The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “There are two others advising Sadikaye,” Jaspur had informed Elessara the day before. “Both are re’shahna. Which will arrive, I cannot say, but we cannot convene until at least one of them is present. Their tribe makes up the bulk of our force, so they deserve a voice in this.”

  Elessara slumped back into her chair, her fingers pinching the skin between her eyes in frustration. She would be responsible for mediating the communication between the horse folk and her king, but she had very little experience with the re’shahna.

  She knew from her studies their culture differed greatly from the present-day rahee. Having been sheltered from the influence of the realm’s civilized kingdoms, the re’shahna’s way of life had remained relatively untouched by outsiders. From gestures to the subtle nuances of their language, there was a lot for her to learn, and misconstrue.

  Jaspur offered little insight, his skepticism toward her only heightened since their conversation regarding his identity and King Mekkai’s intentions. Sadikaye wasn’t any help either. He knew even less about the re’shahna than Elessara did. Deley, too, claimed that the she had little interaction with the tribe’s members despite being in their company for so long. Apparently, they were kind, but reserved, keeping to their own for the most part.

  She could only hope that whoever came to represent them spoke the common tongue and was worldly enough to forgive any accidental offense. None of them could afford to see negotiations fail.

  Elessara remembered Shadow’s influence on her father. Rayhan had suspected some sort of foul play when he noticed the strange behavior in him that he saw in his own father, but Elessara had quickly shot his suspicions down. She let her emotions get in the way.

  Rayhan’s goddess, Tennakawa, had shown her what could have been, but her mistakes along with King Mekkai’s had forever closed that chapter. Now they had a second chance at peace and revitalizing an alliance that should have happened decades ago.

  “I won’t let you down this time, Ray,” she whispered. Renewed by that vow, she returned to the text on her desk, determined to bridge the gap between their cultures.

  “Lady Elessara?” a voice called from the hallways.

  The door opened before she could reply. Elessara looked up to find one of the spire scholars standing wide-eyed before her.

  “Forgive the intrusion, my lady,” he bowed, “but a new guest just arrived stating he is to attend this afternoon’s negotiations. I thought it best to bring him to you first.”

  The re’shahna. It had to be. Rising from her desk, Elessara nodded. “Let him in. I will escort our guest myself after I am through speaking with him.”

  “Yes, my lady,” the scholar bowed again, then stepped aside. Behind him was a re’shahna Elessara had never met, yet his face was undeniably familiar.

  The air escaped her lungs as the guest led himself inside. He took several comfortable steps forward, his eyes traversing the walls and décor of the elf’s study.

  “Lady Elessara of Whitewood,” he greeted in a thick accent the historian hadn’t heard in a very long time. “I have heard much about you over the centuries, but never have we met. T’is a pleasure, this.”

  Elessara opened her mouth to speak, but found she couldn’t. Shock had seized her tongue, rendering it mute. The re’shahna paused in front of her desk, his gaze drawn to a life-sized statue set to the right and behind the historian’s large desk. One of his ears, coated in downy fur, tilted to the side.

  Intrigued, he approached the detailed statue. As he did, an impish smile lit up the re’shahna’s face. “Where did you find this?”

  Elessara looked at the statue rising above her guest’s shoulder.

  “It was excavated from the ruins of the underground tunnels leading to Bresan T’ahnya,” she managed to sputter.

  “A similar likeness, though a bit exaggerated,” he winked.

  Elessara’s heart skipped. The statue was an old representation of Patchi, a beloved re’shahna whose name traced back through centuries of history and lore.

  “Who are you?” she finally inquired. The similarities between this stranger and the statue were strong enough to catch her eye, but he seemed to be a caricature of this infamous individual. Legend had spoken of the re’shahna being relatively short in stature with a youthful appearance, and a large brown birthmark over his left eye.

  “Do you not know already?” Her guest barely surpassed five feet with wide eyes and a boyish face, but the marking that covered his eye was nearly identical. Thick, flaxen hair fell down to his shoulders just like the stone figure beside her desk, but his face lacked its stone demeanor.

  “Patchi?” she whispered.

  “Am I not what you expected?” he walked toward her, his shoulders bobbing in a lighthearted shrug. “Many say the same thing upon first meeting, but I am he. If you have your doubts, you may confirm my identity with Sadikaye and Jaspur.”

  “No,” Elessara shook her head. The more she considered it, the more she was certain his claims were true. Her gut had twisted in recognition the moment he stepped through the door. This re’shahna looked young on the outside, but the way he spoke belonged to a culture and era long since buried under rubble and age. His eyes, too, felt ancient. Like a soul that had lived many lifetimes over. She shook her head, mesmerized. “Yet I cannot help but wonder why you are here.”

  “Oh?” the re’shahna’s eyebrows skipped upward.

  “You were never exactly an ally to Prince Sadikaye’s kingdom,” she stated. “In fact, you were a constant thorn in the side of the Connor family, contradicting their laws and causing conflict by standing behind the nomadic rahee the horse folk call gypsies.”

  The way those big, brown eyes smiled at the mention of that part of history only reinforced Elessara’s belief that this re’shahna was exactly who he claimed to be. “The Connor family is a good family, but they—as well as the rest of Nevaharday—had forgotten their culture; their history. A thorn though I was, my troublesome actions served a purpose.”

  “What purpose is that?”

  “To remind them of their origins and the history they were born from.”

  Elessara squinted. “I don’t understand.”

  “You have met Sadikaye, yes?” he sat upon the edge of her desk.

  “Yes, he claims to be Jaycent Connor’s son.”

  “Indeed, he is,” the re’shahna insisted. “Years ago, I promised Prince Jaycent I would watch over his mate. After his passing, my people kept a close eye upon her, and when Sadikaye was born less than nine months later, we kept watch over him, too.”

  “So Jaycent Connor really is dead?”

  Patchi cocked his head. “You doubted this?”

  “Only recently,” Elessara sank into a pensive visage. “Tell me, Patchi, who is Jaspur really?”

  “The rogue?” the re’shahna’s feet dangled back and forth over the floor. “He is no one.”

  Elessara crossed her arms. “Everyone keeps saying that, which leads me to believe he is far more.”

  “You sense it,” Patchi smiled. “The rogue is gifted, you see. His name may mean nothing, but his abilities are significant. He will be the one in the battle to come.”

  “What do you mean ‘the one?’”

  Sliding back onto his feet, Patchi stated very simply, “The one who will slay Shadow.”

  “What?”

  “Jaspur possesses an ancient sword imbued with light magic. It only pairs with a wielder worthy of its power. Jaspur proved his strength as well as an unyielding loyalty to the horse folk. For these reasons, the sword accepted him.”

  Elessara studied the re’shahna carefully, but in spite of his warm demeanor, he was very hard to read.

  “What about the bracers on his forearms?” she pressed. “They’re made from the ebony shards of a horn, like the one that belonged to Jaycent’s unicorn companion.”

  “Are you saying Diego was the only unicorn to ever don an ebon horn?”

  Elessara frowned. “No, but
the odds—”

  “Are higher than you want to believe,” Patchi interjected. “I was there when Jaycent died, my lady. I am the one who pulled his wounded body from the castle eighteen years ago and I was by his side when the life faded from his eyes.”

  “Forgive me, Patchi,” Elessara sighed. “I hope I did not offend you with my inquiries.”

  “No offense taken.” The re’shahna smiled, though she couldn’t help but notice it didn’t brighten the room quite as much as before. Was it a subtle act meant to convince her of his convictions? Or could it be that this powerful leader actually felt regret over the fate of Jaycent Connor?

  She cleared her throat. “The negotiations should be beginning shortly. We should head over there now if you want to be present in its entirety.”

  Patchi nodded. “Of course.”

  “Are there any concerns you have about these negotiations before going in?”

  Patchi shook his head. “Fear not, Lady Elessara. This is not like the last time the rahee and the elves tried to forge an alliance. The quarrels your races have had over the years pale in comparison to the threat this realm faces. This time, we shall work together to end this struggle once and for all.”

  * * * * *

  Sadikaye stared at the floor-length mirror standing in the corner of their narrow guest quarters, his lager eyes fixed upon the reflection staring back at him.

  Deley had worked her magic once again, but this time her approach was different. Instead of emulating Jaycent Connor’s old look, she gave Sadikaye something that was entirely his own. Taming his long hair into a complicated weave of braids and beads that blended the elegance of the Connor name with the fierce warrior spirit of the re’shahna, the young prince felt oddly empowered.

  Though dressed in a new silk tunic embroidered with the Connor family emblem, it wasn’t discomforting to see. His forearms and hands wore a new set of gauntlets fashioned in navy-dyed leather while the studs in his ears were replaced with real silver.

  Fresh, coal lines traced his eyes, their color matching the black tips he had always kept painted on his ears. Cocking his head, Sadikaye admired the chain that ran from the tip of one stud to his lobe.

  His hip also donned a new belt, its design fashioned to accommodate a strap that ran across his torso and over his shoulder to harness his staff. His boots were the same navy as his gauntlets, their edges lined in silver trinkets similar to his mother’s gypsy heritage.

  It was as if she had consciously taken all of the influences that made him who he was and combined them into a single ensemble. A white smile flashed between his lips.

  “I could get used to this,” he mused. Before, when he was emulating Jaspur’s picture of what a prince should be, he felt like an imposter. Yet something about Deley’s touch filled Sadikaye with the confidence to be himself.

  All of his life, he dreamt of being like the late prince of Nevaharday. Now he had his turn. Sadikaye would prove to himself and to others that he was worthy.

  “Sadi?” Deley popped her head in.

  Sadikaye turned around, the trinkets on his person jingling.

  She looked him up and down, then smiled. “You look good.”

  The young prince ran a palm across the top of his head and grinned. “Thanks.”

  “The negotiations are about to begin. Are you ready?”

  Taking a deep breath, Sadikaye straightened his tunic for the last time. “Aye, let’s do this.”

  He stepped out the door with Deley to find Jaspur standing there wearing a fresh set of clothes as well. That wasn’t all, though. Sadikaye raised his eyebrow, for the rogue had also shaved the scruff from his face. His hair was freshly trimmed and groomed, its mahogany locks accented by the few gray strands that peppered it.

  He wore a cotton tunic in the same navy color as Sadikaye’s, his trusty sword tucked into a newly fashioned scabbard.

  “You clean up well,” he said with a note of surprise that made Jaspur smirk.

  “Thank Deley,” he muttered. “She organized it all.”

  The half-elf tried her best to stifle her elation as she looked upon them both. “And you two look marvelous. King Mekkai will have a hard time doubting your claims now. Come! We won’t want to be late.”

  The trio walked to the room set aside for the negotiations. An elf dressed in the uniform worn by Whitewood’s soldiers stood posted by its door, his countenance portraying an utter lack of humor.

  Deley shared a hush exchange with him. After a moment, the soldier nodded and opened the door. What happened next felt like a rush to Sadikaye. He stepped across the threshold only to see a tall elven male standing at the far end of the table.

  Dressed in a thick fur cloak and an intricate tunic laced in gold, he looked upon the young prince with a mix of curiosity and mirth. Sadikaye met his gaze.

  “King Mekkai, before you stands Jaspur Clovenhoof and Prince Sadikaye Connor, son of the late Prince Jaycent Connor of Nevaharday.”

  “Well met, Prince Sadikaye,” the king greeted with a nod, to which the young prince mimicked.

  Before he could falter, a palm fell upon Sadikaye’s right shoulder, followed by the rogue’s voice. “There was one more who was supposed to join us. Have they arrived?”

  A knock upon the open door turned their attention to Elessara’s arrival. Stepping inside, she introduced the re’shahna by her side. “Your Majesty, I present Prince Sadikaye’s ally and advisor, Patchi of Bresan T’ahnya.”

  That seemed to truly impress the elven king, who stared wide-eyed at the re’shahna. Patchi took his place upon Sadikaye’s left, his once warm expression now stern. “Greetings Mekkai, King of Whitewood.”

  “Quite the impressive company you keep, young prince,” King Mekkai remarked.

  “Aye,” Sadikaye agreed. “If all goes well, I hope Whitewood will be counted among it.”

  The elven king motioned for his company to sit, and so they did. Jaspur subtly guided Sadikaye to the opposite end of the table, while the rogue, Deley, and Patchi filled the length to the prince’s right. On the left, King Mekkai’s advisors and Elessara took their places while the elven leader settled on the end.

  “Normally, we spend hours trading fine words and formalities, but I will be frank with you, Prince Sadikaye: this is no time for the games of politics or grandstanding. We have tried this alliance once and it failed. We cannot afford to make mistakes this time. A common enemy demands we set aside our differences and align our strengths to rid the realm of a threat that shall ruin us all if we do not eliminate it.”

  “Agreed,” Jaspur and Sadikaye said in unison.

  “I instructed Elessara prior to my arrival to inform you of my intentions of a marital union. This was the late King Donovan’s wish and mine many years prior. I saw the potential in Elessara and Rayhan.

  “My general was to blame for this union not working, but be it good fortune or humbling fate, Deley was born. For over forty years, her presence has been a constant reminder of what should have been.

  “Now the long lost son of Prince Jaycent surfaces and I see no reason why we should not try again. I will give Prince Sadikaye Deley’s hand in marriage, along with our full support in helping you redeem and rebuild the kingdom that was Nevaharday.

  “You will owe us no debt other than a signed agreement that you will forever engage in fair trade with the people of Whitewood, and stand beside us should we ever find ourselves under threat of an enemy we cannot defeat alone.

  “What say you?”

  Sadikaye looked to Jaspur and Patchi.

  The rogue was sitting rigid in his chair, his arms crossed. “That is an enormously generous offer.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Patchi. “What do you get out of this other than open trade and defensive support?”

  Sadikaye looked to King Mekkai, expecting an answer.

  “Forgiveness,” the king stated quietly. Deley’s jaw fell slightly. “King Donovan was a good monarch. I had great respect for him, and yet I have
failed to show it. When he reached out for an alliance, I denied it due to our own mistakes in order to save face. When Nevaharday fell to Shadow, Whitewood averted its gaze. As your people suffered, we quietly observed. This is not the way of Whitewood, young prince, and I intend to prove it with this arrangement.”

  “By placing an elven queen upon our throne,” Jaspur remarked.

  “Half-elf,” King Mekkai corrected, “which is quite beneficial, don’t you think? Your people will accept her far quicker knowing she is the daughter of Rayhan the Chivalrous.”

  “What do you think?” Sadikaye’s voice was discreet as he turned to his father.

  The rogue looked at Patchi, who shrugged. “Time is short, young prince. I do not suggest wasting too much time looking a gift horse in the mouth. I see no qualms with this offer. If you review the agreement and see no hidden motive between its pages, I say sign.”

  “I agree,” Jaspur nodded. “Shadow is no doubt already fortifying and preparing for an attack as we speak. Accept his offer. Patchi and I will review the agreement with you before you sign to ensure its legitimacy.”

  “Okay,” Sadikaye stood. Beneath the table, he could feel his legs shaking, but he did not let it show. Instead, he planted his palms against the table’s surface. “We will have to read the agreement first before we sign it, but if what you say is truly what you are offering, then we gratefully accept.”

  King Mekkai grinned. “A wise choice, young prince. My advisors will begin drawing up the agreement immediately. However, I would rather us not lose time as they do. If you are willing, I suggest we begin mapping out our plans now so when the agreement is signed we will be ready to execute.”

  For that request, Sadikaye needed no advice. “By all means!”

  “Excellent,” King Mekkai grabbed a map that was rolled up beside him. Rising to his feet, he unraveled it across the table. “Let us sweep away this Shadow before he casts his darkness upon every corner of the realm.”

  RUMORS AND REVIVAL

  The banging of a fist against the room’s thin door caused Bry to rise with a start. Eyes wide, his hand darted for the handle of the dirk tucked under his pillow.