Do you yield? Levee’s thoughts floated across the mare’s mind. The creature snorted flecks of blood and phlegm. Sweat coated the creature’s flanks from fighting the gypsy’s badgering intrusions. Her knees now wobbled, the chipped hooves they stood upon barely able to keep her upright.
Do you yield? Levee repeated.
The mare squinted her dark red eyes and gnashed her teeth in a last, weak effort to defy the gypsy’s influence. Levee reached forward and touched the mare’s cheek, then used her magic to soothe its suffering until the creature’s furious snorts were reduced to a calm sigh.
The mare’s ears pricking forward as she began to feel the peace of Levee’s magic inside of her. When she cast her next thought toward Levee, it wasn’t a shriek of madness spurred by pain. Instead, it sounded like the voice of an old woman, tired from years of strife.
What have you done to me, gypsy?
Levee walked around the demon mare whose body was riddled with oozing gashes and rotting flesh held together by leathery skin. Shaking her head, she began to understand the truth of these creatures. Under the influence of unicorn’s tail, Levee could see the swirling mists of magic that festered from the creature’s wounds. Dark as tar, it smelled like rotted eggs.
The night mare wasn’t naturally this way. She was cursed.
I have returned clarity to your mind, she stepped inside the mare, reading her memories and the face of Shadow Silverhorn as he gave them the order to find Levee. Fear radiated from the recollection. The night mares never willingly came up from the depths of the Abyss to help the Velagran king. They were forced to.
Reaching farther back into the mare’s memories, Levee found that the night mares were not truly demons, but carnivorous creatures from the underground realm, neither evil nor good. Their aggression and hunger only swelled when they were dragged to the surface.
Night mares were not made for the sunlit world. The daylight caused them unbearable agony as it burned their skin and made corpses out of immortal bodies that used to be sleek, robust, and strong.
Let us work together, Levee suggested. She reached out and touched the mare’s bony muzzle. If you help me escape, I will make sure Shadow gets what he deserves.
The proud mare tossed her head and snorted. Me trust Melah, whose nature counters mine? What sense does that make? We are opposites, you and I.
Levee smiled. Not when it comes to Shadow Silverhorn.
Shadow Silverhorn, the old voice purred. I see. Against him, we are allies. In that, we can agree.
Trial and Tribulation
Rayhan stood before the king of Whitewood, his spine straight as an arrow’s shaft as he listened to Nadel give a full account of the assault in his guest chamber. His eyes remained steeled upon King Mekkai, reading the subtle shift in his expression as his guard affirmed that the blame was not Captain Mendeley’s, but His Majesty’s own general. The shock that brought to His Majesty’s face was no comfort to Rayhan, who wholly expected the question that came next.
“Did you do anything to provoke General Redwood before he attacked?” King Mekkai sat still as a gargoyle upon his throne, with only his lips and his eyes offering movement that said otherwise.
Rayhan shook his head once, his gaze upon the king never wavering. “Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty, other than simply being my father’s son. He was already in my bed chamber holding Pip hostage when I stepped inside.”
King Mekkai looked to the elf draped in thick robes on his left. The elf nodded, affirming that the captain spoke truthfully. Shaking his head, the leader of Whitewood turned to Nadel.
“This is unlike Halin,” he stated in a grave tone. “There is something substantial missing from this story; a detail we have yet to uncover.”
Nadel nodded. “Agreed.”
Pip gave a heavy sigh that drew everyone’s attention. When the king looked at him expectantly, he threw up his shoulders in a frustrated shrug.
“Have you ever considered that perhaps your general has his own hate to blame? You said yourself when we first arrived that there would be those who feel Siren’s sins should be atoned for, and that Rayhan should be the one to pay for them. Perhaps this is exactly what it looks like.”
King Mekkai wasn’t one to show anger, but Rayhan stiffened when he saw His Majesty’s nose curl ever so slightly in what the captain guessed was offense. He nudged Pip and shook his head in a quiet reminder not to speak.
“Forgive my lieutenant, Your Majesty,” Rayhan’s voice was calm and not without empathy. “He speaks with emotion, as we are all susceptible to do in this rather... sensitive case.”
“Sensitive as it may be, my people believe in justice. Rest assured, we will deal with this appropriately. I will speak with Halin. My people will investigate this case thoroughly before any ruling is made. For now, let us keep this incident under wraps. Should rumors leak into the court, it could compromise our negotiations. Thus, I will postpone all meetings regarding our pending treaty under the claim that General Redwood is ill and unable to attend.”
Nadel bowed. “Understood.”
Rayhan interjected. “Why not hear our case now, while everyone is present?”
The king paused, surprised by the captain’s impatience. “And risk making a rash decision?”
“Now is better, Your Majesty,” Rayhan insisted. “It gives less time for rumors to spread.”
The king sighed. “So be it. We shall bring General Redwood in.”
* * * * *
Jaspur had seen enough. Rayhan took a noble stand and was facing this case with honor, but if Shadow was involved, that wouldn’t matter. He already knew the end to this story, and it wouldn’t play out in Rayhan’s favor.
He didn’t know the details, only that he had to make sure his cousin made it back alive, so the rogue took it upon himself to find Halin and figure out where it all went awry. He followed the king to a private cell above the dungeons but below the main hall. This must have been where they kept prisoners of noble blood convicted of political crimes. The room was more forgiving than the stone slabs and buckets a typical cell considered commodities.
The room was well lit with a barred window that gave a slotted view of Whitewood’s pale trees. Halin sat upon a thin cot, his head bent over his knees as he rocked back and forth. A guard opened the door and Jaspur followed the king inside, only to watch him kneel before his general.
“Halin,” he whispered. “What have you done?”
Halin continued rocking, his eyes refusing to meet his king.
“I do not know,” he whispered. His voice shook. “I meant what I said in our meeting when I agreed to comply with your command. But I was so... angry. I have never felt that way. Not even when Siren slayed my wife. I tried to threaten the Mendeley boy; to scare him out of the treaty and out of marrying Elessara.”
“Temporary madness?” The king guessed. “A desperate act fueled by grief?”
Halin shook his head, murmuring the word “no” over and over again. It grew from a murmur into a trance-like chant that greatly disturbed the king. “No, no, no...”
King Mekkai knelt and held Halin’s face in his hands. “Halin.”
“No!” the general lunged toward the king. Guards rushed forward and pried Halin from His Majesty before pinning him to the cot. A quiet chuckle built into a frightening cackle as Halin stared at the ceiling with a maniacal grin on his face.
“Guards,” the king shouted. “Send for an enchanter. See what kind of spell has been placed over the general.”
Jaspur stood inside the cell, watching General Redwood stare into an unknown void that drove him to insanity. Guards ran through the rogue’s ethereal form, completely unaware of his spirit as he watched the reputable war leader shatter under Shadow’s influence.
In the back of his mind, a low voice muttered in a sing-song tone, its words full of mockery. “One little, two little, three little pawns. How many more shall join their fall? One king, another king, perhaps I’ll take them all?�
��
Jaspur spun around only to see Shadow standing there, invisible to the rush of men scrambling to patch the crack in Halin’s sanity. The re’shahna cocked his head, a wicked grin across his thin lips, and the rogue knew those blood red eyes were staring at him.
“Hello, Connor Prince,” the re’shahna hummed. “Your time came sooner than I thought.”
* * * * *
Tobiano stood just outside the wavering firelight, his arms in a tight cross as he stood in the place where the rogue’s journey came full circle. This was once a refuge to the prince. This small pond beside a sturdy jut of rock was where Jaycent Connor’s pain gave birth to the entity known as Jaspur Clovenhoof.
Tobiano walked around the edge of the quaint body of water and onto the outcrop of stone where he had found Jaspur eighteen years ago. Hidden half of a mile off the mountain’s path, this cove was a small slice of solace. It only seem fitting that they would hold his ceremony here.
A place of death; a place of transition; a place of resurrection.
With a great sigh, the re’shahna slumped into a cross-legged seat upon the rock. He kept his back to the cliff face, his attention focused on the burning fire near the pond’s lapping edge.
He watched Jakke kneel before Jaspur’s pale and unmoving body as he chanted in fervent prayer. The white-haired cleric's call for their goddess hadn't ceased since the rogue's collapse, but Tennakawa remained unsettlingly silent. Indeed, she answered not even Tobiano's call, though he had begged for her guidance over the last tenday.
His teeth worked in a nervous grind as he stared at Jaspur’s body. Had he been too pushy? Tobiano had stood by the rogue, believing in him even after Jaspur stopped believing in himself. Through the years, he watched his pupil wrestle with a profound guilt. The re’shahna had been persistent in trying to convince him there was more to live for than revenge, but had he done enough? When Nevaharday fell, Jaspur had used his anger to pad the pain of his loss, but Tobiano knew there was more going on inside the complicated rahee than fury.
The birth of Jaspur Clovenhoof was not a mistake. He was a brave warrior carved by the harsh and trying blades of fate; liberated of the bonds of princehood. Yet without a purpose to guide him, Jaspur had become a broken being, destructive as a fireball.
Tobiano had tried to press upon him the importance of purpose. He preached the bigger picture: rescue Jaspur’s people; restore Nevaharday; reunite the rahee and re’shahna. But now he realized that to Jaspur, those weren’t things worth living for. They were merely objectives.
Hand the rogue a task, and he would perform it with flawless execution. But tell him to live?
He wouldn’t know how.
In the end, Tobiano had overlooked the most important detail in the rogue’s life. He had failed him. Now Jaspur’s people looked to the re’shahna for answers, and what could he give them? Nothing. So long as Shadow Silverhorn lived and ruled, they were all in great peril. The only person who could kill him was the wielder of Lumiere. The people in Tobiano’s company knew it. The sinking morale spoke of the fear they harbored as the days warned them that the rogue's sleep might be eternal.
Their only hope, and slim it was, sat in the scroll upon the re'shahna's hip. Tobiano's eyes fell to the small leather tube tied to his belt. He was all too aware of the weight of that spell and the consequences it bore.
“There you are, Tobi,” Deley joined his side, her own hands hugging her shoulders as if a cold draft followed her.
He nodded to Jaspur's silent form. “T'was not in the pages of fate, this.”
“Are you sure?” She offered a smile, but it was weak and full of doubt. “I may not know your goddess as you do, but I find it hard to believe Tennakawa had not anticipated Jaspur's current state. She did answer his call, after all. And besides, there is a way to revive him, yes? Jakke mentioned a spell...”
Tobiano was shaking his head with every word, his jaw twitching in anger. “One must pay a great price to return from beyond the Veil,” he explained. “If this is Tennakawa's will, then she bends not to mercy, as once I thought.”
Deley scowled. “You hesitate to save his life because of what it will cost? War comes with a great cost, Tobi. Jaspur proved that when he gave his life to save yours. Forget about mercy and gods and fate! What we do now, we do because we must; because Shadow has forced our hand. If anyone is to blame for this, it is him. The tyrant king will not stop until we kill him, so if you have a way to save the rogue, then do it. The cost may not be fair but the rahee and the re’shahna need this chance. We all do.”
Tobiano flicked his two-toned forelock from his eyes and returned his gaze to Jaspur's spiritless body. Deley was right. These people needed the rogue. The life the spell would bestow upon him was far from ideal. He would be immortally bound to the service of a goddess he often rebelled against. Still, it was life, and if the rogue's heart was pure enough to earn a second try, Tobiano had an eternity to help him come to terms with it.
“Come,” he commanded Deley. “Tonight we will see if the dead can rise.”
THE DAY REFORM FELL APART
Jaspur’s first instinct was to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. They held in place like columns, paralyzed by the overwhelming dread that flooded every part of his being.
What came next was everything he had spent the last eighteen years trying to guard himself against. He felt the intrusion in his mind as Shadow began scouring his deepest, most primal fears. With his magic depleted, Jaspur had no iron guard to shield his mind. He was just a spirit stranded on the wrong side of the Veil, and Shadow knew it.
Jaspur roared in defiance as he felt Shadow’s own magic overwhelm him. He couldn’t keep his enemy out, but he could make it harder to find what’s inside.
The rogue cleared his mind completely, imagining a white, empty room without doors, windows, ceiling, or floor. A specter of Shadow formed in the little room inside his head. He turned around in a full circle as he took in the vast, white nothing Jaspur had made.
“Interesting...” he muttered. His black heeled boots made no sound as he stomped against the unseen ground. “No paths to your memories. No doors to reach your skeletons. Your mind is not even open enough to imagine sound. My, my, Connor Prince, aren’t you cunning?”
Jaspur clenched his teeth and tried to tune him out. It was a battle of wills that he would surely lose. The white room bought him a little time, but Shadow was the creator of illusions. He could paint whatever he fancied upon the canvas inside the rogue’s consciousness.
And Shadow was creative.
“Well, if you aren’t willing to share, I will.” Shadow turned and waved his hand before him, creating a window that showed everything before Jaspur’s closed eyes. Halin’s struggle with the guards ensued; a madman barely subdued by four men as he fought an invisible battle for his sanity.
Jaspur opened his eyes only to find Shadow standing right in front of him. It was an unsettling feeling, having the re’shahna before his eyes and behind them.
“I am already dead. What is it you want from me?” It wasn’t exactly true, or so Jaspur hoped. Rayhan said his friends had a way to revive him, but Shadow couldn’t know that.
“I want to know how it feels.” Shadow turned away, his bright red eyes narrowed upon Halin’s struggling figure.
Jaspur dared to step up beside the illusionist, his eyes barely seeing the struggle before him. Instead, he was clinging to the image of nothing in his head. To hear the words of the re’shahna who had stolen everything from him and not let them evoke anything was the greatest challenge he’d ever faced, in life and in death. “How does what feel?”
Wickedness curved across his lips in the shape of a grin. “To not be good enough.”
Jaspur flared his nostrils, his eyes on Halin’s primal snarl as he roared against the chains his comrades now bound him to. Eyes straight. Mind blank. He would not give in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” Shadow spun around,
his bony fingers snatching Jaspur by the chin. The rogue’s eyes widened, shocked to find himself solid beneath his enemy’s grip. “Here you are, a spirit stuck in a past that is not even your own! Before this moment, I heard about the young Connor prince and feared you’d become a strong adversary, what with the unicorns sending one of their own to serve you on the day of your birth.
“Yes, I thought breaking this alliance before it began would be the smaller of the two hurdles that stood between me and your father’s throne. But here you are, a spirit dressed in worn leathers, watching your family’s failures unfold. Not so impressive. Whatever future event led us to meet here, I must say I am rather disappointed by its lack of... excitement.”
The rogue grabbed Shadow’s wrist. “At this moment in history, no one in my family has failed yet.”
Shadow cocked his head to the side, intrigued by Jaspur’s determination. “You think you can change the past?”
“You fear I can,” Jaspur was bold enough to say.
Shadow laughed again, louder this time. “I would be entertained to see you try.” He tossed Jaspur’s spirit to the ground like a rag doll, then waved his hand toward Halin’s cell. Instantly, the chaotic scene of a general being restrained disappeared, revealing an empty cell.
Jaspur’s breath caught in his throat. Had Halin’s struggle all been an illusion? Or was this empty cell the fantasy? Without his magic, he had nothing but his eyes to go on. “Are you going to explain your master plan here, or must I guess?”
“What you see now is real, Connor Prince. King Mekkai still sits upon his throne upstairs, awaiting General Redwood’s retrieval. But I have already given Halin Redwood exactly what he wanted: the opportunity for justice.”
Panic struck Jaspur. The neat white room inside his mind shattered as his thoughts snapped to Rayhan. Dread washed over him again, and he stared up at the illusionist, his bones stiff and unmoving. “What have you done?”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 71