“Once there, you can tell him whatever you wish. I highly recommend honesty as Shadow is quite keen at identifying a lie. Afterward, the king will keep you close. Listen well and serve him however he bids you to serve him. You will find out soon enough my claims are valid. When you do, I have no doubt whose side you will take when our band of rebels chooses to act. My spies will find you when the time is right, and you will tell us what we need to know to kill Shadow Silverhorn.”
“You sound quite confident.”
“I am.”
“Why are you so certain this will play out the way you intend?”
“Because I have been planning this since before you were born.”
Darthek considered that statement for a moment. As experienced as the assassin was, Patchi still exceeded him by several centuries. For once, he truly felt out of his league. Yet he wouldn’t sell out just yet.
“I have zero interest in the affairs of your people. Shadow can destroy himself and everyone in Velagray, and I would not bat an eye, so why would I do this for you?”
“Because you care only for self-preservation, and that is what I offer you.”
“Elaborate.”
“Do not mistake my intentions with Shadow’s. I do not go to war over petty rivalries, power, or political endeavors. Our cause is merely an act of necessity. Velagray’s king has upset the balance of power within the northern realm. He is now expanding that reach, and we cannot leave such strength left unchecked, especially now that his mind is deteriorating. Either we remove Shadow from the throne or he descends into madness until he ends his own life. The former is far more efficient than the latter, don’t you think?”
Darthek couldn’t argue with Patchi’s reasoning. If what he claimed was true, the entire northern realm would be endangered as Shadow lost control over his ability to think and reason properly. That left Darthek without a haven to escape to, which meant he would aid them solely for his own benefit.
Yet the ease of Patchi’s plan unsettled him.
The assassin shook his head. “Your offer sounds too clean. I am skeptical in spite of your well thought out rationale.”
Patchi shrugged. “T’is this or death. The choice is yours.”
Darthek considered the offer and wondered if this chieftain wasn’t more like him than he initially thought. From Shadow’s description, he had thought that Patchi was a weaker version of Velagray’s king, prone to feelings of compassion and the sway of good conscience.
Yet the being standing before him was cool, calm, and calculated. His statement that Darthek would not be alone; that the re’shahna’s spies would keep watch over him did not feel like an empty threat. Speaking with him now, the assassin was almost certain such a strategic mind was capable of that level of infiltration.
Yes, Patchi was far more powerful than he appeared, but was he really stronger than Shadow? Darthek couldn’t determine that just yet. For now, his best option was to go along with the offer, playing both sides until he was certain which would win.
They weren’t terrible odds. If anything, the prospect sounded intriguing.
“Very well,” Darthek agreed before nodding painfully over his shoulder. “Shall we start by removing my bonds?”
“Patchi,” Qualle interjected before the chieftain could reply. “A word with you?”
“Give me a moment,” he said to Darthek before retreating with the tchaka out of earshot. The assassin could tell his torturer was aggravated simply by the exaggerated hand gestures he used when whispering to the re’shahna. But Patchi never flinched, nor did he seem to shift in temperament. Like Darthek, nothing seemed to shake him and it fascinated the assassin even more.
Who was this enigmatic rebel? By claim, he held no desire to rule Velagray. This was simply about carving out a cancerous tyrant that was hindering the overall health of the region. Yet Darthek couldn’t help but feel Patchi only said this because his vision was much larger than those who sought crowns, thrones, and riches.
When the pair returned, Qualle looked unhappy but his defiance was snuffed. He came and grabbed the assassin by the bicep, lifting him roughly to his feet.
“Qualle will tend your wounds just enough for you to walk on your own. He will then follow you to Velagray along with several re’shahna. You will not see them, but keep in mind they will see you. Serve us well, Darthek, and I will make certain you walk freely once our business is through.”
The assassin stiffened. “I don’t recall ever telling you that name.”
“Eyes and ears,” Patchi smiled before leaving Darthek in Qualle’s hands.
No wonder Shadow fears him, the assassin thought to himself. He watched the small figure turn and disappear beyond the trees’ lining, his respect for the chieftain expanding tenfold.
The Perfect Solution
High upon the mountainside, far above and beyond Velagray and its dark stone walls, Jaspur stood observant. His worn cloak billowed over his shoulders, brought to life by the howling winds that sang against the uneven crags.
Two pale blue eyes stared down upon the wide expanse of land that stretched out from the foot of the mountain. The Forest of Whispers unfurled like a dark carpet beneath the clear night sky, its outskirts nearly reaching the horizon before tapering off into open ground.
Squinting, the rogue pinpointed an illuminated speck upon that open space: the king’s city, now known as Velagray. He murmured the name under his breath only to crinkle his nose. Just the sound pinched like an ill-fitted shoe.
No matter how hard Shadow tried, Nevaharday would never conform to the illusionist’s name for it, nor his will. The recent flow of refugees proved that. These people would bend how they must to survive the king’s oppression, but they wouldn’t remain faithful to him. The moment Shadow’s grip slipped upon the throne and its power, it would be the end of his reign.
That was the nature of the rahee. Like the mountain’s hardy ponies, they were a stubborn breed and notoriously hard to break. Jaspur smiled at that thought.
None knew the spirit of his people better than he did. From birth, it had been his duty to watch over them. He would go to whatever length, pay whatever cost, in order to see the rahee relieved of their oppression. Even if it meant abandoning them for nearly twenty years in order to discover a way to defeat a seemingly indomitable opponent.
He had given everything to this singular goal, and now the moment of redemption was near. Jaspur finally had the strength to challenge Shadow head-on. Patchi and their small but mighty band of rebels would give him the opportunity.
Melah provided an incredible advantage. She was able to cripple Velagray’s cavalry by controlling their mounts. Her son, Sadikaye, seemed to wield a similar gift that controlled the night mares and other equines of Abysmal origins.
All they needed now was a figurehead to rally behind, and to gain the elves’ support. That someone would have to inspire the rahee and others to stand beside them and Jaspur was willing to be that person.
It was the responsibility afterward that he shied away from.
The rogue had made no effort to conceal the fact he hated his former life. In spite of the painful road that led him to become Jaspur Clovenhoof, his long stint as a wandering rogue suited him far better than the stifling web of politics. But standing here now, he realized that wasn’t a worthy excuse. Not when it was weighed against their current predicament.
After his Awakening, Jaspur found himself coming to terms with what he had to do, even if that meant putting the crown back on. Someone had to step up and take ownership of this operation and there weren’t any other options on the table. Resurrecting the “dead” prince seemed like the only logical conclusion.
Jaspur’s seemingly miraculous return would give his people the hope and courage they needed to get behind this wild plan. Yet the time to act was nigh, and the re’shahna’s chieftain had said nothing to indicate that this was his intention.
What was Patchi thinking?
Jaspur turned a
nd retreated back towards camp, determined to uncover the answer. He made the nearly mile trek through the narrow mountain pass and down a slope riddled with boulders. Using the blue glow of his sword, Lumiere, he skipped across a series of roughly hewn stones before leaping onto a patch of grass that rolled unevenly down into the valley as if the difficult terrain was mere child’s play.
As Jaspur re-entered the camp, he found it still buzzing with life. Re’shahna warriors were everywhere, whittling arrows by a fire’s light, sharpening weapons, or tempering their nerves with sparring matches as they prepared for the battle they knew would come. Others took this time to hunt, find water, and prepare for the days ahead.
Even the tchaka seemed to be active, mingling with the re’shahna as they tried to learn what they could from their legendary cousins. At first, Jaspur had questioned Patchi’s decision to let the southern gypsies join their rebel group, for they were known to be a ruthless sort. Yet a common goal of eliminating Shadow and his oppression seemed to be enough to bring everyone together.
Well, almost.
Jaspur flipped his cowl over his face when he caught a glimpse of a curly-haired rahee wearing an old cowpoke hat, but it was too little, too late. He must have had eyes like a hill cat. Milo was making a beeline for the rogue, his gaze hooked on Jaspur’s now-hidden visage.
“Hey! Rogue,” he called, halting Jaspur before he could make a subtle escape. The rogue heaved a great sigh and waited as Milo wove around a tethered horse, his limp more pronounced as he hastened toward him.
“Whatever it is, make it quick,” he called back. “I am on my way to meet with Patchi.”
Milo smirked, his broken gait seeming more like a stalk as he strode right up into Jaspur’s personal space. “Eighteen years of playin’ dead, and that’s how you’re gonna greet me?”
“What were you expecting? A long embrace? A kiss? I like you, Milo, but not that much.”
“Still the jester, I see,” there was bitterness in Milo’s voice. “Look, we need to talk.”
“Ah, yes, this conversation… Look, not to disregard your personal feelings, but can it wait? Perhaps you have failed to notice, but we’re in the midst of orchestrating a rebellion here.”
“Aye, so let’s get on the same page. I’ve got some questions for you, and it’s gonna be hard to work by your side until you provide some answers.”
Jaspur highly doubted one conversation could eliminate the hunk of tension between himself, Levee, and Milo. There was too much history between them. However, this entire conflict arose from a lie he had helped craft. Jaspur owed him this much.
“Fine. Walk with me. I need to stop by my tent anyway. We can talk along the way.”
Milo tipped his hat in thanks and the two walked side-by-side as Jaspur led them through the camp.
“I see that old wound of yours never fully healed,” Jaspur nodded toward Milo’s hip.
“You try fighting an ogre one-on-one and see if you walk away without a scratch.”
Jaspur shook his head. “I didn’t mean to sound condescending—”
“I’m sure you don’t mean for a lot of things,” Milo murmured. “And yet somehow you always manage to make a mess out of everythin’.”
“I can already tell this is going to be a riveting conversation,” Jaspur broke away from the main camp toward a copse of trees set against a large stone wall. A cool stream ran through it, its waters even bluer under the light of Jaspur’s sword. The rogue motioned toward the trunk of a fallen tree, its length running beyond the waters and across the ground to rest adjacent to Jaspur’s tent. Moss had begun to grow upon its bark, giving it a soft cushion. “Take a seat. In a moment I will answer anything you would like to know.”
“How accommodating,” Milo grunted as he lowered himself upon the makeshift bench.
Jaspur let the remark roll off his shoulders. He knew Milo was merely blowing off steam. Levee’s current mate had plenty to be irritated about, and if the rogue had been in his boots he’d probably be just as disgruntled. Jaspur checked his tent, then the other one sitting a few feet away from his own. It was empty.
“Deley isn’t here,” he said. “Go ahead and speak freely.”
“Deley… Is that your new lover?” Milo asked as he removed his hat, his good leg bouncing restlessly. “Because she’s been hangin’ around Sadikaye quite a bit lately. In fact, she’s with him right now.”
“She is my cousin’s daughter,” Jaspur replied. “I’ve taken her in as my apprentice for the time being.”
Milo’s eyes widened. “You mean the half-elf is related to you?”
“It is a long story, but yes,” Jaspur took a moment to revive the dying embers of his campfire. After a steady burn began to rise, he pulled a bag from his bedroll and sat down next to Milo.
A tense silence stretched between them. The rogue did his best to be patient, sorting through the miscellaneous items in his bag until he came across a worn journal. Setting it beside him, he then grabbed the waterskin that was beneath it and went to kneel beside the stream.
“Why’d you do it?” Milo finally asked.
Jaspur dunked the waterskin into the water, his mahogany mane concealing the side of his face. “I’ve done many things in my lifetime. Could you be more specific?”
“You faked your death so Shadow wouldn’t hunt ya. I get that. But why force Levee to believe it, too? You obviously haven’t spent the last eighteen years alone. You’ve got enough allies to fill a valley. Why couldn’t she be one of ‘em? She would’ve stood beside you no matter what you faced.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you abandon her?”
The rogue perched his arm on his knee and replaced the cork on his now full waterskin as he considered Milo’s heartfelt words. The fact that his first question was for Levee’s sake and not his own only reinforced the selflessness Jaspur had always known him to possess.
“Many reasons. I only survived the night Nevaharday fell because of Patchi. He healed what should have been mortal wounds. When I awoke, he told me he would help me redeem my kingdom, but it would come with a price. Part of it was Levee. He and I fought over me leaving her behind, but he insisted if I loved her, I would do the right thing and let her go.”
“Why?”
“Because Shadow was hunting us both. Putting Levee and I together made us an easier target. Beyond that, Patchi knew from the beginning that in order for me to become strong enough to take on Shadow, I would need more than just Lumiere,” his hand instinctively drew toward the pearlescent sword strapped to his hip. “I would have to undergo the same ritual that gave our enemy his god-like abilities.”
“Ritual? As in some holy ceremony?”
“Yes. It’s what made Shadow immortal and his illusions so powerful. The ritual awakens our equine form with unicorn magic, elevating our abilities to the same level as the unicorns themselves.”
“Whoa, slow down. Are you tryin’ to tell me you’re immortal?”
“I died, Milo,” Jaspur’s tone was harsh, his tenor voice laced with pain. “My soul passed through the Veil and came back as… something else. Something more powerful, but that power was not free. My life is no longer my own. I am bound to the goddess’ will for all eternity, enduring centuries among the living for the sole purpose of guiding our people down the right path.”
Milo pinned a hard stare against Jaspur, which the rogue matched without wavering. Seconds passed between them as Milo tried to wrap his mind around such an incredulous confession. “Sounds like a stretch, don’t ya think?”
“If I was lying to you, I would certainly aim for a story that was easier to swallow.” Pulling the low neck of his tunic back, he exposed what was still a fresh scar upon his breast. Milo sucked in a breath, for it was clear whatever struck him went straight through his heart. “Alas, it is the truth.”
Milo replaced his hat and laced his hands together. The rogue watched his grip tightened until his tan fingers were nearly white. Rising f
rom the stream, he replaced the waterskin in his bag and rejoined Milo on the log.
“Why don’t we move on to the question you really want to ask?” Jaspur leaned forward, his countenance solemn. “Do I still love her?”
Milo’s leg stopped bobbing. He tensed, his attention fixed on the ground in front of them.
“That’s the real reason you approached me, is it not?” the rogue pressed. “Now that Levee knows I am alive, you are worried I pose a threat to you and to the family you’ve built with her.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, and no.”
Milo’s jaw was clinched shut, his thick black brows knitted together.
“I have always loved Levee, Milo,” the rogue confessed. “The years have done nothing to dissolve those feelings. When she moved on, I was both furious and thankful to discover it was with you. At least I knew she would be loved the way she deserved. Even now, you give her what I cannot: stability, devotion, the chance to grow old together… For me to selfishly intervene in that relationship would only cause Levee more pain, and I cannot bare to hurt her any more than I already have.
“So to answer your question: yes I love her, and no, that should not cause you fear. You and your son are the ones Levee deserves. Not me.”
“My son?” An incredulous laugh escaped Milo’s lips. He shook his head as he adjusted the sleeveless leather coat that was starting to dip over his broad shoulders. “Tennakawa’s breath, Jaycent.”
Jaspur furrowed his brow. Milo’s reaction caught him off guard to the point where he didn’t even bother correcting the use of his old name. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Milo stood up and started to walk away, but the rogue grabbed his arm.
“What are you insinuating?” he demanded to know.
The rahee freed his sleeve with a rough jerk. “Nothin’. Just that you’re still denser than rock.” He left the rogue’s camp, his head shaking back and forth as he strode away on an uneven gait.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 83