The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “Well?” Milo called down to her as another bang splintered the door.

  Levee cracked open the lower door to reveal a walkway lined with crates but still no soul to be seen. It would seem like luck was with them if it wasn’t for the feeling in the pit of her stomach. The gypsy didn’t understand why, but this place gave her a foreboding feeling. It wasn’t so much the tower itself as it was her instincts. Something told her she didn’t want to take this path.

  “We should consider another way,” she insisted.

  A spear shot through the wooden door, and Milo was just quick enough to dodge it. “What, this way?” he shook his head. “Uh-uh. You’re lookin’ at our only choice, Lev. If it’s clear, we should go.”

  The gypsy bit her lip. She couldn’t argue Milo’s logic. He couldn’t hold the door forever, and there was no other way out except for this. “Fine. Bar the door and then we’ll go.”

  She climbed back up the hatch and shoved as many heavy items as she could in front of the door while Milo held it. Once they were satisfied it would hold for a few minutes, they slipped down the ladder and used the rope dangling from the bottom of the hatch to pull it shut.

  Together, the pair slipped through the empty hall and out of the nearest door. Set into a small alcove that served as a guard’s post, they were able to steal a glimpse at the battle before they dove back into it.

  “Ugh,” Milo muttered, for it was truly chaos. Citizens had joined the rebels, their sheer hatred for the Velagran Guard making up for what they lacked in skill. They would have been doing well if it weren’t for the soldiers mounted on night mares.

  Levee closed her eyes briefly, using her gift to identify how many of the Abyss-born mares were in the vicinity. Two were nearby, but thirty now stood at the inner gate that separated the marketplace and lower quarter from the inner city. She could see more in the distance, too. They were congregating just behind it, waiting for the rebel force to break through.

  An ambush. They would charge the moment the doors opened and burn a vicious gap through the rebel army’s ranks, including the civilians who stood beside them.

  “Milo, we have to get to the lower quarter gate.”

  Her mate peered around the wall again, his frown deepening. “What about the night mares that are here? There’s only two, but most of these people can’t even touch ‘em.”

  Levee sighed. She didn’t want to make this choice. Turning her back on the fight in front of them felt like murder. But if she lingered here, the death toll would be even higher. It was her job to shield their army from the night mares and buy Sadikaye and Jaspur time to defeat Shadow.

  Once the tyrant was slain, the curses he put in place would dissolve. His control would be extinguished and the war would be won. But if their army was defeated before that happens…

  “Milo, there are thirty night mares and counting waiting at that gate. When our force opens it, those mares are going to charge. You know how hard it is just to bring down one night mare. If I’m not there to slow them down, we’ll lose the bulk of our force to fire, hooves, and horns before Sadikaye and Jaspur even reach the castle.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” Milo unsheathed both scimitars now, his expression grim. “Let’s get you to that gate and tame some flamin’ ponies.”

  * * * * *

  Shadow hovered above the scrying pool inside a silver dish clasped in an ornate pedestal. It’s base was carved to look like an old, gnarled tree that belonged in the Abyss. Fused within its trunk were eyes, open and wide, which seemed to follow anyone in the room no matter where they stood.

  It was one of the first magical items the re’shahna had ever come to possess, and it was one of his favorites. So much so, he kept it hidden in this room where few knew it existed.

  With his horn-carved sword in hand, the re’shahna tapped its tip against the pool’s surface. It rippled, breaking away from the view of the gate that he’d been watching and transitioning to the castle’s foyer. He stared at it a few moments before shaking his head and tapping the water again.

  Over and over he did this, hopping from one scrying point to the next as he searched in vain for what he knew was missing. The assault on Velagray was in full force, the rebels and their elven allies nearly reaching the gate that divided the lower quarter from the inner city. His defense thus far had unfolded as he anticipated, allowing his enemy to think they were gaining ground while the night mares waited for them just behind the first inner gate.

  But through the clashes and screams and bloodshed, Shadow could not identify the rebel force’s leader. Whether it was Patchi, the prince, Levee, or someone else, he could find no sign of them.

  It made Shadow nervous. What was he not seeing? Where were they, and what clever plan did they have in store? He knew they would come for him. Somehow, some way, they intended to invade this castle and take him down.

  Growling, Shadow pulled himself away from the scrying pool and started pacing. Knowing Patchi, the force he was seeing was just a distraction; something to keep him busy while the rest of them hunted the tyrant like game.

  Shadow would show them. He wouldn’t be bested, especially not on his own grounds. The tyrant had to prepare for what he knew was inevitable, but he could not do so in this form.

  Staring at his body through a full length mirror, Shadow pondered what he should do. The face that stared back at him was gaunt, his frame drastically thin. The ruthless king’s curse had been draining his life force ever so slowly, but there was strength still left inside his fading body.

  Shadow could embrace his equine form. He wasn’t certain how his mind would handle the transition. It took magic, yes, but it was also his spirit’s true shape. When he endured the Awakening, his soul transformed into a beast that reflected his inner being.

  Gritting his teeth, Shadow glared at his sickly frame. If he were to fight against the head of this bold attack, the tyrant would do so with all of his strength. Unclasping his cloak, he whipped the fabric from his shoulders and clenched his sword in a white-knuckled grip.

  “Enough hiding,” Shadow said to himself. “It is time I put these fools back in their place.”

  Reaching inside of himself, the re’shahna looked for the wellspring that was his magic. A dark flame greeted him, its color sapped over the centuries until it was a silhouette of its former glow. Reaching for its tendrils, Shadow let it seep into his veins as he envisioned his equine form.

  The nauseating sound of cracking bones began, his body shifting into a beast with four legs. Shadow endured the pain as he fell onto his hands, his stature growing into a massive, ebony unicorn with blood behind his eyes.

  His dreaded hair extended into a knotted mane, his tail a lion-like whip with fringe at the tip. Muscles rippled around his legs and chest, enough to make a war horse look puny.

  Finally, three long horns sprouted upon his brow. Two were gray, the third blue like the sword he had been holding. Each hummed with active magic, their strength illuminating Shadow’s eyes.

  Nickering proudly at himself, Shadow turned and kicked his way through the hidden chamber’s door. The latch tore clean from its frame, the shelves upon the outside of the hidden door falling to the ground in a mess of books and splintered wood. Walking across the door as if it were a bridge over the heap, Shadow whipped his tail and exited the general’s office.

  “Let them come,” his voice rumbled, its throaty bellow echoing off the stone. “Let them all come! I am a king. I am a god! Before this is over, everyone inside and outside of these walls will submit to my strength.” He cantered down the hall, his eyes alight with madness. “They will pray their desperate prayers, and I will skewer their hearts without mercy. None shall live except those who bow to me!”

  FREEDOM’S PRICE

  If it wasn’t for the citizens turning against the Velagran Guard, Levee didn’t believe she would have made it to the gate at all. They came wielding whatever they could get their hands on, from swords and axes to pitch
forks and fire stokers.

  Patchi had mentioned he had re’shahna rallying the people toward rebellion, but she hadn’t expected the response to be so unanimous. Shadow’s cruelty had paralyzed the rahee for many, many years. The thought that a bit of hope could strengthen their resolve seemed impossible.

  Yet here they were. Hundreds of rahee flooded the streets under the name of Levee’s son. They donned bravery wrought from hope and desperation, and it was enough to make them strong.

  The rahee overwhelmed the Velagran Guard by attacking them three to one. It broke the enemy’s ranks, throwing them into disarray and giving Milo and Levee the opportunity to catch up with their unit.

  “Melah!” Deley tugged on Diego’s mane, veering him back toward the gypsy as word of her arrival spread up the ranks. The troubled look on the half-elf’s face told Levee there was no time to waste. “We have been struggling to keep these doors shut until you could catch up to us. I have no idea how many night mares are behind it, but we can’t move forward until they’re subdued.”

  A sharp creak pierced the air as Shadow’s army fought to push the doors open. The rebels scrambled to stop the breach, their bodies pressed against the outside of those doors as they grunted in a combined effort to slam them shut again.

  Levee pushed her way through the crowd of soldiers and placed her palm upon the door. Channeling her pool of magic, the gypsy let it compound before releasing it beyond the thick barrier reinforced with iron.

  Eyes closed, she used her magic like a lasso, wrapping her will around the night mares on the other side. Immediately, the hate and agony born from Shadow’s curse screeched inside her mind. The night mares’ pain pummeled her until she cried out and stumbled back into Milo’s chest. He held her for support and noted how she trembled.

  “Lev, don’t bite off more than you can chew,” he warned.

  “I can do this,” she stubbornly replaced her palm upon the doors. To the gypsy’s left and right, soldiers braced against the push of the enemy on the other side, buying her time.

  Levee clinched her eyes shut again, counting the aggressive amber flames that represented the tainted night mares’ spirits. Their number was now thirty-six; three times the amount she and Sadikaye had cleansed in the camp. Freeing Kalitska’s twelve nearly exhausted her then, and Levee didn’t have help this time. Taking on this many might drain her magic completely; a fatal consequence should she not handle this task with the utmost care.

  Releasing a second wave of magic, she wrapped the mares in her will again, but this time she closed her mind from all except one of them. The world behind her eyes flashed white as she experienced the onslaught of suffering the creature endured every waking moment.

  Sweat began to coat Levee’s face as she sought the consciousness of this one mare. It was hidden deep beneath its agony, like a child cowering under the bed. On the outskirts of her awareness, she could feel the pull of the other night mares as they struggled against her hold.

  Levee tightened her mental grip, her focus steeled upon liberating the first of the Abysmal mares from the curse. One at a time. That’s how she would have to do this.

  But did they have enough time?

  Shadow’s forces began to notice that something wasn’t right with their allies. The fight to open the gate came on in greater force, the doors shaking in a volatile back-and-forth.

  Milo’s eyes shot up as he heard claws scraping against wood. Drawing his second scimitar, he held them at the ready as he scanned the top of the barrier.

  Right above Levee, a mimic crested the top of the closed gate. In an odd blend of cackles and clicks, he jumped over, his claws reaching for Levee. Milo yanked his mate behind him, letting the creature fall face first to the ground. Stomping upon its back, he stabbed it through the chest, ensuring it stayed down.

  One glance at Levee told him she was struggling to keep her focus. Behind the closed doors, a solid hoof slammed, reinforcing the danger of distracting her from her work.

  “We need to guard Melah from all sides,” Milo said to the soldier next to him. “Keep her protected so she can focus.”

  The elf beside him nodded before shouting orders in his own tongue. Immediately, several soldiers fell into place, their backs facing Levee as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Milo to form a protective ring. The gypsy’s eyes remained closed, her hair drenched against her face as she worked a constant flow of magic.

  Meanwhile, mimics skittered over by the dozen, followed by Velagran soldiers as they tried to break the stalemate between their force and the rebels. Milo’s scimitars worked independently, fending off attacks from two mimics at the same time. It was like facing a pack of wild dogs, but their reckless abandon left them vulnerable to counter-attacks. A quick blade easily found its mark.

  Together, Levee’s wall of soldiers worked tirelessly to keep her safe. If one fell, another took his place, keeping her defense solid. Milo picked off four more before he noticed one clever monster hanging from the top of the door.

  Its feet planted in a squat against the frame, the mimic launched itself over the soldiers’ heads as he aimed for Levee. With no shield among them and no time to strategize, Milo threw his back into his mate, pushing her into one of the other soldiers as he put himself in her place.

  The mimic landed on his shoulder, throwing him to the ground with the weight of its drop. Milo cried out as a hot flash of pain cut through the flesh between his collar bone and his chest. Cursing loudly, he threw the mimic aside, punching it in the head with his hilt until the creature went limp.

  “Milo!” Levee’s focus wavered as she saw her mate’s clothes soaked in blood.

  His face scrunched in pain, Milo yanked the small dagger from his flesh. His back slammed against the massive doors as a fresh wave of pain shot threw him, nearly dropping him out of consciousness.

  Planting his feet, he glanced down at the blood flowing freely under his shirt. “Just a flesh wound,” he grunted. “Concentrate, Lev!”

  Another jarring hit from behind the door caused it to shudder. Milo growled against the pain as Levee scrambled to reassert her control over the mares.

  “Only fifteen left!” she insisted. “Just hold on a little longer.”

  Her work was moving quicker now, for she had found a way to lure the cursed mares out of their haze of fury. By feeding them the memories of her conversations with Kalitska, she was able to provide them a roadmap to undoing the curse that controlled them. They responded eagerly, turning against their so-called “allies” the moment they were liberated. The screams of the Velagran Guard encouraged the rebels, who fought even harder to buy Levee more time.

  A mimic who noticed the gap left by Milo in Levee’s defense raced to take advantage of it, but Levee’s mate was quicker. He shoved himself forward, his scimitars slicing across one another to lop the head clean off the monster’s knobby shoulders.

  The movement, however, proved that his wound was more serious than it seemed. A cough rattled his chest, and Milo’s eyes grew wide as a spurt of blood slipped from his lips.

  “Milo!” Levee shouted again, her focus torn by the sight. It was only a second, but long enough for the last of the mares to rush forward, storming the doors and throwing them open.

  The elves, rahee, and re’shahna whose backs were to the doors went flying forward, knocking over many of their comrades. Kalitska and her mares rushed in, clashing with those who were still cursed as they intercepted their charge.

  Gritting his teeth, Milo sheathed one of his swords and grabbed Levee’s arm. “We need to get you out of harm’s way,” he said before falling into another fit of blood-soaked coughs. Ahead, half a dozen night mares charged toward them.

  Levee reached out her palm, throwing a volley of unseen magic over the mares. The mares stumbled over their own hooves, their consciousness disturbed by Levee’s sudden, invasive presence, but it wasn’t without repercussion. The gypsy’s head fell into her hands as she screamed against the onslaught of t
heir pain.

  “Keep fighting,” Milo said in a hoarse voice. “Don’t give up!”

  Eyes squeezed shut, Levee forced the same memories she had been sharing individually through all of their minds, hoping to the goddess that it would be enough to draw them all out of the curse at once. She didn’t have enough magic or time left to handle them individually anymore.

  Milo half-led and half-carried Levee through the doors and into an abandoned general store where he tucked her behind the counter. A handful of soldiers shadowed him, barring the door as Levee fought to keep her control long enough to cleanse the last of the mares.

  As she waged war inside of her head, Milo yanked a sealed bottle of alcohol from one of the shelves and splashed it on his wound. Tearing his sleeve, he did his best to bandage what he could, but it was only delaying the inevitable.

  He knew the wound was far worse than he let on. The blood continued to flow despite the pressure he placed upon it, and he could feel a chill coming on, like the bite of winter’s breath upon his skin.

  Milo was losing too much blood, and from what he expelled, some of it was entering his right lung. He glanced at Levee struggling behind the counter, struck by the sickening realization that he may not even have enough time to say goodbye.

  Masking the fear from his voice, he whispered, “This is what you’re trained for, Sweets. You can do this.”

  She seemed bolstered by those words, her expression a bit calmer even as her body trembled. Milo knew that without her efforts, they would have been slaughtered the moment that door had opened. Levee had done a powerful thing here, transforming the worst of their enemies into allies with each liberation from the curse. Now their army was moving forward, the night mares joining them as Levee held true to her promise to Kalitska.