The way Sadikaye looked at her made Deley lift her chin. She met his gaze, but there was no judgment in it. To her surprise, those golden eyes crinkled upward, his shoulder brushing against hers.
“The gods have a sense of humor, sending two bastards on their way to claim a kingdom,” he laughed.
Deley shared in his laughter, her spirit brightened by his levity and lack of judgment.
But Sadikaye’s claim sent a chill through Jaspur’s heart, for his son was not born out of wedlock. Levee was his mate when the boy was conceived, even if there were few who knew the truth of their relationship.
Sadikaye’s use of the word “bastard” told him his son felt abandoned, in spite of Jaspur’s selfless reasons for leaving his family behind.
And the rogue, for all his good intentions, couldn’t disagree.
A FRAGILE BREAK
Darthek awoke just after twilight, his body tense and alert. Snapping open his eyes, he listened for some sign of what had jolted him awake. A disgruntled voice carried in from the open window, loud enough to wake him but not to discern its words. It was clear this wasn’t a conversation meant to be overheard, yet the carelessness of its volume intrigued the assassin.
Sitting up, Darthek carefully turned and rested his bare feet upon the floor. The voice drifting into his room was a reckless sort of frantic, like a man trying to talk his way out of the guillotine. Furrowing his brow, the assassin pulled a cotton shirt over his bandaged torso and approached the open glass.
The voice belonged to Shadow. He could tell not only by the pitch, but by the vehemence that coated every word. Someone had riled the tyrant to the point of rage. A pity for whoever incurred it. Darthek leaned out the window and identified that the commotion was coming from above.
Looking up, he saw the bottom of a large balcony. It stretched the length of several guest chambers, making it likely that this was the king’s quarters. The argument taking place inside carried over the balcony’s lip and down to his window, but it wasn’t clear enough for him to decipher. If he wanted to know more, the assassin would have to get closer.
Rubbing his chest, Darthek considered the depth of his own curiosity. Studying the wall, he noted several arrow slits that lined the stone above his window and to the left of the balcony. If he climbed upon the window’s sill, he could scale it and get a better idea of what was going on.
However, it would put unnecessary strain on his body. With the healers’ touch he was recovering quickly, but the assassin was still far from being cleared for strenuous activity.
He weighed the pros and cons. The climb itself could cause damage that would setback his recovery; a negative development, but not one that would change his circumstances. Shadow had made it abundantly clear that Darthek’s treatment was not free. He was now conveniently indebted to the tyrant and would not be permitted to leave until the favor was fully returned.
The assassin suspected that favor would build considerable interest before Shadow considered it fulfilled. He was no stranger to dealings made with a forked tongue. The scales had been tipped in Shadow’s favor, and the assassin needed leverage if he was going to recover the balance.
A glimpse into the king’s private mutterings could yield useful information. Perhaps Darthek would learn something that he could use against him if the need arose.
Making up his mind, the assassin stepped out onto the ledge and turned, his fingers reaching for the first hollow slot. Establishing a solid grip, he found a foothold on one of the many protruding stones in the castle’s wall and began his ascent.
Darthek chose to take the climb one inch at a time, careful not to push himself more than necessary. The moment both feet left the safety of the window sill, his bruised muscles and innards began to protest. Each movement pulled at his weakest points, exacerbating his pain.
Gritting his teeth, he used his legs to lift himself to another handhold, rising higher with every methodical reach and push. The wind swept his blond hair aside, waving it across his face, but the assassin didn’t even blink.
Digging his fingers deep into the next arrow slit, he continued to propel himself upwards until the bottom of the balcony was within reach. Taking a deep breath, he threw his weight toward the balustrade, hugging its small, stone columns close to his chest.
Feet dangling, he used his core to hoist the rest of his body upward. Climbing over the rail, he landed upon light feet and retreated to the wall next to the balcony’s thick curtains. There, he listened.
The voices from the chamber grew louder. Neither had noticed the silent weapon hidden in the curtain’s folds. Either the assassin’s stealth had proven its worth, or Shadow was too distracted to notice.
While Darthek was confident in his skills, he believed it was the latter. From what he overheard, something was terribly wrong, but it took a bit of eavesdropping before he could put it into context.
“What you ask for is impossible,” someone stressed in a meek voice.
“Nothing is impossible,” Shadow hissed.
“Your Majesty, I would not have approached you with this foul news had I not been certain. We have exhausted every resource trying to prove our conclusion wrong, yet the results remain the same.”
“Then start over. Approach it from a new angle.”
“This is science. We cannot change—”
“Cannot? You fool,” Darthek heard a sweep of fabric, followed by a muffled choke. “I do not recall giving you permission to give up.”
There was something animalistic about the king’s tone. A primal aggression that made even Darthek’s hair stand on end. A drawn out silence followed, then the muted thud of a body dropping onto the carpet.
“Your Majesty,” the voice wheezed, “I beg you to look upon this issue with reason. We have done as you instructed and ascertained whether or not your condition has a cure. The unfortunate answer is clear, but that does not mean we cannot help you. Let us invest our talents and our time into treatment. We may not be able to reverse the effects, but perhaps—with the right resources—we could at least find a way to slow them down.”
“No! Always, there is an exception to the rule. A loophole!”
Darthek inched deeper into the curtain’s fabric, gaining a narrow view inside the room. Shadow was leaning against one of the large posts of his bed, his head pressed against the mahogany. His arm was hooked around it, his fingernails digging into the wood with all the strength of a wolf’s claws.
“There is none,” the voice said again, and the assassin realized it came from an old rahee kneeling on the floor. His thick robes were worn and faded, much like the wrinkled parchment that was his face. “You know this. Deep down, I’m certain you do. Why torture yourself further, looking for hope? Let us give you what time we can, while you are still well enough to treat.”
Shadow shook his head, his entire body trembling. What bit of moonlight trickled into the dark chamber reflected off the sweat that coated his body. He took in deep, ragged breaths, his bloodlust eyes squinting in rage. “How long?”
The old one in robes cocked his head. “How long for what?”
“The hallucinations, they are getting worse,” Shadow muttered. “The figures hide within my blind spots. The voices whisper around every corner. I am constantly in the company of demons you say are not there. The more I use my magic, the worse it gets.”
“This is expected,” the rahee replied. “The magic you wield is the reason for your decline.”
“How long until I cannot control them?!” Shadow spun around and the rahee in robes cowered. “How long until my mind is no longer my own to wield?”
“It is hard to say, Your Majesty. The foreign magic housed inside of you is like a disease. Your body is constantly fighting against it, but the more you use that foreign magic, the stronger it gets. Your decline has grown more rapid over the last few months, doubling its momentum.”
“Just give me your best guess.”
“Two months, assuming you use n
o magic at all.”
Shadow’s fingers dug deeper into the wood, his muscles taut. Clenching the bed’s post, he squeezed his eyes shut as if closing himself off from everything around him. Moments passed, his rapid breathing slowly finding a controlled rhythm. Quietly and with a sound mind, the tyrant spoke.
“Refocus your efforts. Find a way to slow down the effects. I will limit the use of my magic as much as possible for now. You have a week to bring me something of use. Understood?”
The old rahee bowed low, and Darthek noticed he, too, was covered in sweat. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
A sharp dismissal had the rahee escorting himself out. Shadow pulled himself away from the bed’s support, his heavy feet falling into an unsettled pace. Darthek didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe as he watched the re’shahna clench and unclench his fists.
“I will not die,” Shadow muttered. “Not like this. I have not endured for centuries only to fall upon the blade that is my own mind.”
The assassin waited until the tyrant’s back was to him before slipping out of the curtain and off of the balcony, his movements quicker than before. Ignoring the pain of his own descent, he slid back through his window with great haste.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, Darthek paused, for a figure was sitting in the chair beside his bed. The meager light from the window revealed a pair of leather boots lined in gold trinkets. Fingers drummed against the chair’s armrest, their slow, quiet cadence matching the beat of Darthek’s heart.
The assassin stepped aside and away from the window so the light from outside was unobstructed, revealing the face of his unexpected guest. His light hair was short, his eyes lined with charcoal. Two tawny ears marked him as a re’shahna while the trinkets and colorful nature of his garb said he was from Sarrokye.
“Do I know you?” the assassin asked.
“Who I am is irrelevant, Darthek,” the re’shahna replied in a heavily accented voice. “T’is who I represent that matters.”
“Patchi?” the assassin guessed.
“Aye.”
“So he does have eyes inside the castle,” Darthek nodded ever so subtly, though he was truly impressed. “The boldness of your attire tells me you did not walk through the front door. You take a great risk being here undisguised.”
“What I wear matters not so long as I come and go unseen,” the re’shahna stated calmly. “I suspect by now you know the truth of Shadow’s state?”
The assassin showed no reaction to the re’shahna’s uncanny intuition. He knew from the moment this messenger posed the question that Patchi’s hand reached far deeper than he or Shadow could have fathomed. How many spies existed among the castle’s servants, he wondered. Dozens? Perhaps more?
Leaning against the cold stone wall, Darthek crossed his arms. “I do.”
“Then you will help us,” the re’shahna assumed.
“Depends. What is it you want me to do?”
“Provide us with information.”
Darthek shook his head. “You are clearly a strong network who knows far more about the activity within this castle than me. What could I possibly tell you that you do not already know?”
The re’shahna stood, closing the gap between himself and the assassin. He was neither threatening, nor shy, his stance confident in spite of the obvious danger Darthek posed. “Shadow does not trust his own people. He knows Patchi likely has spies among them, and so he keeps his best cards hidden.
“However, you are different. As an outside party with no sense of loyalty, he feels he can pay you into his favor. Work your way into his trust. Discover what it is he is hiding from us.
“Once you decipher his hidden hand, return to your room and write it down on a piece of parchment. There is a hidden compartment beneath the drawer of your bedside table. Tuck the parchment within it and leave your bed unmade the next morn. That will be your sign to us to retrieve your information.”
“And then what?”
The re’shahna turned and headed toward the door, his figure barely perceptible within the shadows of the inner room. “This is not your fight, assassin. Tell us what we need to know, then leave the rest to us. You will walk free soon enough.”
The door opened and the re’shahna disappeared behind it, its lock clicking back into place. Darthek stood there, staring at the door and the spy who walked so freely through it.
His entire life had been plagued with boredom as he executed missions and hits far below his skill level. Yet standing there in his borrowed quarters, the silence of his solitude settling in around him, he realized that he had stepped into a battle of strength far beyond his own.
A battle beyond mere mortals.
He smiled. Finally, something in life caught his interest.
the rogue’s might
Nightfall was settling over the mountains, forcing the trio to depend on Jaspur’s magic for guidance. Unsheathing his sword, Lumiere, he activated its magic enough to cast their path in a soft, blue light.
Sadikaye yawned, his heavy eyelids hanging low as he stumbled along behind the rogue. His stiff calves screamed for reprieve as they dragged his boots across the path. Without the sun, the temperature had dropped, adding a chill to the air that nipped at his lungs and turned his breath into fog.
Shivering, the boy pulled his cloak ever tighter around his shoulders, his expression frozen in silent misery.
Jaspur knew his son was on the brink of his limits, but he showed no mercy. Seemingly impervious to exhaustion, the rogue doubled his pace as evening chased them deeper into the remote reaches of the mountains.
“Jaspur,” Deley broke away from her place next to Siabra and sidled up beside the rogue, matching his pace. “Perhaps we should stop to rest.”
“No.”
“Sadikaye is exhausted.”
“We’re all exhausted.”
Deley grabbed Jaspur’s arm, her scowl telling him she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. “We may be able to keep going, but he cannot.” She pointed at Sadikaye who shivered under his drawn hood. “Sadikaye’s body hasn’t acclimated to this environment. If we do not stop now, he will collapse.”
The rogue stared at Deley long and hard, forcing her to question the wisdom of challenging him so boldly. Her jaw quivered under his unrelenting eyes, yet she did not budge. Jaspur’s recent acts of compassion had dampened his intimidation.
An unfortunate side effect.
“Look around you,” the rogue murmured. “There is a reason I refuse to stop.”
Deley turned around and Jaspur lifted Lumiere, illuminating the path before them. Squinting, she noted several boulders covered in invasive vines were littered between a spattering of trees. The moonlight hindered more than it helped, casting long shadows across the ground and making it difficult to decipher their terrain and the eerie fungus that came with it.
Kneeling, Jaspur tugged Deley’s cloak. She crouched beside him, her chin lifting over his shoulder as he drew Lumiere toward the ground.
“What are you two looking at?” Sadikaye murmured. His legs were too rigid to bother kneeling unless they had a very good reason. Instead, he leaned his shoulder against Diego’s, his arms crossed as he watched them from beneath the warmth of his fur cowl.
Reaching out, Deley drew Lumiere closer to a cluster of tiny mushrooms cropping out of the remains of a rotting tree. Coal in color, they had a porous surface from which a red sap seemed to ooze.
Gasping, the half-elf stumbled to her feet. Instinctively, Sadikaye straightened, his tired feet drawn to Deley’s side.
“Are you okay?” he looked at her, then to the ground where whatever startled her was located.
Jaspur slowly rose to his feet. “We keep moving,” he insisted, and this time Deley didn’t hesitate to fall in step behind him.
“Deley?” Sadikaye caught up with her, leaving Siabra and Diego to take up the rear.
“He’s right,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t linger here.”
“W
hy?”
But she wouldn’t say. Glancing back, Sadikaye noticed that even the equines seemed nervous. Their ears worked overtime, jerking their heads toward every unexpected sound.
They carried on like this for another hour. Sadikaye tried his best to keep up, but Deley’s warning hadn’t been exaggerated. Having spent his life in the flat, hot terrain of Sarrokye or the limited space of a ship, he neither had the thick blood nor the endurance for this kind of exertion.
A rush of dizziness overtook Sadikaye, causing him to sway. For a moment, darkness consumed his vision and he plummeted face first into the ground.
“Sadi,” Deley gasped. She spun around and fell to her knees, rolling the young prince onto his back.
Jaspur watched as she examined him, her lips pressed tightly in a frown.
“He’s disoriented,” she said to the rogue. “We can try placing him on Siabra or Diego’s back…”
“No. They’re carrying enough weight as it is.” Looking around, he cursed under his breath. “We’ll have to make camp here.”
With a deep sigh, Jaspur veered them off the path to a shallow hollow of stone that buffered the wind. He grumbled something about how this was why they should have left earlier, but Deley ignored it. There was nothing they could do about their circumstances now. They would have to rest here until morning and hope nothing found them.
“Set up camp,” he commanded Deley the moment his bag was off and the equines were unpacked. “I will scout our surroundings and keep watch.”
Deley nodded. Gathering what wood and kindling she could while remaining in sight of their alcove, she quickly set about preparing a fire. Taking out a piece of flint, she began to work on setting it alight when she heard Sadikaye groan.
“Welcome back,” she called to the form stirring behind her.
He sat up slowly, his head still spinning. “Don’t tell me I passed out?”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 91
