The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Don’t get any ideas, Levee thought.

  Jaspur heard the remark inside his mind, and if unicorns could smile, he would have. His own gift allowed him to raise a barricade around his thoughts, and so he did just that. Levee smirked when she caught on, but their inevitable argument would have to wait.

  Patchi’s whinny turned Jaspur around. Levee grabbed hold of his thick mane as a flood of black, gangly monsters skittered out of tunnels and into the cavern. Bulbous eyes glowed a sickly yellow in the dark as the skeletal hoard ran toward the three unicorns with salivating lips.

  Tobiano scraped a hoof across his horn, eliciting a ripple of electricity over his body. His mane danced wildly as his magic built up a charge, and he galloped with his horn leading straight into the fray.

  Patchi sidled against Jaspur, pushing him toward the tunnel’s exit in an unspoken order to get Levee out of there. The rogue started to comply, but found himself prancing backward when more mimics armed with the dead guards’ weapons darted out of his escape route. Overhead, three limp mimics flew across the room to smash into the wall, their bodies twitching with electricity.

  “We have to fight our way through,” Levee said, and already Jaspur felt her will to engage the armed ones first.

  The rogue cantered toward a tall mimic whose long arms struggled to lift a great sword above his head. Lowering his dual horns, he skewered the beast straight through its belly and threw him roughly into two others coming in from the right.

  Patchi swept by them in a brown and white flash, trampling three and locking his horn against the axe of a fourth. A twist of his neck disarmed the bony creature, and he made quick work of him before luring several others in a chase that drew them away from Levee.

  Between Tobiano’s zapping, Patchi’s flanking attacks, and Jaspur’s brutal horn work, it truly seemed like the unicorns would overcome their foes. Bodies fell scattered across the cavern, and the mimics started to flee in search of easier prey.

  Jaspur bit the long, tapered ear of his latest victim and tossed it flailing into the air. It fell upon another who thought itself clever for sneaking up behind the rogue’s haunches, and Levee noticed a clear break for the exit.

  “Jaycent, the tunnel!” she yanked Jaspur’s mane back, forcing the rogue to look up. Jaspur pricked his ears when he saw the path. He lunged forward, and Tobiano and Patchi started to follow suit. The trio nearly made it, but when they came upon their exit, they discovered a far more dangerous opponent. Eyes wide, Jaspur quickly changed course, suffering a nick on his leg from a mimic’s blade as he did. Levee kicked the creature in the head with her heel and Jaspur nearly tripped as he trampled the monster under hoof.

  Patchi echoed that dodge, but Tobiano wasn’t so lucky. Three night mares shot out of the tunnel right in front of him. One rammed his haunches, burning him as she did, while a second engaged the painted stallion in a duel of horns and hooves that had him battling fiercely just to avoid being stabbed. Patchi was quick to engage the first before she could make another pass that would cripple Tobiano.

  The third seemed to have eyes for Jaspur alone. Fighting mimics was one thing; facing a demon mare with a two and a half foot horn was another. He managed to out maneuver her stabs, but when it came to fighting with his horns, he was sorely inexperienced. Every clash rattled his senses and having Levee on his back only made him more hesitant.

  He felt Levee’s consciousness trying to guide his steps, but her efforts just confused him. Frustrated, Jaspur dropped the barrier in his mind.

  Stop, he said. You are making this more difficult.

  You don’t seem to be comfortable fencing in this form. If you stop fighting my control, I can help you, she insisted.

  That isn’t necessary. Jaspur kicked his front hooves out, forcing a gap between him and his enemy. The mare came back with a swipe of her horn that grazed the side of the rogue’s neck. Levee flinched as he shied with a grunt.

  “Tennakawa help us,” Levee huffed. “Your stubbornness is going to get us both killed!”

  Between the relentless swarm of mimics and the night mare’s vicious attack, Jaspur feared Levee was right. All three unicorns were struggling to keep their enemies at bay. Sweat covered their coats in a thick lather tinted with blood that was as much their own as it was their foes. They couldn’t keep this up.

  Suddenly, a fourth night mare burst into the cavern, bowling over mimics as it wheeled with a terrifying neigh. This one had a rider who carried a staff at the level of his hip. The newcomer surveyed the room and spotted Jaspur.

  The rogue kicked aside another mimic and bit the neck of the night mare he was already fighting. She shied, and he wheeled, ready to strike as the fourth mare started galloping straight toward him. Jaspur narrowed his eyes and lowered his horn until Levee’s sheer will stopped him.

  “Don’t!” she yanked his mane for good measure and Jaspur grunted. “They’re on our side.”

  As if to prove that point, the rider rolled off his mount, engaging the mimics surrounding Jaspur’s legs.

  The rogue didn’t ask. He simply took the advantage for what it was and sprang at the night mare he’d been fighting. Levee held tight as the two locked horns while Kalitska circle them.

  Use your will, Sadikaye, the mare instructed.

  The young rahee jabbed the end of his staff through a mimic’s eye, then turned to face another, but it ran in fright. He took that as an opportunity to duck into one of the stalagmite clusters. Closing his eyes, he gauged his surroundings until he felt all four night mares in the cavern. Calling to them, he harnessed his focus onto the mimics and sent their image to every mare, followed by a forceful command.

  Slaughter them.

  Immediately, the night mares disengaged the unicorns and turned their attention onto the skeletal monsters. Patchi, Tobiano, and Jaspur froze in shock.

  Levee? The rogue peered over his withers. How...?

  The gypsy shook her head. “I didn’t.”

  Mimics scrambled into a desperate retreat, the mares hot on their heels. Kalitska nearly followed suit when Sadikaye stepped out from around the stalagmites.

  “Kalitska, wait,” he commanded.

  The mare skidded to a stop, then looked at him, her mane flaring in agitation.

  “Sadi?” Levee furrowed her brow as her son tucked the staff back into the strap over his shoulder and mounted the hellish mare.

  The unicorn trio surrounded the boy, their body language both wary and curious.

  “Ma...” Sadikaye’s gaze drooped when his mother stared.

  “It was you who influenced the night mares?” she asked.

  “Aye. I’ll explain later. Right now, Milo and the others need our help.”

  * * * * *

  Darthek had just enough time to make a break for his hart, cut it free and mount before the Sarrokian came upon him. He had expected Levee’s husband to try and track him down, but the assassin was impressed by how efficiently he did.

  Keeping up with the caravan led by the undead hart had been no small feat. The cost showed in the trembling legs of Milo’s gelding, who seemed to be functioning on sheer will alone. He had pushed its limits to make it to Levee in time. It was an admirable feat in the assassin’s opinion, but a futile one as well.

  “You are too late,” he told the Sarrokian. “Your friends who managed to infiltrate the tunnel are being overrun as we speak.”

  “Friends?” Milo frowned. “What ‘friends?’”

  Darthek raised a curious brow. “You do not know?”

  “T’is Patchi,” Bry nodded outside the wall where several re’shahna warriors began to slip out of hiding to surround the assassin and his hart. “I had one of our people send a bird ahead of us in hope that it would reach the tribe before Levee arrived.”

  Horse-like ears all around the rubble lifted as maniacal cackles arose from underground. The metallic sound of weapons being unsheathed filled the night around them.

  “You can fight me, Sarrokian.” Da
rthek shrugged. “Or you can try to rescue your gypsy. Which is more important to you?”

  Milo looked to Bry, who was staring at the stairwell that would soon be clogged with abysmal monsters. “Trust Patchi with the lives of Levee and Sadikaye. We are too late to go in after them, but we can stop this man from bringing word to Shadow.”

  While Bry went to help the re’shahna stave off the coming foes rising up from underground, Darthek tried to make a break for it by kicking his hart into a gallop toward the west. He didn’t get far as three gypsies used their mounts to cut him off at every turn. With a growl, Milo kicked his tired gelding in pursuit. Despite their exhaustion, the agile horses managed to round up and encircle the beast so it had nowhere to run.

  The undead hart snorted and pawed in frustration, his blind eyes sizing up those who dared to obstruct him. Darthek clenched his dagger and steeled himself for the fight to come. If he was to make it out alive, he would have to find some sort of opportunity.

  Studying his enemies, the assassin noted the anger behind the Sarrokian’s hard visage.

  “Whose fight is this, Sarrokian?” he taunted. “Theirs or yours?”

  “I promised my son you would pay for what you’ve done,” he stated calmly.

  The assassin faced his undead mount toward Milo. “I was simply fulfilling a job. It was nothing personal.”

  “You made it personal when ya bartered Sadikaye’s life for his mother.” Milo dismounted and approached the assassin on foot. His gelding, clever as such mounts were rumored to be, kept the stability of the gypsy’s circle even as his rider walked away.

  “Your wife still lives, but I must die? Is that the rahee’s interpretation of justice?” Darthek inquired.

  “No, but it is mine,” Milo unsheathed his scimitar and in the same motion launched into a horizontal slash that forced the hart back a step. The Sarrokian didn’t waste a second. He came on fearless, his scimitar sweeping in a relentless series of swings and jabs that had the hart stumbling to evade his blade. Darthek watched Milo closely, trying to find a rhythm or pattern in his tactics, but the Sarrokian was a scrapper with no formal training. Like many natives of Sarrokye’s streets, he was a combination of aggression and instinct.

  In a less restricted environment, the assassin may have had a chance. Instead, Darthek’s best hope was to stay atop his mount and let the hart do all the fighting.

  And fight it did! The promises of Shadow Silverhorn shown through as the creature tapped into its imbued magic for the first time since Darthek acquired him. Its nostrils flared, releasing a burst of chilly fog. Milo backed off as ice crept up the creature’s antlers only to form icicles as sharp and deadly as the tips of those massive points. The creature’s milky white eyes glowed with the prelude of an attack.

  The Sarrokian teetered on the balls of his feet, leaping right when the creature lifted his left hoof. Milo felt the freezing sheet of ice crackle and pop as it drew a frozen line across the grass. His horse tried to dodge, but not before that freezing trail grazed his fetlock. With a shrill whinny, the beast collapsed, his entire leg frozen solid.

  Milo darted for the hart’s haunches, his scimitar leading in a downward slice. Darthek jerked the creature in a tight turn, its antler’s bowed as the hart dodged the swing. Milo pivoted in response, his blade in both hands now as he redirected his momentum in an upward guard.

  Icicles shattered against steel as the scimitar locked against the hart’s wide antlers. The creature inhaled, and Milo quickly retracted, his hilt coming down to strike across the bridge of its nose. The hit evoked a bellow that had Milo pressing his ears back in pain. Still, he came on with a vengeance.

  Arrows flew from around the circle, sticking the beast in his hindquarters and shoulder, but if it phased the hart at all, Milo couldn’t tell. Sounds of battle clashed behind them as the air filled with the eerie clacks and squeals of monsters most surface dwellers had only heard of in stories.

  All of this felt like a return to eighteen years ago, when monsters and magic overtook Nevaharday. The ache in his hip burned as a painful reminder of the last time Milo bit off more than he could chew in battle, yet he refused to relent. He danced around the massive hart, scoring several hits. He even took a deep cut from the assassin’s wicked dagger in exchange for a clean stab under the magical creature’s ribs.

  The Sarrokian retracted his bloody scimitar and leapt back, expecting the beast to fall to its knees from the mortal blow. Yet to his dismay, the hart did no such thing. Instead, it whipped around, its weight thrown back as it reared, its ice clad hooves reaching for the Sarrokian’s head.

  “Milo, get down!”

  The Sarrokian dropped to the ground just as four great hooves swept the air above him. Glancing up, he saw a buckskin unicorn lancing two brilliant horns straight through the creature’s breast. Whatever magic it wielded seemed to do the trick. The assassin fell, then rolled to avoid the hart as it landed on the ground beside him with a labored cry. Ripples of blue magic glowed behind its eyes and inside its mouth, only to crackle through its gray coat. The creature moaned and flailed, then burst into gray dust.

  Milo didn’t stop to admire his fortune. Spotting Darthek three feet to his right, he turned and pounced. The pair wrestled in a vicious exchange of punches and knees. Milo took several painful hits before he managed to grab the assassin’s throat. He squeezed until the man’s breathing was reduced to soundless gasps.

  Darthek flailed violently beneath the Sarrokian’s grip, his fingers digging into Milo’s nose, then eyes, as he clawed and gouged in a fight for air. Milo held fast, and nearly won out before a well-placed fist made him lose his grip.

  Dazed, Milo fell onto his chest. Fingers dug into his shoulder, and he felt one, then two hits to the back of his head. Throwing his elbow back, he struck Darthek in the ribs. The assassin fell back again and Milo was on him, his knee digging into the man’s bicep as he ripped the dagger from his hand.

  The assassin knew then that he had been bested. In a desperate attempt to save his life, he cried out, “I surrender!”

  Milo flipped the dagger in his hand, ready to strike home regardless of how the man pleaded.

  “Wait,” a warrior grabbed Milo’s fist and the Sarrokian glared up at him.

  “Ya better have a damn good reason for stayin’ this blade, re’shahna,” he snarled.

  The painted warrior placed a boot on the assassin’s neck. “What he may know, we may need. We take him alive,” he stared down at the human in disgust. “For now.”

  Darthek couldn’t believe his luck.

  * * * * *

  When Milo pried himself from Darthek’s battered body, he realized the fight was winding down. Sadikaye and his flaming mount chased after a pack of mimics screeching in retreat, while two painted unicorns rallied alongside the re’shahna to dispose of the rest. He stared, dazed, for several moments at the bloody scene.

  Around him, re’shahna began combing the grass to retrieve their wounded and pile what corpses they’d made to be burned before someone discovered them. The Sarrokian rubbed the back of his head as he limped around the emaciated bodies of the monsters known as mimics. Wide, lifeless eyes stared back at him, their maws frozen in a tooth-filled grin that smiled, even in death.

  With a shudder, he turned away from them, picked up his scimitar from the ground, and began searching for the third unicorn. In the rush of the fight, he hadn’t registered much about the buckskin that had slain the hart, but he knew the rider had been Levee. Milo scanned the town’s remains, eager to find her.

  “Lev? Levee!”

  A grunt caused Milo to turn around only to find the dual horned stallion standing behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief as Levee smiled from her place upon the unicorn’s back, disheveled but unharmed. Patting the stallion’s neck, the Sarrokian murmured his thanks.

  Levee slid out of her seat and leapt into Milo’s arms. The Sarrokian squeezed his mate in a tight hug as she tied her legs around his waist. The pai
n that hounded Milo’s body became an afterthought as he buried his nose into Levee’s tangled hair. He kissed her neck, relieved that she was alive and safe.

  Levee pulled back with a laugh, kissing his cheeks, then his lips. “I’ve never been so glad to see you!”

  “Nor me, you,” he nuzzled her cheek, a tired smile on his lips as he slowly lowered Levee back to her feet. Looking over his shoulder, his countenance grew serious as Sadikaye joined them. “You okay, son?”

  “I’m fine, Pa,” the boy replied. He dismounted Kalitska, his arms already reaching for his mother. He gathered her in a tight hug, then kissed her cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  Levee wiped a smudge of blood from her son’s cheek and smiled proudly. “I’m fine.”

  “That unicorn you were riding,” Milo wondered. “Is he one of Patchi’s?”

  Sadikaye looked around, curious. “If he is, the re’shahna might want to send out a search party.”

  Levee looked around only to find the stallion had disappeared. She quickly excused herself. “I’ll be right back.”

  Milo frowned. “Where ya goin’?”

  “To find him.”

  “Him who?” Sadikaye wondered. “Ya mean the unicorn?”

  “An old ‘friend,’” Levee corrected.

  And So It Begins

  With the skirmish won and the assassin taken captive, Tobiano and Patchi reverted back to their true forms and ordered their warriors to burn the corpses.

  “Work together and work quickly,” Tobiano ordered. “We must cover our tracks and be gone before the smoke can draw attention.”

  “Where is he, Tobiano?”

  The re’shahna turned to find Levee standing behind him, a sour expression distorting her button nose.

  “Ah, Levee!” he exclaimed. “T’is good to see you in one piece.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” she tried to smile, but it was strained. “Now where is he?”