However, with this new power came a great responsibility. “King” Shadow can no longer be tolerated. Under his hand, my former city has fallen into disrepute; its citizens into despair as he turns them into pawns forced to execute his selfish whims. The illusionist must be ripped from the throne, and it will take all of my newfound abilities to succeed.
Eliminating Shadow has been my objective for many years, but I confess it seemed like an impossible task. Even with my heightened magic, I didn’t believe I could face this mighty foe on my own.
And I was right.
You see, my mistake was believing Shadow was a problem I had to face alone. It took all of my companions to show me this is not the case. I am not a solitary savior, but one of many who have a vital role to play in the redemption of my people.
Powerful allies stand by my side. Friends from my former and present lives have offered their unique talents to aid this common cause. Together, we will use them to overthrow this tyrant or we will give our lives trying.
Such devotion isn’t an act of nobility, but necessity. After you have suffered the way we have, there is no room for compromise. Shadow’s cruelty has taught us there are fates far worse than death. Existence is not the same as living, and my people have struggled to simply survive for far too long.
“You cannot replace what they lost,” Tobiano, my mentor, frequently reminds me. “Second chances are what we offer. Hope is what we offer. Set their anger alight with the possibility of justice. Make their demand for redemption so loud, it smothers the voice of their fear.”
Indeed, I plan to set the whole city ablaze with a spirit of unrest, for I believe the heart of my people is far from broken. It is scarred but resilient and waiting for a spark. Once the flint is struck… well.
I look upon the tyranny of King Shadow as finite, and I predict the days remaining under his banner are few indeed.
The Mad King
Shadow paced across the dais where his gilded throne sat, his black fur cloak sweeping with every turn. A tall figure with tar colored hair woven in dreads across the top of this head, he donned leather armor that was as dark as his namesake. The hard heels of his boots echoed ominously against the marble floor, their fierce rhythm causing the rahee standing at the bottom of the steps to wince.
The young soldier had arrived as the bearer of bad news: the prized captive named Melah that escaped a week ago was still nowhere to be found.
That wasn’t all he was tasked to relay, but the rahee hadn’t had the chance to say much else. Shadow’s temper had flared shortly after his first words were spoken, leaving the soldier in a state of paralyzed silence. A bead of sweat rolled down his right temple as he watched the king digest the utter failure.
“Gone. Like rice between spread fingers, you let her slip. Not a sign; not a trace… No! Perhaps you didn’t look far enough. Lazy, worthless… Did you even extend your search to the northern border? Melah is out there. She lingers within our grasp still—I can feel it! This is your fault! Blind as moles, the lot of you!”
The messenger swallowed hard as he endured the king’s objections. Three long years he had served in the Velagran Guard, mostly as a runner or a messenger. In that time, he had come to learn about the peculiarities of their current king.
Shadow was not described among the rahee as a stable leader. He bore a short fuse attached to a volatile temper. On a good day, one could expect a verbal onslaught of insults and abrasive orders. The bad days were much worse. The soldier’s eyes dipped toward the marble floor, its gray surface marred by old blood stains, and he silently prayed that it was not one of those days.
Everyone who worked in the castle felt that Shadow had seemed out of sorts lately, his behavior even more erratic than usual. The king often lost his train of thought, his eyes darting toward hallways and corners as if some predator lingered there, just out of sight.
It frightened the castle staff, but none were bold enough to mention it aloud, especially not to the king. For whatever reason, suspicion had become Shadow’s torment, much like his presence had become the torment of those who served him. No one knew what caused this shift, but it set the whole city on edge.
“Melah couldn’t have gotten away on her own,” Shadow assured, speaking more to himself than the soldier in front of him. “She is powerful, but not as powerful as me.”
“None are as powerful as you, Your Majesty,” the guard offered in a meek voice.
“Oh, spare me your spineless flattery!” The king spun around, his merlot eyes seething. “You dare come to me empty-handed after a week of searching for my prized captive, and you expect me to indulge in your groveling? You are lucky I do not kill you as due punishment for your incompetence.”
The guard’s breath caught in his throat, for he knew Shadow’s threats were never empty. Although he was just a messenger who wasn’t even present when Melah escaped, that meant little to his king. The people here were just pawns to him; tools he could use and abuse at his discretion.
The young rahee considered skipping the rest of the details, hoping it would spare him a bit of the tyrant’s wrath, but the notion quickly faded. The moment Shadow discovered he had failed to deliver the full truth, his neck would be forfeit. The rahee felt his heart stutter in his chest, and it took him several moments to muster enough courage to speak again.
“There is more, Your Majesty. As you know, many of the citizens tried to flee after we began enforcing the curfew and restrictions you ordered. We have found and punished many, but from our recent count we identified nearly two hundred rahee that are still missing. We know from the carnage left behind that whoever aided the girl had both strength and numbers, but whether they are involved in the unaccounted for civilians has yet to be determined.”
The king stopped pacing, his teeth grinding together as he tried to stomach the sour news. Shadow had gone to great lengths to eliminate any threats to his reign. He had put a wedge between the rahee’s alliance with the neighboring elves, slain the entirety of the former royal family, and instilled a collective fear within the people to prevent any rebellion. Yet there was one foe who had always managed to stick his hand where it didn’t belong.
“Patchi,” he murmured beneath his breath.
“Beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”
Shadow shook his head, not wanting to reveal his suspicions just yet. He was almost certain Patchi was Melah’s ally. The re’shahna chieftain had always been one for altruistic actions. He also had a large tribe of warriors capable of slaughtering Velagray’s guards, should he dare to incur Shadow’s wrath.
But Shadow was not one to lean upon his assumptions. There was still a chance he could be wrong, and when it came to his lost captive and the strays of his populace, the king didn’t want to take any additional risks. Thus, he kept quiet, allowing his men to search for the culprit without bias.
“Over these seven days, you have truly found nothing? Not even a trace of where she has been?” he pressed, eager to glean whatever leads he could out of the messenger.
“Only a trail of bodies left behind from her escape, Your Majesty. Signs of a skirmish were found at the entrance of the underground cells, but they end at the edge of the Forest of Whispers. That terrain is known to be difficult to navigate. Combine the tracks of the many citizens who fled and there was no telling which, if any, belonged to her.”
“What of the human I hired to capture her in the first place?” Shadow smirked. “Darthek was present, but his body was never found, yes?”
“That is correct.”
“He was likely taken prisoner. This could work to our advantage if we can retrieve him alive. I assume your superior is at least capable enough at his job that he has dispatched soldiers to look for him?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Whatever number you have searching for him, double it, and make sure you comb the forest in its entirety. Better yet, expand your search into the mountains as well, and send spies into neighboring cities. We c
annot afford to have anyone stray beyond our reach—least of all Melah. She could prove most dangerous if her magical talents fall into the wrong hands.”
The messenger bowed low before his king, his sleeves stained with sweat. “I understand.”
“If you understood, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Shadow growled. “Do you comprehend the extent of Melah’s abilities?”
“My superior informed me that she is one of the gifted, capable of controlling the will of horses.”
“The will, the actions… She might as well have every equine in the city at her disposal! I had the prize of your people, rahee, and you idiots let her fall between my fingers. Until she is back in our dungeon, I expect the royal stable to be locked down. Send forces out to round up all of the equines from the city while you’re at it. The only steeds I want in use are the night mares from the military’s cavalry. She cannot sway them as easily as she does our horses.”
“But Your Majesty, our people depend on horses daily to tend crops, deliver goods, and maintain their livelihood. The city will be crippled without—”
“Do not lecture me on the wisdom of my own orders,” the king bellowed. “If the people complain, you tell them it is because of the incompetence of the Velagran Guard that they must go without. Those responsible can shoulder the blame. Whatever backlash that comes from this is their burden to bear, not mine.”
The messenger gave another low bow. “Of course. My apologies, Your Majesty. Is there anything else I should know before I take my leave?”
“Well that depends… is there anything else you have failed at today?”
The rahee tried hard to swallow the lump in his throat but it still wouldn’t budge. If Shadow didn’t kill him, he just might choke on his own fear.
The scariest part of that thought was its appeal. He never imagined he would live to see a day when death felt like a reward. He used to hope that things would get better, but years of oppression had long smothered that notion. Bowing his head, he replied in a dejected tone, “No, Your Majesty.”
“Then I have heard enough. Go. Deliver my orders without delay.”
The guard bowed once more, then rushed out of the throne room, eager to be gone.
When the doors rumbled shut, Shadow fell back into an uneasy pace. He had spent eighteen years molding this kingdom into his own. The old illusionist had earned it when he conquered its former ruler, slaying the last of the Connor’s royal line and proving his superiority.
He was born as one of the re’shahna, an ancient tribe distantly related to the rahee which he ruled over. However, despite the fact that the rahee and the re’shahna were both “horse folk”, the differences between them were stark. When it came to evolutionary advantages, the re’shahna were taller, stronger, and more adept in using the magic that resided within them.
In Shadow’s mind, the rahee were puny imitations. Centuries ago, they had abandoned the tribal nature of their horse-centric race, embracing civilization and its so-called “advances”. They suppressed their magical gifts for the opportunity of a mundane life among the varied races until eventually they forgot such talents even existed.
It disgusted Shadow, who took it upon himself to reintroduce the rahee to their natural magic and the potential it held. He took over Nevaharday, renaming it Velagray and extinguishing all traces of its past in hopes to set the rahee on a new course; one where they looked to him for guidance and leadership.
But in spite of his efforts, the rahee held no love for Shadow. Offended by the way he murdered their former ruler and swept clean the slate of history, they resisted his authority until he was forced to suppress them through fear and punishment. It was a stalemate he tried to break when he captured Melah with the intention of making her his queen.
The rahee may not ever adore him, but Melah represented the best of their people. She was one of the few who discovered her innate gift by accident and found a way to understand and hone it. Her remarkable ability paired with her beauty and compassion would have easily won the hearts of Velagray’s people, making her the perfect puppet to orchestrate his desires.
Until someone liberated her from his grasp. The setback forced him to tighten his fist around the kingdom even more. Now he was practically squeezing the life out of his citizens, and it was all because some fool had to interfere.
A snarl quivered between Shadow’s lips as his thoughts drifted back to his rival, Patchi. If Shadow was the master of dark arts, Patchi was the sage of light. They both had endured centuries through the same immortality ritual, although each of them paid a very different price to achieve it. Patchi’s long life was obtained through a holy ceremony as a blessing from the goddess Tennakawa while Shadow stole the ritual and its elements through cunning and bloodshed.
Since then, Patchi sought to intervene in all of Shadow’s ambitions. He called Shadow an abomination and warned that his stolen immortality would place upon him a curse that would lead to his downfall.
But as generations came and went, Shadow moved beyond the sway of such superstitions. His ability to change forms and place illusions in the eyes and minds of his enemies elevated him far beyond the threats of mere mortals. At the very least, his strength was par with that of the infamous re’shahna chieftain, and now he had a kingdom while Patchi only had his dwindling tribe. Shadow smiled, comforted by the thought.
He was practically a god.
And gods are not easily thwarted.
Things That Haunt
Jaspur passed through the forest like a specter. Quiet. Unnoticed. Around him, the wind crooned with a sorrowful voice that gave the gnarled trees their nickname. Locals called this place the Forest of Whispers, an old lay of land claimed by the nomadic folk and more than a few haunted tales.
For the rogue, it felt like home. He never stayed in one place for very long, but he had come to know this forest well over the years. He no longer found himself lost beneath the crooked boughs of leaves, nor the endless crowd of trees that wore them. The re’shahna had taught him how to understand nature and its inhabitants; to tell the difference between footsteps rustling through the foliage and the stir of a woodland creature. They showed him how to become a part of the scenery, and how to read the signs left behind by every animal that passed through its grounds.
For the re’shahna were the true ghosts of the forest. Warriors that went undetected unless they wanted your eyes to find them. Typically, they chased away intruders by spooking them with tricks that gave credence to the old forest’s ghoulish legends. Yet lately the rules had changed.
Now they encouraged the desperate to enter.
Over the last week, nearly one hundred and fifty refugees from Velagray’s surrounding towns had entered the forest in a frantic attempt to escape Shadow’s oppression. Ever since a powerful gypsy called Melah had escaped from the kingdom’s underground tunnels, the king had tightened his citizen’s already restricted liberties. Curfews locked the rahee in their homes before sundown while guards marched tirelessly through the streets. They took no risks, heightening the people’s paranoia by arresting anyone who so much as looked suspicious.
Those lucky enough to live outside of Velagray’s walls were terrified of the implications. When cousins, uncles, and siblings were taken by soldiers, never to be seen again, they knew it was only a matter of time before the same misfortune befell them. So they did the only thing they could: they packed their things and ran.
Those citizens’ search for sanctuary made Jaspur’s job far too easy. One by one, he found them wandering like frightened children through the forest and led them to a camp hidden within the mountains where they could meet his allies. There, the rogue and his fellow rebels fed them, clothed them, and listened empathetically to the refugees’ stories before inviting them to join the coming rebellion. Out of all the civilians they had found so far, none capable of wielding a weapon had refused the offer.
Now Jaspur sought another batch of intruders whose tracks he’d found earl
y that morning, yet these proved to be more elusive than usual. It worried the rogue, who was beginning to find this string of recruits far too lucky for his liking. In eighteen years, he had come to learn that Shadow rarely took chances. Letting refugees flee so freely wasn’t like him at all. Either his control over the rahee was wavering, or they simply had yet to encounter the illusionist’s plan to pinch the flow of refugees.
The latter unnerved Jaspur.
He had followed the tracks to the edge of a creek where they disappeared, only to spend the last hour walking the water’s edge in attempt to pick the trail up anew. So far he had found nothing.
“What’s the matter, rogue?” a feminine voice interjected from above. “Lost your way again?”
Jaspur looked up to find a gypsy with auburn hair crouched high in a tree that arched above the creek. A bow was strapped to her back. Tiny freckles dappled her nose and cheeks, giving her smirk a hint of mischief.
This was Melah, a name that sat at the top of Shadow’s “Most Wanted” list. Gifted with the ability to commune with and influence equines, she was a powerful addition to the rebel’s force.
However, the rogue knew the gypsy better than most, as well as her true name. The one she was born with, and the one she had answered to when they were younger.
“Levee,” Jaspur greeted. “What are you doing here?”
The gypsy skipped from one branch to another as she made her way down the tree, her movements fluid and familiar.
“I recall asking you the same question a week ago, though it was more like, ‘What are you doing here alive?’”
Jaspur sighed at the not-so-subtle jab. Such was the consequence of letting your former lover believe you were dead for eighteen years. It wasn’t until the rogue and his companions had freed Levee from Shadow’s capture that she had learned the truth. His deception wedged tension between them so thick, it threatened to choke him every time Levee drew too near.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 79
