The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  She probably hoped it would, and he probably deserved it, but unfortunately dying wasn’t an option. Jaspur was essential to their objective. Without him and his ability to wield Lumiere, Shadow was indestructible. Their alliance had been begrudgingly accepted, and Levee made sure the rogue knew it.

  However, her hate did nothing to sway his own feelings. They were mates once. Married, as the humans put it, but fate had cast them in two separate directions. Jaspur never wanted to let go of Levee, but he lost that choice when he nearly died trying to protect Nevaharday from its inevitable siege.

  The rogue had Patchi, the re’shahna’s chief, to thank for his life. After nursing Jaspur back to health, he offered his people as allies to help take back the kingdom Shadow had stolen, but it came at a steep price.

  To protect himself, Jaspur was forced to uphold the charade of his death, even from Levee. She fled south to take refuge in a southern kingdom called Sarrokye while he—with great reluctance—stayed behind to assume a new identity as a rogue named Jaspur Clovenhoof.

  The ruse had worked. The world believed that Jaycent Connor was dead and with him the royal family’s lineage. Though he had never found the body, Shadow eventually fell for the lie and stopped hunting him.

  After a time, Levee, too, accepted the rumors of the prince’s death as true. She took another mate with whom she constructed a new life, and it seemed like a good one. She even had a son named Sadikaye.

  Then Jaspur’s recent heroic rescue placed them at each other’s sides again. Eighteen long years later, Levee finally learned the truth, and it… complicated things. She was angry. Jaspur never thought such fury could come out of such a kindhearted woman.

  The rogue tried his best to soften the impact of his deception. Though he never stopped loving Levee, he viewed her new life with Milo and Sadikaye just like his rogue identity: permanent. He kept his distance, interacting with her only when their objective required it. Yet that only seemed to rile Levee’s ire even more.

  Jaspur wasn’t sure what to do at this point, so he turned his back and continued to study the tracks beside the creek in an attempt to decipher where they led.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Levee circled around a large oak and rested her shoulder against the bark. “Whoever was here is long gone and has been since some time last night.”

  “Perhaps. Or they may have found a relatively safe place to hide out. You and I both know how easy it is to get lost in these woods.”

  “Does it matter? A handful of untrained refugees aren’t going to make a difference in overthrowing Shadow. We need an army.”

  “We also need to protect our people. They’re coming in droves, Lev, and they won’t make it out of here alone. It is our duty to help liberate them from Shadow. If they choose to fight with us, even better.”

  “Even better? We aren’t picking up seasoned veterans. They are farmers, shop owners, barmaids… If these people choose to fight with us, they will likely die.”

  The rogue flipped back his worn cowl, his pale blue eyes resting upon Levee’s countenance. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I believe we need to be doing more,” the gypsy crossed her arms against her chest. They stood there for several moments, their eyes deadlocked in a silent stalemate. Jaspur understood what she meant. He knew also that Patchi had every intention of recruiting the elves of Whitewood to ally with them.

  However, the only way the elves would do that is if the rebel group presented an influential leader. Someone who could take up the throne once Shadow was removed from it. It was a missing piece that Jaspur was silently warring with, for he was the last of the Connor line. Common sense said that he would have to rise out of his self-imposed exile and retake the name he had forsaken, though he swore to Patchi he would never do it.

  But if not him, who?

  Eventually, Jaspur slumped his shoulders and chuckled, deflecting Levee’s concerns.

  “What has you so tickled?” she huffed.

  “That stubborn look on your face,” he shrugged. “It brings back memories.”

  Levee narrowed her eyes. “There is nothing trivial about what we are dealing with here.”

  Outwardly, it sounded like she spoke of their enemy, but her tone hinted toward another plight. One that’s been taking place inside of her since he had stepped back into her life a week before.

  “You’re right. It is as confusing as it is painful…” Jaspur leaned over the gypsy, his towering frame shading her from what bit of sun seeped through the knotted trees. “But I cannot erase what you have learned, nor can I simply leave. Not until Shadow is defeated and our people are safe again. You know this. So what would you have me do?”

  Jaspur’s nearness created a lump in Levee’s throat she couldn’t quite swallow. Even after many years of surviving harsh winters in the wilderness, the prince of Nevaharday had lost none of his magnetism. Sure, he was older. Forty-two to be exact. Six years Levee’s senior, and it showed in the gray hairs mixed into the mahogany scruff on his face. Yet beneath it all was still some piece of the man she loved. The man she chose—until a lie she still didn’t fully understand stole him from her.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he echoed. “Truly? Because I have kept my distance from you and your family since you joined our cause, and if anything you seem more irate. No small feat, let me assure you! My lip still smarts from our last chat...”

  “You deserved to bleed a little.”

  “Aye, more than a little,” he agreed, much to her surprise. “I carry the guilt of what I have put you through with me every day. For what it is worth, I am truly sorry.”

  Levee scoffed. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you’re standing in front of me. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re alive! How can you expect me to carry on like nothing ever happened between us? Better yet, how can you?”

  Jaspur pulled away, unable to answer that question. Though he masked his feelings well, the rogue struggled to convince himself that their relationship was a thing of the past. He knew from the look in her eyes and the vehemence in her tone that he still possessed a part of her heart. The only reason Levee had moved on was because she had truly believed he’d been slain.

  Alas, it would be a favor to them both to dispose of Shadow as quickly as possible. At least then Levee would be free to part ways with Jaspur and the pain his presence carried.

  “We should keep searching,” the rogue gently reminded. “If the tracks belong to refugees, we need to find them and bring them back to camp before nightfall.”

  Levee didn’t respond. As much as she scoffed at Jaspur’s excuse that he was no longer the prince she once knew, she couldn’t help but notice he was different. The gypsy wondered whether the change was real or if it was just another façade meant to validate this new persona.

  The fact that she even thought to question his sincerity bothered Levee immensely. She could coerce the truth out of him. Her magic allowed her to tap into the minds of unicorns and horses alike. Since the rogue had developed the ability to take on an equine form, he was no longer excluded from her mental influence.

  But that sort of intrusion just wasn’t Levee.

  “Come,” Jaspur pointed over her shoulder. “The remains of an old settlement sit just over that slope. If I were cold, hungry, and frightened, that would be where I would go.”

  With a short nod, Levee let their conversation slide. As much as her heart ached for answers, she knew it was more important for them to work together. They crossed the creek and began the arduous climb up the steep incline. The terrain was precarious, its surface covered in foliage that shifted beneath their feet. The pair slid more than they stepped, using the angled trees to help with their ascent.

  The rogue was the first to make it to the top. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and cautiously looked around. About five feet away, an arrow poked out of a tangle of brush. Approaching it, Jaspur swept his cloak across his thigh and knelt. Reachin
g in between the twisted limbs, he pulled the arrow free. It was crudely made, with a gray fletching that had seen better days. He studied the point and frowned. Wiping the blunt sides between the fabric of his cloak, he looked over his shoulder at Levee.

  “Blood,” he stated. “It must have grazed its mark.”

  “How fresh?” Levee asked.

  “Not very.”

  “A hunter, perhaps?”

  Jaspur stood and tossed the broken arrow onto the ground before turning back to Levee. “A hunter would have better craftsmanship. I would wager this arrow belonged to a mimic.”

  The gypsy frowned. Mimics were the Abyss-born creatures that strayed to the surface at Shadow’s beckoning. They were gangly, bipedal beings about the size of a child with huge yellow eyes and the teeth of a wildcat.

  Ahead of them, scattered remnants of walls long broken jutted up from the mossy floor. A mist that never really seemed to leave this part of the forest floated among the old ruins.

  Jaspur sniffed the air. The moisture made the scent of pine even bolder, masking the more subtle smells. Still, there was something rancid in the air. The rogue stepped over a rotting tree, then ducked beneath the remains of a leaning archway, searching for whatever it was that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

  “Jaspur, over here!”

  The rogue pivoted on his left heel and skipped onto a smooth ledge. About six feet below, Levee knelt beside the charred body of a child. Its torso was little more than a pile of burnt bones, but the legs revealed a pair of britches and child-sized boots with a little hoofprint design bordering the ankle. There were a few scattered arrows poking out of the ground around it, as well as a woman who lay prostrate a few feet to the right. Three arrows pierced her back.

  “Rahee,” Levee murmured. “They are definitely civilians…”

  “Were civilians,” Jaspur corrected, his voice tight with anger. So this was Shadow’s solution? To slay anyone brave enough to flee his tyranny? Such a lack of empathy only testified to the extent of the re’shahna’s taint; a curse brought upon him when he killed a unicorn for its horn so he could use it in a ritual to gain enhanced power and immortality.

  When Jaspur ruled this kingdom, those caught slaying unicorns and harvesting their horns were charged as criminals and sentenced to death. It wasn’t simply the heinousness of their deed that brought offenders to the guillotine. It was also the consequences. Within a unicorn’s horn resides a renewable source of pure, undiluted magic. That magic adapted to the nature of its bearer. If the wielder was pure in heart and intention, it would simply enhance their innate gifts.

  But for those with a tainted heart, that personification of one’s nature became a curse. A thief may find his greed insatiable. An assassin may lust for blood until the desire drives him mad. There was no telling how the magic would affect its bearer, but those who stole it were bound to find themselves on a darker path like Shadow Silverhorn.

  Levee began chanting a prayer to their goddess to bid the slain safely beyond the Veil. Jaspur walked away as she conducted the ritual, opting to look around some more. Through the broken remnants of an era long reclaimed by nature, he caught glimpses of a struggle. Several cloven hoofprints and scrape marks ran alongside clusters of arrows to the right of the ruins. He found it odd that the arrows never seemed to really hit their mark. In fact, they never overlapped the tracks at all. If anything, it seemed like they were herding their prey…

  Jaspur zigzagged between broken foundations and fractured stone, following the tracks. The corpse Levee had found was not taken down by a mere mimic. Fire had slain it. Whoever or whatever killed her was a wielder of magic. Judging from the cloven tracks it was likely the work of a night mare.

  Jaspur unsheathed his sword, Lumiere, as he pieced together the truth of what they’d stumbled upon. Weaving through a tight group of trees, he crossed the edge of a meadow. Three paces into the tall grass, he felt his boots sink into moist ground. A fourth step landed with a light splash and he froze, his mouth sealing into a tight frown.

  Behind him, he heard Levee’s light footsteps coming in fast.

  “Wait,” he threw up a hand and she paused at the meadow’s edge. The aroma of death lay thick upon this place. Dense swarms of bugs hovered over the ground. Jaspur swept the tall grass aside with his sword, his heart sinking in his chest as he revealed what he feared.

  At his feet was another body, crimson staining his nostrils and lips as the rahee sprawled in a pool of his own blood. It soaked the ground around the rogue’s feet.

  Jaspur strayed deeper into the meadow, covering his mouth with his cloak as he found corpse after corpse similarly slaughtered. He walked amidst the massacre and counted twenty-one bodies, their expressions capturing their final moments of horror.

  “Levee, tap into your gift. Do you sense any night mares nearby?” Jaspur didn’t need the wisdom bestowed upon him in his Awakening to know that Shadow’s hands were all over this butchery.

  “No… No, I don’t sense any,” Levee’s voice choked with grief as she realized what Jaspur was shielding her from. “Mimic tracks are everywhere, but they aren’t capable of this. They must have had night mares with them. A lot of night mares. It’s the only way they could take this many people down so easily. But it seems the monsters who did this are long gone now.”

  Jaspur’s fury bubbled inside of him like a volcano threatening to burst. The tightness in his chest held within his cries of rage, tempered only by his flaring nostrils. Ears pressed back, he clenched the hilt of his sword until his knuckles went white.

  “We must return to camp,” he stated, his voice cold. “Patchi needs to know of this immediately.”

  “What about the bodies?” Levee asked, perplexed.

  “Leave them,” the rogue replied. “The enemy will likely return. We cannot let them know we were here.”

  Levee glared at him. “You would dishonor the dead by leaving their bodies to be desecrated?”

  “The dead have passed on, Lev,” Jaspur nudged one of the body’s gently with his boot. “These are just empty carcasses now.”

  “You really have changed…” she narrowed her eyes. “I don’t remember Jaycent ever being so cold.”

  He didn’t even bother to face her as he said, “Finally, you’re catching on.”

  The rogue then leapt forward with his arms outstretched. In the span of a thought, his body morphed into that of a massive unicorn stallion built for war. Two horns crested his brow—one mahogany and the other matching the pearlescent hue of his sword. Only his eyes were the same: pale blue, like the surface of a frozen lake.

  Levee approached Jaspur’s equine form. Tracing a hand across his buckskin coat, she used her magic to bid him to kneel. The rogue felt the pull of her thoughts. His front knees rested on the grass before he ever consciously thought to do so, and he grunted against the ease in which he had fallen under the sway of Levee’s will.

  The gypsy slid upon his back, her expression hardened.

  “Let’s go,” she grabbed his mane as her thighs clamped around his ribs.

  Jaspur tossed his forelock out of his eyes. Rising back onto his hooves, he took two steps back. Pivoting so that he faced the direction in which they came, he made haste for the re’shahna camp several miles northeast of the carnage they had found.

  His hooves were swift, his pace unmatched by any mortal steed. Yet his chest was tight, his breathing quick, for as fast as he galloped, Jaspur understood it would not be enough. No amount of speed could stop the slaughter that had begun here. Shadow had made his move.

  There would be no more refugees joining them now.

  The Masterminds

  Six days journey from Velagray, the re’shahna and their allies set camp in the untamed mountains to the north. Here, there were few kingdoms and settlements, and those that existed were well spread out, leaving miles upon miles of untouched land.

  Native to the mountains and their hardy terrain, the re’shahna instinctive
ly took refuge here. Velagray had a large army, but not large enough to cover an entire mountain range. In this land that rolled endlessly into the horizon, Shadow’s foot soldiers would be forced to spread out in attempt to find them. It gave the rebels time to pause and regroup.

  But not enough time for what needed to be done.

  Patchi sat against the pile that was his pack and bedroll, too consumed by his own thoughts to bother unraveling it all. As one thousand rahee and re’shahna stirred throughout the camp, he remained alone in order to strategize their next move.

  The infamous chieftain spent a lot of time inside of his head, analyzing, anticipating, resolving, and plotting. He was a guardian of the horse folk, dedicated to guiding the two races toward harmony with one another and the surrounding kingdoms. It was the promise he made in exchange for his immortality, but this was the first time in a long time he questioned his ability to fulfill that oath.

  Furrowing his brow, he considered their current predicament. They had recently rescued Melah from the clutches of Shadow Silverhorn, but in doing so they had stirred the hornet’s nest. Shadow’s minions filled the forest below the mountains, combing the area for any signs of Melah and her powerful friends. The re’shahna had done well to cover their tracks and even managed to find and recruit several refugees, but eventually Velagray’s soldiers would pick up their trail.

  Time was running short, and they were still far too small of a number to pose any real threat to Velagray.

  “Patchi?” the voice belonged to Tobiano, his second-in-command. The re’shahna stepped into the chieftain’s tent, concern creasing his expression when he caught sight of Patchi’s tired eyes. “Still awake, I see.”

  “Mm…” he replied, his voice barely audible as he continued to run various calculations in his head.

  Tobiano came and crouched before his chieftain. Lacing his fingers together, he studied the distant expression on Patchi’s cherubic face; a face that was far younger than the centuries it had seen come to pass. “You may be immortal, brother, but you are not impervious. You still need to rest.”