mane only to see three night mares ten feet away.
A throaty bellow roared from Diego’s throat as he leapt headlong into the middle assailant, his heavy hooves pounding viciously into the night mare’s garish chest. The creature stumbled back, its two comrades circling Diego, but his courage didn’t falter. Deley ducked a chipped gray horn as the stallion wheeled, his back hooves snapping against the first mare’s forehead.
A warrior leapt onto the stunned night mare, his short sword leading as he finished it off. Diego snapped his teeth at the neck of the second before launching headlong into the third. Deley cried out as her leg smashed against the ribs of one mare, Diego’s sheer weight forcing the creature into another re’shahna’s wake.
Another decrepit horn swooped in on them, and Deley shrieked as she and the stallion both ducked. Diego’s head rose to meet the bloodshot eyes of another mare and he reared, his back legs working to keep his balance as they stumbled back. The mare’s crooked horn struck at Diego, who quickly swatted it back with his hooves.
An arrow whizzed past, thumping through the soft flesh beneath the night mare’s ear. The creature fell to the ground, its body twitching in the throes of death.
“Deley!” It was Jakke. She turned to find he had ducked back inside the caravan. He leaned out its back with his hand outstretched. She took his offer and he pulled her inside, setting her beside the rogue on the floor. Jaspur fought to keep himself upright, his skin even paler than before. “Care for him,” the re'shahna commanded. Then he was lost with Diego in the foray of warriors fighting desperately for the upper hand.
“Jaspur,” she knelt beside the rogue, her voice nearly lost against the sound of chaos. He stared over her shoulder at the battle, his bloodshot eyes unblinking. “Jaspur, say something.”
“Get down,” he wheezed, just as a mimic flew inside their rolling haven. Deley felt something bony crash into her shoulder before Jaspur’s body rolled over her own. There was a thud against the back wall and she heard the sound of scrambling limbs. More of Shadow’s soldiers must have broken through Tobiano’s guard. Deley leaned her head back to see a gangly creature with long arms and legs crouched in the corner. A crude blade flashed in its hand, its smile like a barracuda. A few clicks of his tongue melted into a cackle as he sliced his short blade toward Jaspur’s neck.
Sick as he was, the rogue remained agile as he swung his head back to avoid the strike. Crouched over Deley with one hand planted over her shoulder, she could feel his body tense, though he trembled like a leaf in a breeze. His left hand hid in the folds of his cloak, his fingers wrapped around something she couldn't see.
Again, the mimic’s sword came in, this time in a downward strike aimed for Jaspur’s skull. The rogue came alive then, the hand over Deley’s shoulder seizing the creature’s wrists. In the same motion, his left hand appeared, guiding a pearlescent blade deep into the monster’s chest. Jaspur didn’t wait for a dying breath. Ripping Lumiere free, he threw the mimic’s body out of the caravan and nearly himself along with it.
Deley grabbed his waist and used her weight to pull him back onto the furs that were meant to be his bed. His sword clattered beside him, his chest heaving as if that one effort had drained him. Something large hit the caravan’s side, tossing Deley like a doll to the floor. Jaspur clenched his teeth as her elbow landed on his ribs. A second hit overturned them, throwing everything, including Lumiere, into the air. The world seemed to slow as Deley watched the blade turn to face them, gravity seeming to have its mark on her.
A hand found her waist and yanked her over Jaspur’s side. The rogue’s other hand reached out and she thought he meant to grab the sword blade first. Then Lumiere took on a feint blue glow, and it turned on its own volition to slide pommel first into his hand.
“Lu’mare a rehanye ashahna, anima me,” The rogue uttered a prayer in his native tongue. Immediately, the same magic that illuminated his sword washed over Jaspur’s skin and into his veins. Deley watched the lines trace up his arms and held her breath, for this was not an act of magic; this… this was the work of a god! More words slid like a chant from his lips as the rogue rose to his feet. The look in his eyes thrilled and terrified Deley as she watched him squeeze the blade in his hand.
More mimics flooded in, eager to slaughter the disheveled passengers and claim the spoils. Their leader backpedaled when Jaspur raised his blade, his eyes bright like the sword he carried. The rogue sank calmly into a defensive crouch, and the mimic cackled nervously.
“You plan to take us all on your own, horse-ear?” It hissed. Glancing behind his shoulder, the creature took courage in the assurance of having six cohorts behind him.
Deley watched Jaspur take a fearless step forward. Her head throbbed, her mind spun, and she wondered if what she was seeing was even real. She had learned all about natural magic in Whitewood. She knew its workings like the back of her hand. By all measure of study, Jaspur shouldn’t be able to stand, much less hold a sword. Only a god could have resurrected him like this.
“Tennakawa?” she gasped.
Something like lightning crackled in Jaspur’s left hand as h
e strode to meet his opposition. All six mimics pressed into the tight confines of the caravan, intent on overrunning the rogue. His sword swept out to greet them, slicing one belly across its navel while the others managed to duck or fall back. One brave creature tried to slip around the rogue’s left toward Deley only to have a hand catch his arm. Jaspur slung him forward, the energy in his palm searing through the mimic’s chest and sending his dead body soaring into his comrades.
A third tried to flee only to feel the cold bite of a sword through his back. The first strike was a mortal one, and Jaspur kicked the body as he yanked Lumiere’s blood-christened blade free. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement and spun around to take the head of another.
The remaining two mimics realized they’d taken on more than they could handle and scrambled in retreat. An archer shot them both to the ground, and Deley crawled to her feet as the rogue stepped calmly over the lip of the overturned caravan.
Several of the re’shahna looked upon him, their expressions a mixture of shock and joy. Their champion had risen. The re'shahna's weapons moved with renewed fervor that had Deley wondering again who Jaspur really was. She grabbed the blade of a fallen mimic, one eye upon the rogue as he left her behind.
Since she had fallen into the re’shahna’s company, Deley had sought an opportunity to escape. Now was her moment; the only chance she would probably ever have at freedom. However, as she watched Jaspur walk fearlessly into battle, the half-elf lost the urge.
Until now, Deley believed only half of her belonged among the horse folk, and like her elven side, that half could never feel whole. Yet watching the rogue rise against all odds to help his people changed that.
She considered Tobiano’s kindness, and Jaspur’s heroics even though he seemed to hate everything. These were people of unyielding loyalty. The kind she yearned to be a part of; the kind that she hoped matched the legacy of her father.
There, in that moment, the rahenyan side of her became the most significant half in her life. Deley Wintergray stood up despite the cries of her battered body and followed Jaspur into the fray. If this was the horse folk's final stand, she would stand with them.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 65