The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  The re’shahna warriors protected Jaspur as he approached the night mares, their fleeting glances telling the enemies they engaged that he was an opponent to be feared. One of the night mares tore away from a blood-streaked re’shahna and its mount. Hunger flashed in its eyes, and it pricked its mangled ears, tempted by the challenge.

  Jaspur’s lips began moving in another incantation. Deley saw a mimic on her right move to silence him and intercepted by jabbing her pilfered sword through its side. Hissing in pain, the creature swung its axe in a slice toward her hip. Deley turned on her heel, ripping the blade out and bringing it up to block just as the axe met her. Smiling at the mimic, she then elbowed it in the face. The creature collapsed and she brought her sword down in a mortal strike.

  Deley hardly had time to finish her kill when four more mimics rushed in to take the dead monster’s place. She fell back into a defensive stance, calculating her next move, but it never came to that. A streak of black cannonballed through the lanky quartet, trampling them under hoof before wheeling with a snort.

  Deley didn’t question her luck. She leapt nimbly upon the stallion’s back, clinging with her thighs to the beast’s sweat-drenched coat. They both looked to Jaspur, whose blade slid across the mares horn as he narrowly deflected its charge. The mare galloped past him a couple of yards before skidding around, ready to try again. Diego whinnied, and the whole battlefield held its breath as Jaspur flipped his sword in his hands and plunged it deep into the ground.

  Sheer energy, pale as winter’s frost, exploded from its tip. The earth trembled as a wave of magic blew over the mare. It shrieked in agony when a pale light tore into its very essence, negating the darkness that gave it life. Seconds later, the creature exploded into dust, as did the four other mares in its wake.

  The few remaining Velagran soldiers and mimics faltered at the display. One strike had obliterated their strongest allies. Without the night mares, the tides had turned, and they knew it. Triumph crumbled into despair as one-by-one, the re’shahna took them down.

  Diego galloped to Jaspur’s side, and Deley slid off his back as the rogue’s hands loosened their grip on Lumiere. His eyes rolled back, his breath leaving his lungs before he crumpled to the ground.

  “Jaspur,” Deley shook his shoulders. Nothing. “Jaspur!” She rolled him over, licked her finger, and tucked it under his nose. After several long seconds, she felt the faintest exhale. He was alive, albeit barely. “Jakke! Tobiano! Someone!”

  Diego turned obediently, and Deley hoped he understood the common tongue as well as he seemed. “Diego, can you find Jakke?”

  The beast galloped away. Around them the cries of the dying rose from bodies strewn across the grass. Several re’shahna fanned out, picking off every last one of Shadow’s men and monsters. Tobiano’s remark about how those who ran from re’shahna warriors died became gruesomely evident. Yet fierce as they were, the horse folk would not have won this battle if it wasn’t for the dying rogue beneath her palms.

  “Jaspur…” she smoothed his hair away from his face. An unbidden tear slid along her cheek for a man she didn’t even know. Who he was, Deley couldn’t begin to decipher, yet it pained her all the same. For all of Jaspur’s rough exterior, there was something great inside of him. Now that she had witnessed it, Deley refused to let him fade from this world so easily. “Stay with us.”

  A shout rose up behind them, followed by a few words in the re’shahna’s tongue she couldn’t comprehend. Deley looked over her shoulder to see Jakke stepping over bodies and around warriors, trying desperately to keep up with the stallion’s canter. Deley stood and waved an arm over her head. “Over here!”

  Jakke caught sight of her and started running, his footing sure as he picked a path to them. When he saw the rogue, his face blanched and he fell to his knees in front of him.

  “Tennakawa anima te,” he muttered. His hands worked quickly, scouring his body for any wounds. “Anime te, anime te.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “Jaspur said something similar before he walked onto the battlefield.”

  Jakke’s face jerked to meet hers. “He said what?”

  “I’m not quite sure. Something, something, anime me?”

  “Myakka,” Jakke growled. He looked ready to kill the rogue, and Deley guessed he probably would if Jaspur wasn't flirting with death already.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Tennakawa has given her grace to him once.” Jakke gathered the rogue in his arms and whistled for Jaspur’s companion. “She will not loan it again. Not for some time.” The stallion knelt before them and Jakke managed to drape the unconscious rogue over his withers. The re’shahna then glanced at her. “What do you know about magic?”

  Deley stared at the rogue, so still and limp across Diego’s back. “Jaspur’s magic is innate, so his body needs rest in order to regenerate that magic.”

  Jakke lifted one of Jaspur’s limp arms, his fingers tracing the strange onyx on his bracers. “Jaspur is still ensnared by his visions. If he is not conscious, he is not with us. In a strange way, his gift has saved his life.”

  Deley furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

  Jakke held Jaspur in place as Diego slowly rose onto all fours. “With his magic spent, the rogue cannot return, and he cannot wake. We can tend to his body, but the soul that makes Jaspur is gone from us.” The re'shahna checked the rogue’s pulse and frowned. “If there is a chance of retrieving him, we need to replace the magic he lost.”

  Deley scraped her mind for even the slightest idea. “My mother once said there was a gift unicorns used to give to the re’shahna. It’s a sacrifice where they create a bond with a wounded hero to revive him. Maybe Tobiano could use his unicorn form to perform the spell and revive him?”

  Jakke shook his head. “No, t’is not enough… we need a true unicorn. Or at least the horn of one.”

  Deley bit her lip. “I don’t know if Siabra would be willing to help, but… we could ask. It’s worth a try, right?”

  “No. And we will not offend her by asking.”

  Deley didn’t argue with the re’shahna. She clearly did not understand the weight this ritual carried. Jakke looked up to find Tobiano returning, his numbers fewer than when he left, and his grim countenance grew even darker. “We must make haste for the mountains, but we cannot afford to lose Jaspur along the way. Tobiano is chief interim. He will decide.”

  “Jakke?”

  “Hm?”

  “Before we go... there is something I must tell you. Shadow’s forces, I think... I think this is all my fault.”

  “What?” The scowl that appeared on Jakke’s two-toned face turned Deley’s blood cold. “How?”

  Deley pulled up her sleeve, wincing as the re’shahna’s face distorted in anger. He glared at her. “You did not tell us you were marked?”

  “I thought it was just a brand.”

  Diego shifted his weight and turned his head to face Jakke. The re’shahna slid Jaspur’s sword into the sheath tied to Diego’s harness with an agitated jerk. “I will relay your confession to Tobiano.” Jakke held out his hand. “Ride with Jaspur for now, half-elf. Help me care for the rogue and perhaps we can forgive this mess you have caused.”

  Deley grasped Jakke’s hand and took a seat between the re’shahna and Jaspur’s body. Jakke then helped tie the rogue into the seat, using Deley's support to hold him aloft.

  Tobiano trotted up beside them, his men in tow and worse for wear. Words eluded him while in equine form, but Jakke and Deley could catch his meaning when his nose brushed Jaspur’s thigh in concern.

  “It is not good,” Jakke warned.

  Tobiano’s ears went back and he flared his nostrils.

  “But there is hope,” Deley assured.

  Jakke’s grim expression didn’t house the half-elf’s optimism. “A spell you know all too well, brother.”

  Tobiano’s head jerked back and he shook it in adamant
disapproval.

  “What do you mean 'no'?” Deley clinched Diego’s mane and the stallion slung his neck down, ripping it with an angry grunt from her grasp. “Tobiano, if we don’t do this, Jaspur will die!”

  Jakke nodded. “She is right. The rogue’s fate is beyond our reach. His spirit resides in the Veil; his body dormant. Either we take the risk of reviving his magic, or we lose him forever.”

  Tobiano looked to those behind him, then to Jakke. There was a turmoil behind those moss green eyes as he studied the rogue’s pale body. The way he rested limp and lifeless against Deley’s chest told him Jakke spoke the truth. He brushed his muzzle against the rogue’s shoulder, before loosing a great sigh. He nodded to Jakke, who patted his withers in understanding.

  When Tobiano started to turn away, the healer cleared his throat. “There is more you should know.”

  Tobiano pricked his ears.

  “The half-elf, she is branded with a Velagran slave mark. It is likely what drew Shadow’s forces to us. She showed us courage and honor by confessing this truth to me, but the result of this mistake...” he motioned around them. “What would you like to do?”

  Deley revealed the brand to Tobiano, her eyes lowered in shame.

  Tobiano used his teeth to pull Jakke’s dagger from his hip. With a grim nod, the healer took the blade and grabbed Deley’s forearm. The half-elf swallowed hard, but didn’t move, accepting whatever punishment the re’shahna were about to enact.

  Jakke dug the blade through the brand, ripping a scream from her lips as he carved an intricate rune over top of the scar. Blood flowed down Deley’s arm so quickly she was certain this strange ritual would lead to her end.

  Jakke worked diligently through her screams and tears, his lips muttering incoherent phrases as he did. Then... something happened. With a wave of his hand, a green light rose up from the rune on her arm, and the broken skin began to heal. The wound closed, though the scars and their ache remained. She stared incredulous at her new mark, still stained with fresh blood.

  “The magic once housed in your brand is broken,” Jakke muttered.

  “What about Jaspur?” Deley ran a bloodstained hand across the rogue’s cloak.

  Tobiano reared, his cloven hooves scraping against his horn. Sparks flew upon contact, and he pawed at the air, the hair on his fetlocks waving in a static dance. The slam of his hooves on the ground incited a roll of thunder above their heads.

  Deley watched in awe as the clouds gradually grew heavier and assumed a foreboding gray. Siabra trotted over, the remaining re’shahna behind her as Tobiano loosed a fierce snort, then a shiver that set his mane to dancing.

  Deley felt energy build around them. It crackled in the air and caused the hair on her arms to stand at attention. She hugged Jaspur’s limp frame to her chest, her eyes set upon the northern mountains.

  Jakke turned with Tobiano to face the rest of their warriors, his white mane blowing against the storm wind rising at their backs. His black-lined eyes narrowed with deadly promise, and his ears flattened against his skull. A loud trill rose from his lips and spilled into a howl that shook Deley’s soul.

  Matching cries rose up before them and hooves pawed the ground. Their shouts echoed across the hills; a sound full of mourning and defiance.

  “What’s going on?” Deley whispered.

  Jakke looked to Tobiano who gave a reluctant nod. A warrior brought the healer his horse, which had been loosed from the broken caravan. Jakke mounted the mare before responding to Deley, a determined look on his face. “We will perform the ritual of Awakening.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  The healer shrugged. “If the rogue is not strong enough, we will lose him for good.”

  “But if he is...” Deley clung to hope.

  “Then Jaspur Clovenhoof will be reborn.”

  Lessons from the PasT

  From the moment his fingers slid from Lumiere’s hilt, Jaspur knew only the rush of the fall. He no longer felt the burdens of his mortal life. The fight against Shadow; the haunting mistakes of his past; the memories of the love that once made him feel alive. He abandoned it all.

  There was such peace inside the silence. Was this death? He didn’t care. The weight he carried in his life didn’t follow him here. Memories faded like the tendrils of a bad dream as he embraced the comfort of nothing.

  Gods, he was tired. Jaspur had never stopped long enough to notice how deep his exhaustion ran. It felt like he could sleep for a century or more if he would only stop falling. He didn’t have the desire to open his eyes, much less look down. Assuming he was, in fact, falling down. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he was floating aimlessly. Why was that? The last thing he remembered, his hands had slid from...

  From what?

  Why couldn’t he remember?

  The peace that had seduced him rippled against Jaspur’s questions. Wasn’t he just thinking about how he ended up here, or was that an old memory? Time felt slippery. How long had he been falling? Seconds? Days? Months? Years?

  “Jaycent.”

  Jaycent? He had heard that name before. Who was he though? Someone important. A king, perhaps? A lord? Yeah, something like that.

  “Stand up, Jaycent Connor. Plant your feet.”

  That voice sounded so damn familiar, but so did everything else. History felt like a ball of yarn tangled and wound inside his mind. Thinking about it made his head hurt, so instead he listened to the voice.

  “Stand up,” the voice repeated

  Jaspur extended his legs to find solid ground had been within reach all along. He hadn’t been falling then, only suspended. He stretched out his arms, fascinated by this new revelation. The air was thick here. Every movement felt like swimming through a body of water.

  “Jaycent,” the voice called his attention again, stealing him from his distractions.

  The rogue looked around. Silhouettes walked in every direction, and even through him. Jaspur grasped his chest, sighing when his fingers pressed against solid flesh. He could hear voices in the distance: screams, laughter, shouts, and whispers. They happened all at once, yet he could hear every voice distinctly.

  “Where am I?”

  “Inside the Veil.”

  It was hard to focus. Jaspur held his head and closed his eyes, zeroing in on the one voice that acknowledged him. Fingers gripped his shoulder. Jaspur reached for them and was glad to find they were real. He opened his eyes to see a familiar figure standing in front of him. He wore a Nevahardan uniform, blue as night. It was the same tunic he had on the day he died. Jaspur remembered now. The garish scar across the rahee’s throat did a cruel job of reminding him.

  “Rayhan?”

  Rayhan’s smile was warmer than a great hall’s fireplace. “Cousin.”

  He seized the rogue in a bear hug. Jaspur clenched his fingers into his cousin’s back, the Veil’s influence fading against the familiar touch.

  “It is good to see you,” Rayhan whispered before holding the former prince at arm’s length. “But you are nearly a ghost yourself, so listen to me. Your spirit is stuck in the Veil until your friends find a way to revive your magic. Tennakawa says it will happen, but I need to get you out of here first.”

  “You speak to the gods now?” Jaspur gawked.

  “We are still fighting the same war, cousin, just in different ways. I can pull you back into my memories as I have been.”

  “The figure cast in light was you?”

  “Aye.”

  “But why?”

  “For you. For me. For things that need reminding.”

  Jaspur shook his head. “You’re starting to talk like a gypsy.”

  “When it is done, you will understand.” Rayhan hooked an arm around his cousin’s shoulders and began to guide him through the silhouettes and fog.

  The rogue tensed and planted his feet. “Wait.”

  Rayhan paused. “What is it?”

  Jaspur studied his cousin’s eyes, searching for t
he disappointment he swore had to be somewhere inside. “I never had the chance to apologize.”

  Rayhan cocked his head, confused. “For what?”

  “For not listening to you when you were alive; for shirking my duties when I was a prince, then thinking I could make up for my failures by challenging an enemy far beyond my skills to defeat,” Jaspur frowned. “Back then, I thought I knew everything. I thought I could save the world. I thought... I thought I could save you.”

  His cousin straightened, his expression somber. “I died with honor, Jaycent. Do not shame my death with your guilt.”

  Jaspur clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on the scar that creased his cousin’s neck. “I have sworn vengeance upon Shadow ever since that day.”

  Rayhan sighed. “That brings no comfort to me. Nevaharday would still be yours had it not been for Shadow’s own need for vengeance.”

  “I cannot turn the other cheek, cousin.”

  “No, of course not. We never turn our backs on injustice.”

  “Then what do you expect from me?”

  “I expect you to reclaim your purpose.” Rayhan waved his hand. From the ground swelled a puff of smoke. When it faded, a bright doorway stood in its place. “Despite what you may think, there is more to you than a bitter rogue.”

  “If that is true, I do not see it,” Jaspur confessed.

  “Many years ago, Jaycent Connor made an oath to Chivalry's Code. Shadow wanted to tear that purpose from you, and you believe he's done it, but the code cannot be stolen, cousin. To lose it, you must give it up.”

  As Rayhan pushed Jaspur through the doorway, the rogue tried to remember the oath he had sworn. Trade anger for patience; face injustice with integrity; embody courage and mercy; be the example of chivalry. All fine oaths for fine men in neatly carved worlds where right and wrong were easy to decipher.

  But Shadow had used those virtues to deceive Nevaharday and bring her to her knees. He had turned good nature into weakness. When Jaspur lost Nevaharday, he abandoned Chivalry's Code with it. After all, what was the point of honor if dirty tactics took the spoils?