“What are you trying to do?” he asked.
“I’m giving Jaycent a fighting chance.”
* * * * *
Underneath Nevaharday’s streets sat an endless string of tunnels unbeknownst to most of its citizens. They were secret passages built by the city’s founders, and they had sat collecting dust and mildew for many quiet centuries.
But secrets were Patchi’s forte, and when it pertained to Nevaharday, the wily gypsy knew them all. With General Mendeley captured and the city taken, it was time to cut Nevaharday’s losses and lead as many refugees out of the city as possible. With his own force dwindled to a fourth of its original numbers, he took it upon himself to make use of the citywide access offered by the underground halls.
Calling back his stealthy warriors, he informed them of the many secret doors that led to the lower levels. They then began to infiltrate Nevaharday from below, scouting out the castle’s dungeons and sections of the city until his warriors had mapped out where the innocent were imprisoned.
In a tragic turn that would break most allies of their oaths, the gypsies had held fast to their word, refusing to abandon the Nevahardans who stood by their comrades. In a matter of hours, their warriors had fanned throughout the network of tunnels, sneaking through the hidden doors to dispose of guards and lead many prisoners back into the safety of the underground halls.
It was impossible to save them all. The time window was small and risky, their ingenious rescues inevitably discovered by Shadow’s army. But Patchi’s warriors were masters at their trade and by the time the first enemy’s call caused a stir, the lower tunnels were packed tightly with rahee quietly following their gypsy guides to freedom.
They were so bent on escape that few noticed a single re’shahna stop in the middle of the underground hall. Patchi planted his feet, his ears flicking back and forth to attune themselves to a voice unheard by those around him.
His rich brown eyes slid up to the tunnel’s ceiling as he sensed it slipping through its thickness. Her words, weakened by the dark magic permeating the fortress, barely reached his keen senses. Patchi could feel the magic’s will trying to connect with his equine instincts, its message imbued with a sense of courage and anger.
“Patchi?” One of the warriors came to a stop beside his leader, shielding him from the thick mass of refugees squeezing by them.
Patchi slipped into an alcove, his ears perked as he listened hard to the enchanted call.
“Melah?” he whispered, disturbed by the possibility that Levee could be near enough to deliver this sort of call.
“Patchi,” the warrior repeated in concern, but the gypsy quickly raised his hand to silence him. Gripping the wall, he forced his mind to tune out the frightened voices around him and focus entirely on the subtle message.
“Diego’s magic…” Levee’s voice came and went. “…stolen…prince…Nevahar…help.”
Patchi sucked in a breath as he pieced together the meaning behind Levee’s broken message. Jaycent, in the city? Tobi had not been able to keep the prince at bay. Patchi winced at the implications.
“Brother, what do your ears hear that ours cannot?” begged the warrior at his side.
“Thick is the head of Nevaharday’s prince,” Patchi replied. He turned to face the brave warrior, a grim frown creasing his youthful face. “Pick up the pace. All who can must leave the city this very night.”
“‘All who can’ would be very few,” the warrior’s ears drifted back. He flipped a tuft of hair from his eyes as he studied the many heads crowding the corridor. “To discreetly evacuate a number this large would require a minimum of three days’ time.”
“Time has been cut short,” the gypsy sighed. “Do what you can and be free of this place by morning’s rise.”
“What of those left behind?”
“Have them pray,” Patchi replied. “For only Tennakawa shall be able to reach them then.”
The warrior’s shoulders sunk as he watched Patchi weave around him, his small figure causing a subtle wake as he moved up the stream of bodies filing through the passageway.
“So this is how it must end?” the warrior took a few steps backward, scanning the crowd with sober eyes. Not all of them would make it out of here tonight. The warrior tightened his jaw and merged back into the crowd where he picked up an orphaned child and placed her on his hip. With a reassuring arm, he urged the tired and frightened city folk to pick up their feet.
There was nothing that they could do but move as quickly as they could.
* * * * *
Jaycent prowled through the remaining patches of darkness, rolling behind trees and crawling amongst the frozen corpses in a bee-line toward the western gate. His trek was slow and arduous as he picked his steps, careful to avoid the guards leering from their perches upon the wall walk.
He slithered inch by inch toward a trio of trees that had grown together against a corner turret. He was thankful thick tufts of amber long grass still poked through winter’s blanket. His cloak camouflaged the blue of his tunic, its browns blending well against the dead vegetation.
Mother Nature worked with him, swirling puffs of white flakes against the wall and clouding the guards’ field of vision. The wind tickled the grass into a sway that helped to mask Jaycent’s movements. He waited until the sentry on the walk turned around before making a dash for the turret wall.
Merged at the base of their trunks, three old trees split their separate ways a few feet off the ground, their thick bodies winding in a timeless but tenacious duel for sunlight. Their bare limbs formed a barky canopy as they wove between one another in a stubborn claim over the same bit of space.
Jaycent stepped in between their trunks, pressing his back against one as voices broke out above him.
“Hey Furgle, you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I thought I heard somethin’ crunching around out there.”
The prince pulled his cowl low and sank into a crouch, blending his body with the tree’s trunk. He listened as two bodies scuffled to the edge of the turret and held his breath, not daring to move.
“Aw, you ain’t seen nothin’,” argued the unseen companion.
“I didn’t say I seen it, I said I heard it.”
“Well then go down ‘n look! I’ll keep an eye from up here.”
“Alone? Uh-uh. Could be one of them gypsies. They’ve been causin’ trouble all around the city. Done lost a dungeon’s worth of prisoners because of their tricks.”
Jaycent grinned beneath his cowl. Shadow’s minions may have locked the gates, but the horse folk were still putting up a fight.
“Well if it is, it’s hidin’ pretty good,” the speaker paused, likely surveying the ground beneath the turret. “Loose some arrows in that tree. See if anythin’ squeaks.”
The prince’s eyes widened. The last thing he needed was to come all this way only to get picked off by a dimwitted monster. He shifted to the balls of his feet, ready to spring away.
A loud neigh spared him, its throaty shriek followed by the splintering of wood and a terrible crash. Screams erupted from inside the walls and Jaycent heard the mimics let out a series of angry hoots as they scrambled to inspect the sudden foray.
The prince didn’t question his luck. He looked up at the wall in search of a way in. About six feet out from the turret’s edge sat a brattice fixed with an arrow loop at its front and a murder hole in its floor.
The width of the hole was barely a foot and a half wide, its opening built to accommodate large rocks and other deadly projectiles, but Jaycent believed his lean frame could wiggle through. He climbed up the tree and onto one of the thick limbs lining the edge of the wall beneath the brattice. Curling his fingers over the lip of the hole, he leapt upward, squeezing his torso through the gap.
It took both elbows to hold himself aloft. Hooking the toe of his boot into a crease in the outer wall, he pushed up with his hands and pulled his legs through the threshold. Then he was in
side his enemy’s newly acclaimed lair: a fortress he once called home.
Keenly aware of the danger he’d slid into, Jaycent slunk right, using whatever cover he could find as he moved through the passageway. The second level of the wall was eerily quiet, its ten foot wide walkway empty except for a weapon rack, barrels of arrows, and a few supply boxes. Shadow had likely invested most of his forces in taming the city streets and seizing his castle.
The sound of a door banging open forced Jaycent to dart behind a rack of javelins. He watched from between their steel heads as three rahee donning royal blues swept by him.
“Damn gypsies,” one of them muttered. “We outnumber them four to one and still they manage to elude us.”
“They disappear around corners and vanish like phantoms,” said another. “Unnatural, I say. I wouldn’t be surprised if Patchi called the dead from their graves to haunt us.”
“You idiots,” the third voice reprimanded as they moved further down the hall. “Is that the sort of report you plan to bring to Kotu? Peel your eyes open and put your heads together. There’s got to be a logical explanation behind what they’re doing.”
Several more neighs sounded from outside the walls, followed by another crash that lifted the three traitor’s ears. “More horses are loose,” whispered one of them. “All over the city steeds are going mad with rage. What if Kotu was wrong and the gypsies were blessed by Tennakawa? What if this is a curse for betraying our kin?”
“Pull yourself together, fool!” the dominant rahee shouted. “They’re horses, not demons! Now let’s get down there and see what’s caused them to run amuck.”
The three set out at a run for the turret’s stairwell and Jaycent slid out from behind the weapons display, glancing briefly in the direction they had gone. Although the horses were clever, it wasn’t natural for them to become aggressive like this. A strong influence had to be directing them, giving them a cause to fight.
Could it be Levee? Jaycent shook the thought from his head. He wasn’t certain how far her magic could stretch, but he had to believe Milo would keep her far away from Nevaharday.
He contemplated seeking out Patchi, who seemed to be doing well despite the recent siege. His cleverness impressed the prince. By the traitors’ description, the gypsy had discovered and made use of the underground tunnels.
But those tunnels were long and intricate. It would take time to find Patchi within them, and time was something Jaycent didn’t have. Already, Shadow wielded the power of one unicorn through the tainted blue sword he wielded. Two stolen conduits of magic atop his formidable powers as an illusionist would make him indomitable.
“Diego, if only you could hear me,” the prince whispered under his breath. To say he didn’t feel a stroke of fear would be a lie.
Despite Lumiere’s reassuring strength, Jaycent felt stripped and vulnerable. His connection with his companion had been severed; his once powerful title now rendered a bull’s eye upon his back. Dread settled in his gut the closer he moved toward the palace grounds.
Jaycent paused beside the discreet wooden doorway that led to the lower level, his ear pressed against its surface. For security, there was no large entryway upon the western gate. Just two double doors that opened up behind the soldier’s barracks.
Hearing nothing, Jaycent flicked back his hood and shrugged his cloak behind his shoulders. Once he stepped foot on palace soil, his façade would have to be perfect. A sick feeling curled in his stomach with every descending step and his instincts screamed for him to turn back.
But Jaycent pushed through his doubts. For too long the Prince of Nevaharday had skirted his duties. For too long had he ignored his name and forsaken his purpose. Jaycent refused to do that anymore.
His boots hit the lower floors with a determined click, and he pushed through a second door onto the white fields that were used to train for terrible wars like this one. Through them he trudged, stirring curious glances from several of the remaining soldiers.
“Ho there!” one called. Jaycent turned a narrow glare upon whoever dared to slow him down. The traitor, a young skinny soldier with naïve gray eyes, stopped as if Jaycent’s fierce stare had built a wall between them. “Who are you?”
“Jaspur, formerly part of the second division cavalry. I bring a message for Shadow,” he stated in a gruff voice. “Who do you think you are?”
“Zefeer, fourteenth regiment. I’m under Kotu’s orders to guard this door, and I’ve never heard of you. Not in the barracks nor on the field.”
“Yeah, well neither have I heard of you, Zefeer,” Jaycent crossed his arms. “There are several horses causing a stir at the northwest turret. An event that unfolded soon after my allies captured a female gypsy two buildings from the site.
“We believe she is influencing these skirmishes, and every minute you stall me is another for her to mutter her spells and cause more trouble. Now are you going to let me by, or am I going to have to explain to Shadow why it took me thirty minutes to pass through one door?”
Zefeer was clearly suspicious, but the threat of incurring Shadow’s wrath made him lenient. “Fine, I will escort you.”
Jaycent gave an indifferent nod and the two stepped inside.
The soldier walked at a swift pace, his eyes straying neither right nor left as he crossed the open foyer into a hall that passed through the inner courtyards. Several night mares rested in the shade of the garden’s trees and the prince focused his attention on the back of Zefeer’s head in order to hide his disdain. They headed toward the castle’s northern rooms where Jaycent calmly moved up beside his guide.
Tapestries were being torn down around them, stripping the walls of everything that boasted the Connor name and history. He clenched his hands, his jaw set firm as he stifled his anger beneath a cold façade.
How any of his people could rally behind a master so ruthless baffled him. Did their hate for their gypsy kin run so deep they were willing to sell their souls for genocide?
The illusionist promised more than that, Jaycent knew. During his reign, the prince had heightened the divide between the gypsies and Nevahardans by separating the cultures. He kept the gypsies and the problems they caused at bay while Shadow offered a solution.
In a moment of sober truth, Jaycent realized he had failed his people.
Zefeer took a staircase that led to the upper levels where the prince had spent most of his life, then veered right toward the throne room.
“Zefeer,” the prince called in a low voice. Pulling open a side closet, he drew his sword and peered inside as if he had spotted a hidden refugee.
The young soldier drew his own blade and side-stepped cautiously toward Jaycent’s side. In a swift motion, the prince disarmed the boy, grabbed him by the throat, and shoved him inside, letting the door shut behind them.
With a flick of his wrist, Lumiere flared to life, its blue glow reflecting through Jaycent’s bright eyes. Zefeer’s let slip a stifled whimper.
“If you so much as mouth a single word unbidden, I shall kill you,” the prince whispered. “Innocent lives were lost because of your traitorous actions. For that, you deserve my blade through your heart.”
The boy clawed at Jaycent’s unyielding hand, his watering eyes pleading for breath. The prince loosened his grip just enough for the boy to speak.
“W-who are you?” he whispered.
“Someone whose honor refuses to bow to a crook and a thief.”
“Shadow intends to rebuild the city,” the youth argued. “One without gypsies that will thrive against the haughty judgments of the other races.”
Jaycent struck Zefeer in the side of the head with his hilt, releasing him to the darkness of unconsciousness before lowering him slowly to the ground. “Foolish beliefs like that is why everyday citizens shouldn’t meddle in politics.”
He sheathed his blade and casually stepped out the door.
A gasp met his ears and Jaycent’s hand darted to his hip as he glanced at an old maid sliding be
hind an onyx figure. Large strides carried the prince to the statue where he met the face of his eavesdropper.
As soon as she saw him, the maid’s palms drifted away from her face in an expression of utter disbelief. Beneath the unfamiliar visage of a grown warrior sat eyes she could never forget. “My Prince?”
“Neena?” Jaycent drew closer. Aside from his cousin and Arelee, she was likely the only one who would recognize his visage. After all, she had served him since he was a babe. “Do not tell me you are part of this…”
“Never, Your Highness,” her voice was so quiet Jaycent barely caught her words. “I have been serving as ears for Patchi. Why are you here? He swore to me you were safe outside of the city.”
The prince pressed a hushing finger to his lips. “Do not call me by my title. Not here. I returned when my link to Diego was severed.”
“Aye, I should have known that would bring you home,” suddenly she seemed older, worn down by a great fear. “The foul one with the black hair took it and locked Diego in the stables with the other horses. I hear the traitors call him Shadow.” Her jaw started to quiver. “He took the general, too. He has been inside the throne room since they claimed the castle. I do not know what they do to him, but I hear his screams every day.” Her hands fell upon Jaycent’s hard chest and she curled her fingers around the fabric. “My dear boy… how did it come to this?”
Jaycent leaned against the wall, his arms wrapping around her in support while his eyes scanned the castle for any curious eyes. They were alone, for the moment. “I do not know, Neena, but I hope to bring an end to it. Where is the horse mistress?”
The old nanny took a deep, shuddering breath. “I heard they struck her down the night those dark horned beasts took the stables.”“
A wave of grief roiled through the prince. He squeezed the woman tight against his breast, fighting the surreal notion of Arelee being dead.
“I must go, Neena,” his voice was low, matter-of-fact. “I must retrieve what was stolen or else things will get much worse.”
She looked up at Jaycent like he intended to enter the realm of the gods. “How?”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 42
