The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Even as Sadikaye approached with head bowed and his expression long, Milo had no doubts, nor regrets, about what he did. The boy was seventeen. It was time he knew the truth and the doors that came with it.

  “You okay, boy?” Milo asked as Sadikaye picked up a stick and started poking at the fire.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “What’s eating at ya?”

  Tossing the stick into the crackling fire, Sadikaye walked right up to Milo. “You know you’ll always be my Pa, right?”

  “Damn right I am. I didn’t change your britches for nothin’.”

  “Even if I knew we weren’t related?”

  Milo’s jovial tone evaporated. Pulling his hat off, he swept aside a few stray curls before letting out a soft whistle. “Cat’s finally out of the bag, eh?”

  Sadikaye nodded. When it came to talking about the truth, the pair never beat around the bush.

  “It doesn’t mean anything though,” the boy said with a shrug.

  Milo scowled. “Don’t write him off, son. Not entirely.”

  “Come on, Pa. You don’t have to say that.”

  “I’m serious,” the intensity of Milo’s stern gaze reinforced his words. “Look, you’ll always be my boy. I don’t care if we don’t share the same blood. But Jayce—Jaspur—he’s your father. He may be about as good with people as a porcupine, but you should get to know ‘em.”

  “Why?”

  “Because for all of his faults, he’s still your father, and you’re more like ‘em than you realize. Learn from the guy. Avoid his mistakes and see the good in ‘em. It may be buried under calluses, but it’s there.”

  Sadikaye shook his head, baffled. “You really like him, in spite of the way he left Ma?”

  “You think he walked away from his kingdom, his mate, and everything else good in his life because he wanted to? I may not agree with a lot of things he’s done, but I can’t deny that when it comes down to the things that matter, we owe ‘em. Jaspur chose self-exile and loneliness for our sake, not his own. When you realize that, it’s kinda hard to be mad at ‘em… don’t ya think?”

  Sadikaye thought about it, then nodded.

  “That’s my boy,” Milo hooked an arm around Sadikaye’s shoulders and gave them a shake. “Now get some sleep, will ya? You look terrible.”

  Sadikaye laughed and Milo felt the boy’s shoulders loosen up. He flashed his trademark smile, reinforcing Sadikaye’s relief. In truth, Milo resented the rogue’s presence, but he would not let Sadikaye feel the same way. He deserved to get to know Jaspur without the weight of guilt or shame.

  In the end, Milo would do what was best for his family, for that is what it meant to be a father.

  A NEW GAME

  Darthek didn’t remember much between his rescue from that dreaded forest to his arrival in Velagray. Between the pain of his wounds and the blood loss he suffered, his consciousness had begun to waver. Qualle may not have killed him, but he certainly let the assassin dangle dangerously close to death.

  His sight blurred as the soldier entered Velagray’s dark gates, his mount’s hooves bouncing with a hollow clop against the cobblestone. The streets were quiet, though silhouettes of citizens came in and out of his field of vision. Indeterminable whispers rose here and there, but never more than that. It was as if the mere act of speaking was a crime within itself.

  Even the soldier was quiet. Darthek felt the rahee’s posture grow rigid the moment they entered Velagray. All of this formed a foreboding warning to Darthek that Shadow was losing his grip on his reign. Terror like this wasn’t born from control, but a lack thereof. Perhaps Patchi’s prediction wasn’t far from the mark.

  Suddenly, a ragged cough wracked Darthek’s chest, breaking his train of thought as a dribble of blood slid down the corner of his lip. Doubling over, he nearly fell off the horse, but a quick arm grabbed him by the waist.

  “Don’t die on me,” the soldier warned. “That’s the last thing I need.”

  The rahee kicked his horse into a canter, eager to dump his cargo into someone else’s hands before he could be blamed for any misfortune. Darthek gritted his teeth, enduring the jostling of the horse’s gait as he counted the heartbeats to Velagray’s castle.

  Situated on a hilltop, the city was designed in a circular pattern that meandered upward toward the castle grounds. It gave Darthek a view of the castle from any vantage point, and he used it to gauge their progress.

  Minutes stretched long as the filth of the lower streets gradually faded into the cleaner, more prestigious districts. A bit of color broke the mute grays of this place as violet banners stretched from building to building. Signs of wealth appeared in the form of thick curtains and wrought iron gates delicately designed, yet few were lucky enough to appreciate them. Darthek knew from his previous visit that most of these homes were now vacant. Only Shadow’s most loyal could achieve a lavish lifestyle, and those snakes were few.

  When they finally reached entry into the royal grounds, the assassin’s relief was palpable. The soldier didn’t slow his pace, cantering all the way up the castle’s broad steps. Stopping just shy of the doors, he motioned for the guards to open them as he lugged Darthek’s body off the horse and onto his shoulder.

  “I can walk…” Darthek rasped.

  “Yeah?” the soldier snickered. “Judging by your state, it would take you a year to crawl from the doorway to the throne room.”

  If the assassin had enough strength, he would have disagreed, but his energy was nearly spent. Soon, he heard shuffling as a healer was called and muttering as he was passed off into someone else’s care.

  “Is he dead?” someone asked.

  “Not yet,” responded another.

  It was the last thing Darthek heard before the bliss of unconsciousness took him once more.

  * * * * *

  When Darthek awoke again, he was tucked inside a bed located in a large guest chamber. He blinked several times, blinded by a light that he soon realized came from an open window. A figure clad in black stood before it, blocking the assassin’s view.

  Shadow Silverhorn. Tall and gaunt, the re’shahna stood with his arms crossed, his profile showered in golden sunlight as he glared at the city below.

  It was morning, then. Darthek had been unconscious for a few hours at least. Slowly, he tried to sit up, anticipating the pain that would follow. Yet to his surprise, he felt only a strong ache.

  Pulling himself into a seated position against the bed’s headboard, he furrowed his brow. Lifting his shirt, he found his torso heavily bandaged. The man felt his ribs, but the swelling was minimal. He knew he had several broken ribs before, as well as some internal bleeding. Had more time passed than he realized?

  “Be thankful,” Shadow said, drawing the assassin’s gaze. “Healing was one of the first archaic arts I taught the rahee when I took this kingdom for myself. It takes a special strand of magic, but I found a few gifted in the healing arts. With my help, their innate abilities became more potent than medical tools and potions. It has its risks, of course… when drained, the magic feeds upon the user’s life force. But they are learning how to gauge their limits, finally. You are living proof of that.”

  Darthek furrowed his brow. “How much time has passed since I arrived?”

  “Nearly ten hours.”

  “And I am already healed?”

  Shadow sighed as if the need to explain himself was quite tedious. “No. You are no longer incapacitated, but it will be weeks before your body fully heals. Salves were used to numb your pain. The healer was able to repair your ribs and stave the bleeding, but you have quite a bit of internal bruising. Take care not to scuffle with anyone for a few weeks, but you should be able to walk. Which reminds me…”

  Shadow turned, his rose-tinted eyes rich with skepticism. “Where exactly did you wander off to after Melah was kidnapped?”

  “Captured, not wandered,” Darthek corrected. The assassin inspected another set of bandages on his arm as he
spoke, unbothered by Shadow’s scrutiny. “Apparently your underground tunnels had been infiltrated by a group of what I can only assume are rebels, as well as the captive’s husband. He nearly killed me, but one of their people thought it better to take me prisoner. They likely believed I could offer something to their advantage, but they know far more about Shadow Silverhorn than I do.”

  Shadow shook his head. “These so-called ‘rebels’ were not of Velagray. Of this I am certain. My citizens did not know of Melah’s capture, and even if they did, they would never be so bold.”

  “Do not make the mistake of underestimating them,” Darthek turned his attention to Shadow again, his expression stern. “Even in my broken state, I could feel the weight of oppression upon the people in this city. It is one thing to rule by fear, but it is another to smother them with it. Keep it up and one of two things will likely happen: their desperation will awaken a reckless courage or your suppression will crush them entirely. Neither scenario benefits you.”

  Up until this point, Shadow had seemed of sound mind. However, something in Darthek’s words seemed to put a chink in his calm façade. The king’s jaw began to quiver as his hands clenched into fists.

  The assassin paused, listening to Shadow’s shuddering breaths. It was as if the tyrant was attempting to stave a beast that growled inside of him. Darthek cocked his head, curious.

  “Are you afraid of them?” he dared to ask.

  “Afraid?” Shadow’s lips curled into a snarl as he glared at the city below. “How can I be afraid of such puny creatures?”

  “Even ants can turn a predator into prey when they work together.”

  Shadow was practically trembling now. His horse-like ears flexed back against his skull as he redirected his fury.

  “You dare to question my strength?”

  The assassin shrugged, unmoved by the threat in Shadow’s tone. “I merely warn you of what could be. It is no mark upon your ability to rule a kingdom. Even the greatest leaders have stumbled when underestimating the weak.”

  Shadow was pacing now, his bony fingers tapping his lips as he muttered something Darthek couldn’t hear under his breath. Things were not well in Velagray, it seemed. Shadow was starting to lose his control over the people here. The assassin felt this keenly, for he had seen it happen many times to guilds in Sarrokye.

  Guild leaders had a short life expectancy. There was always someone eyeing their position, and so they made it a point to make themselves seem untouchable. Fear was the most common tactic, and it worked to control those under his or her thumb. However, it held a delicate balance. Should something—be it desperation or a more promising successor—tip the scales, fear would lose its influence.

  For Shadow, this was a significant risk. Unlike beloved kings, he did not have the respect of his people. Fear was all that kept order in Velagray. Take that away…

  Darthek silently wondered if this was exactly what Patchi intended.

  “I returned here for two reasons,” he continued, ignoring what seemed to be a whispered argument Shadow was holding with himself. “First and foremost, to survive.”

  Shadow grunted. “Aye, your wounds were certainly grave.”

  “Second was to warn you of these rebels. They seem rather organized, to say the least.”

  “Warn me?” the tyrant stopped his pacing, his eyes narrowed. “I know your type, Darthek. Concern for your employers is not something you harbor.”

  “Of course not, but you are not one to tolerate failure. If I didn’t return of my own accord to inform you of what transpired, you would have likely hired other assassins to kill me. This warning is my bargaining piece: the one leading these rebels goes by the name of Patchi.”

  Shadow’s eyes lit up. “You are certain of this?”

  Darthek nodded. “That is what my captors called the diminutive re’shahna they answered to.”

  A chuckle broke the tyrant’s chapped lips. It grew ever louder and more maniacal with every breath. Shadow returned to the window, a crooked smile splayed across his face as he reveled in the confirmation. “So my rival returns?”

  “You seem pleased.”

  “Indeed,” the re’shahna mused. “I have been meaning to kill that one for quite some time.”

  “He seems rather formidable.”

  Shadow scoffed. “Patchi is weak. He dotes upon the rahee, permitting them their magicless existence because of foolish ideals like ‘free will.’ Clearly, the centuries have shown his folly, for the rahee have only grown more useless with every generation.

  “If he intends to challenge me again, I will put him in his place one final time. Let the rahee see what happens to soft creatures like Patchi. Let them witness the dominance my power wields over fools like him and his followers.”

  “And if your people rise up to support his efforts?”

  Shadow stroked his chin. “The rahee have been rather difficult as of late, speaking up when they shouldn’t and forgetting their place. They are due for a reminder, and I will give it to them,” he purred. “When I am done, they will never challenge me again.”

  Departure

  Deley awoke the next morning to an empty camp. Jaspur’s tent had already been dismantled and packed and the fire snuffed. Panic seized her.

  Had she been left behind? No, the rogue wouldn’t do that. He needed her, especially now that they were heading to Moonridge to hopefully establish an alliance.

  Deley scrambled to pack her things, which thankfully were few. She had possessed nothing when she fled Velagray only to stumble into the rogue’s company. Only the clothes on her back and the mare she had escaped with. Gathering Rayhan’s journal, and the gear graciously given to her by the re’shahna, she rushed to the rudimentary corral, but noted both Jaspur’s steed and her own were missing.

  Perhaps the rogue had gone ahead and was waiting for her near the trail. It was the only logical explanation.

  “He could have at least left a note,” the half-elf muttered as she went in search of him.

  Despite the weeks they had spent in one another’s company, Deley didn’t feel like she knew the rogue at all. Last night, she caught a glimpse of the kindness hidden below his callous exterior, but Jaspur had a way of sharing details of his life without ever truly sharing himself. Initially, the half-elf had thought him cold because of it, but Jaspur was far more complicated than that. Beyond the sarcasm and biting temper was a person that intrigued her.

  Discovering he was her father’s cousin only fed that curiosity. She didn’t care so much about his royal past. Though the fact he was Prince Jaycent was interesting, it was their familial connection that captured her interest. Jaspur was part of her father’s family and she would do whatever it took to unlock the person inside.

  Adjusting the pack on her shoulders, Deley began asking several re’shahna if they had seen the rogue. It took a while, but eventually she found someone who could point her in the right direction.

  “Jaspur? Aye, he passed through here not long ago. Said to tell you he would be waiting by the old road.”

  “Old road?” Deley shaded her eyes as she studied the horizon. “You mean the one near the small lake just north of here?”

  The re’shahna glanced up at the ridge that bordered their camp, his teeth lightly nipping the stem of his pipe. “That’s the one.”

  Deley glanced at the path out of the valley, then at the rockslide spilling over the ridge into the valley. She would cut her time in half if she scaled them.

  “Thank you,” Deley tapped her forehead and extended her arm in a hurried gesture of thanks before sprinting toward the rocks. Many gazes followed her as she rushed in pursuit of the rogue.

  Jaspur may always be one step ahead of her, but Deley was determined not to be left behind.

  * * * * *

  Jaspur sat at the edge of a lake, his arms hooked over his knees. Beside him Diego and Siabra grazed quietly, their coats basking in the warmth of the morning sun. It was quiet up here. Peaceful.


  The rogue had been yearning for a bit of solace for days now. He awoke several hours before the sun and met with Tobiano in preparation for the road ahead. Just as he had expected, Patchi fully supported Tobiano’s plan to send Sadikaye, Deley, and Jaspur ahead of their company. The chieftain’s second-in-command volunteered to handle all of the arrangements, including speaking to Levee and Milo about Sadikaye’s accompaniment.

  It was a wise choice. Jaspur suspected his presence would only make the task more difficult so he happily consented and chose to take advantage of his brief window of solitude instead. The last few days had been full of surprises, most of which were charged with emotions that exhausted him immensely. Yet here in the quiet of a new dawn, there was no conflict, no complications, no war. The world itself seemed to ignore the troubles of the realm as the horizon unleashed a new day.

  He breathed in deep the mountain air and imagined how sweet these moments will be when the weight of their mission no longer clung to his back. He had been working toward this goal for so long, and now they were nearly there. He was anxious to face Shadow, defeat him, and move on, but at the same time he wondered what moving on even looked like.

  Staring distantly at the ripples of water lapping against the shore, he began to ponder his own existence. He had spent so many years lost in the fog of his own guilt, shame, and anger. When it finally dissolved, the rogue wasn’t sure who he was. Between the years he spent in exile and the Awakening that changed his awareness, he felt like a stranger even to himself.

  Who would he be when this was all over?

  Whose company would he keep?

  Where did he belong?

  Closing his eyes, Jaspur took another deep breath and forced his mind to relax. With his newfound immortality, he would have plenty of time to answer those questions. For now, he needed to remain focused on their objective.