The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Sadikaye groaned. “So if I don’t do this, we will all fail?”

  “No. Should you decline your birthright, we may still succeed. However, our chances of rallying allies and our people’s full support significantly decrease. We will be at a severe disadvantage when we barge through the gates of the king’s city.”

  “That doesn’t sound to me like much of a choice,” Sadikaye remarked.

  Jaspur gently laid his kunah beside his son’s hip. Sadikaye swallowed hard as he reached for the coin. Gripping it in a fist, he whispered to himself. “Strange… how something so small can feel so heavy.”

  The familiarity of those words chilled Jaspur.

  “Give this path a try,” the rogue encouraged. “That is all I will ask of you today. Use your name to give our rebellion strength, and when we take back our kingdom, you can decide whether or not you want to take the throne. If you don’t, you’ll at least have the authority to pass the responsibility on to someone else. I’ll even help you find a replacement.”

  “So all I have to do right now is admit I’m a prince?”

  “For now.”

  Sadikaye flipped the tethered coin between his fingers. His front teeth dug into his lip as he considered the weight of this decision. As terrifying as it was, he understood what he said next wouldn’t just affect him. From his parents to the strangers suffering behind Velagray’s walls, the fates of others now depended on him.

  All of his life he had dreamed of being a hero, but it wasn’t until this moment he realized how much weight that kind of glory carried.

  Closing his eyes, he clenched the coin in his palm. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “I’ll say I’m the prince.”

  “Wonderful. That’s a start,” Jaspur rose and offered Sadikaye a hand, but the boy declined.

  “One more thing.”

  The rogue bit back a sigh. “What?”

  “It’s about my mother…”

  “What about her?”

  “Do you still love her?”

  Shaking his head, Jaspur retracted his hand and walked back toward the mouth of the cave. “Whether I do or do not is irrelevant.”

  “You just asked me to take over a kingdom,” Sadikaye reprimanded. “At the very least, you owe me an answer.”

  Jaspur tossed a warning glare to the boy hidden in the dark, and Sadikaye had to gather every ounce of courage he had to keep from faltering. He was making demands of one of the most powerful rahee in history. It was a bold and borderline stupid move, but the gut feeling he had wouldn’t relent. Sadikaye had to know the truth.

  “Tell me,” he insisted.

  “For what purpose?”

  “So I may know your character.”

  Jaspur stared long and hard at the boy that was his son. “Regardless of my feelings, I will not stand in the way of the life she and Milo have built.”

  “Of course you won’t. I wouldn’t let you. Now answer my question.”

  Jaspur leaned back against the wall, his arms now crossed, and for a moment the pair truly looked like father and son as they scowled at one another in a battle of wills.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes…?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it? I ask whether you love my mother, and all you have to say is ‘yes’?”

  Jaspur blew a tuft of mahogany hair out of his face. “Ask Tobiano, and I am certain he will happily detail all of the ways in which I pined for your mother. I made Patchi agree to send people to watch over her the day I found out I could not. He gave me reports, which I clung to over the years as I struggled to find a reason—”

  The rogue stopped mid-sentence. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. Sadikaye waited patiently, intrigued by this sudden flare of emotion. When Jaspur spoke again, he was calmer, his voice quieter.

  “The loss of her and of Nevaharday shattered my soul into what I thought were irreparable pieces. The pain was unbearable, but I dreamt of her often. Those dreams were my solace. I never broke my vows to Levee. I never moved on or even considered it. Even now, I am loyal to her, and it’s that loyalty that forces me to keep my distance. She deserves the happiness you and Milo have given her, so I do not give her any reason to love me, much less forgive me.

  “I’ve accepted my fate. My life and my desires were forfeit long ago so that you and your generation may one day pursue yours. I promise you, Sadikaye, if you choose this path you will not suffer it the way I have.”

  Sadikaye fell silent. He didn’t know what he had expected when he demanded an answer, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated the rogue’s level of sincerity. Tears welled up within Sadikaye’s eyes, and he fought to blink them back. “If what you say is true, then you really are the hero in my mother’s stories.”

  “Do not get the wrong idea,” the rogue warned. “I should be no one’s role model. I was a terrible prince. After my parents were murdered, that place reminded me of nothing but ghosts and shackles. Life as a rogue suits me much better, but even I cannot stand idly by and let our people suffer. I gave Nevaharday everything I could.

  “Now it is your turn to decide whether you will give our people what they need. A Connor has always sat upon the throne of Nevaharday. You have time yet to decide for certain, but if you choose to continue our legacy…”

  Sadikaye stepped out of the Shadows wearing a serious countenance. Around his neck sat the kunah Jaspur once owned, and the rogue noticed for the first time how similar they were. The boy was only a few inches shy of his 6’4 stature, with a lean frame and long, dark hair that hung the same way his did when he was young. Even their faces were similar, though Sadikaye wore a dust of freckles across his nose and cheeks that were certainly his mother’s.

  Jaspur smiled as a new feeling expanded in his chest, its warmth so foreign and yet so natural.

  “I think you would become the king I should have been,” he stated.

  And he meant every word of it.

  A STUMBLING ENCOUNTER

  Darthek barely breached the forest at the base of the mountain when he was thrust face first into the dirt. Rough hands sliced the bindings from his wrists before kicking him onto his back.

  “You’re on your own from here,” growled a brusque voice. Darthek looked up to find Qualle, the tchaka who had so enjoyed torturing him those days prior to his release. He spit on the assassin’s cheek for good measure before strolling away, laughing contemptuously as he did.

  Darthek ignored the mockery, more frustrated with his predicament than the tchaka’s attempt to degrade him. He cared nothing for the savage rahee and his opinions. His sole concern was survival, and at that moment he had to make contact with Shadow’s lackeys before he lost consciousness in this godforsaken forest.

  Qualle had patched him up, but just barely. The assassin still struggled to hold his footing as he lifted himself back onto his feet. The pain in his stomach and hip still pierced sharply with every movement. Sucking in a breath, he thrust his weight against a nearby tree to gain his bearings.

  These trees were hideous. Darthek didn’t believe in hauntings, but something about this place roused goosebumps across his skin. The unnatural way the gnarled trunks took shape made it look like he was surrounded by writhing bodies as their limbs shivered against the wind. Every step he took grew more foreboding the deeper he strayed within its depths. The wind howled between the tree’s boughs, like souls of the past crying out for respite.

  Even though Qualle had disappeared from sight, Darthek sensed someone was out there, lingering on the outskirts of his vision as they observed his every move. He stumbled onward, his agonizing wounds reinforcing his sense of urgency as he sought out Shadow’s soldiers. Forced to stop every few paces, his body slamming into tree trunks as he fought to catch his breath, he began to wonder if he would even make it to Velagray. Sweat dribbled down his face as his body struggled to persevere against the anguish of his injuries until a shout finally rose up in the
distance.

  “I see something!” a stranger called out in the common tongue. Darthek froze, hoping it was one of Shadow’s minions combing the woods for some sign of him or the enemy.

  The shrill hoots of mimics confirmed that suspicion, for Velagray’s king was the only ally these Abysmal creatures had upon the surface. He waited patiently as devious cackles rose up all around him, surrounding him like vultures circling their next meal.

  A gangly creature with wide, yellow eyes and a raspy voice crawled into view, a spear leveled toward Darthek’s throat. “Hmmm, human, are you? Interesting…” the creature hissed. “Not many humans wander these woods. Are you friend or foe, I wonder?” The creature’s head tilted to the side like a curious dog before sniffing the assassin’s leg.

  “My name is Darthek,” the assassin stated calmly. “I was hired by Shadow to retrieve a gypsy called Melah.”

  The monster scrunched his nose and hissed again, this time revealing two rows of fangs more suited for consumption than interrogation. Before Darthek could react, a rahenyan soldier rode up wearing the black and lavender colors of Velagray.

  “Back off,” he barked to the mimic, who conceded with a primal growl. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the crippled assassin before him. “Darthek, you said? We’ve been looking for you… Wow, you look rough.”

  The assassin glowered at the soldier, clearly in no mood to hear his thoughts on the situation. “I need to speak with your king,” he rasped.

  “Were you attacked?” the soldier asked.

  “Captured,” Darthek corrected. “By a band of rebels led by someone named Patchi. Your king should be familiar with him. I managed to escape a few days later, but not without a few scars for souvenirs.”

  “Patchi?” the name seemed to rattle the soldier. Composing himself, he asked, “How much did you disclose to our enemy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I am a commissioned hand,” Darthek coughed. “Shadow gave me one objective: to capture a rahee called Melah. I performed my duty as required before this enemy of yours infiltrated your dungeon and took her back. Even if I was weak enough to spill your king’s secrets—which I am not—I have no useful information to share. These rebels had nothing to gain from me.”

  It was a valid and clear explanation. Still, the soldier skeptical. “Then why did they let you live?”

  “They thought I might serve as collateral. I killed the rahee guarding me and managed to crawl away before anyone noticed. That being said, these horse folk have likely sent someone to track me down by now. If you insist on interrogating me, at least get us out of here first. I will answer whatever questions you want once we are somewhere safe.”

  Dismounting, the soldier grabbed Darthek and rebound his hands. The assassin allowed this without putting up a fuss. He would do what he must to receive the medical attention he undoubtedly needed.

  With the soldier’s help, he managed to climb into the saddle. The rahee then mounted behind him, his arms wrapped beneath Darthek’s bound ones as he grasped the reins. With a quick hand signal directed at the mimics, the company dispersed.

  Cantering through the trees in a direction the assassin could only assume was toward Velagray, Darthek fed the urge to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, his instincts had been right. He spotted a spy whose figure was barely perceptible as it followed them from a distance high within the trees.

  So Patchi hadn’t lied. The chieftain was serious about keeping tabs on Darthek now he had been released into the enemy’s hands.

  But was he right about Shadow, too?

  The assassin would soon find out.

  ELVEN TIES

  When Jaspur finally made it back to his camp, he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but that would mean little to the apprentice waiting for his return. Her teeth nipped at her bottom lip as she paced back and forth, her arms crossed over her chest while her eyes bore into the ground before her boots.

  Jaspur’s keen ears caught Deley’s mutterings before he came within her view. “Stop being timid, Deley. This is why you joined these rebels in the first place. Just ask him. He’s warming up to you, so maybe he won’t mind… Unless, of course, he’ll always mind,” she groaned. “Oh, what am I thinking? The last time I brought this subject up, he almost ran me through with his sword.”

  Jaspur paused, contemplating whether he really wanted to walk up and accept this gift basket of uncertainty. He had just spent an exhausting amount of energy convincing the son he didn’t know he had to accept the weight of his birthright. All he wanted now was a bit of solitude, but judging from the squeaky pitch of Deley’s voice, his quest for peace would have to wait.

  The half-elf had been wanting to prod Jaspur for details about her father ever since they met. Upon her first attempt, the rogue hadn’t been very receptive. In fact, he practically threatened her.

  However, Jaspur was in a very dark place then. Many of the re’shahna had warned her the rogue had been close to Rayhan prior to his death, and that it was best not to bring him up. They were right at the time. Yet ever since his Awakening, Jaspur found himself experiencing a change of heart. Someone had to look after Deley in his cousin’s stead, even if that meant another weary heart-to-heart.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he whispered a plea to the goddess for patience. “I will consider killing you again if you don’t stop pacing. I can hear your nervous muttering from ten meters away.”

  Deley nearly leapt out of her skin at the sound of Jaspur’s voice. Whirling around, she gave a sigh of relief when her eyes fell upon the rogue’s familiar face. “Jaspur, I have something to ask you.”

  “Well, yes, I gathered that much.”

  “It’s regarding something, or rather someone, that you knew—”

  Shouts echoed across the valley, stealing the words from Deley’s tongue. The half-elf looked to Jaspur, who immediately darted out of the trees’ sparse cover to see what was going on.

  A scream thick with terror cut the ears of everyone present, and Jaspur emerged just in time to catch a body clad in black falling from a precipice. A re’shahna sentry stood from the perch where he fell, his sword drawn as he shouted for reinforcements.

  “Scouts from Velagray have stumbled upon us!” the warning echoed into the camp below. “We need swift hooves to catch them all!”

  Jaspur leapt forward, arms leading. Immediately, his body reacted to his spirit’s will, bones snapping and reforming beneath elastic muscles as he took on his equine form. Although the transformation was painful, it only took about 2 seconds. Enough time for Jaspur to land on solid hooves.

  Deley didn’t need an invitation. Armed with twin daggers, she sprang upon the rogue’s back with a graceful leap. Grasping a fistful of mahogany mane, she held fast with her thighs as Jaspur launched into a headlong gallop.

  His speed and agility were remarkable. Weaving through the sea of tents, he leapt over three re’shahna warriors scrambling up the slope. Within seconds the rogue took the lead, allowing him to pick up more speed. He used one of the flatter rocks to spring onto higher ground where he caught sight of the skirmish up ahead.

  Patchi had wisely set a generous number of warriors to serve as lookouts. Four were crossing blades with Velagran soldiers. Nearby a night mare was sprawled dead upon the ground, its throat pierced by a well-placed arrow.

  Noting the arrival of their dual-horned ally, one of the re’shahna managed to yell above the ring of steel, “Twelve soldiers astride night mares remain. They fled southeast, toward the river!”

  Snorting, Jaspur sped onward, skewering one of the Velagran soldiers as he passed and tossing him into a tree trunk. The body fell limp to the ground and the rogue didn’t look back as he went in search of his prey.

  The mountain terrain was steep and treacherous, with sudden drops that were hard to spot against the foliage that grew abundantly in this area. Trees were plentiful outside of the valley, and it was all too easy to disappear within the
mountain’s vast landscape.

  The rogue wracked his mind for some semblance of a plan as he desperately tried to catch up with the dozen that got away. They might as well be trying to find a few lost coins in a field of tall grass. Jaspur hadn’t the time to stop and track these creatures, and he struggled to hear the sound of fleeing hooves against the clash of iron behind him and the many rebels pursuing on horseback.

  “Friend coming up on your left flank,” called a familiar voice. “Spare us your horns and blades.”

  Jaspur slowed long enough to catch a safe glimpse over his withers. As soon as he caught sight of their ally, he understood why he felt the need to announce himself.

  Sadikaye rode astride a fearsome mare. She was lithe and long-legged, with a mane and tail composed of living flame. Jaspur nearly stumbled, for he didn’t recognize the mount at first. Unlike the night mares in Shadow’s army, this one looked healthy—a drastic change from undead appearance of the creatures they sought now.

  Sadikaye, the rogue projected his voice into the boy’s mind. Is that Kalitska?

  “Aye,” the boy answered aloud, confirming that this was the same Abysmal mare Levee had turned against Shadow. It raised many questions, but now was not the time to entertain them.

  Can you sense the night mares? There should be twelve in all.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Sadikaye focused his magical energy on the surrounding area, using his mind’s eye just as his mother had recently taught him. A confident grin sprouted across his lips.

  Opening his eyelids, Deley noticed a slight glow to the boy’s irises.

  “Get ready,” he said. “A dozen night mares just had a change of heart.”

  Sure enough, a muted cadence cast vibrations into the ground, its volume growing with every passing second. It seemed to come from the southeast, and it was moving swiftly. Shouts of alarm followed, along with curses as soldiers tried in vain to turn their mounts around.

  Sadikaye grew serious as the twelve night mares started to come into view. “Whatever you do, leave the night mares unharmed.”