Rogue's Phoenix: Rogue's Phoenix, #1

By Tommy Clark

Rogue's Phoenix is a realm unlike any other. Designed by a god with something to prove, the inhabitant come to be through magical rifts from other worlds. Two kingdoms have grown to supremacy and the lands have been in peace. When the trade routes with the neighboring kingdoms become threatened, young prince Ryddin is sent on an epic journey. Along with him is his companion, Vandervon and their squires, Dylen and Tristen Debaskin. The two squires want to prove their worth to their king. The party soon begins to realize that the trade problems barely scratch the surface. As they delve deeper, they discover that there's much more at stake than they had imagined. The prince has the weight of the world forced upon him when the thieves' guild, Blackshroud threatens to destroy the kingdomsWith the peace established between the four factions becoming frail and the threat of the thieves' guild, Ryddin and his party soon come to realize that their plans just might be bigger than they can handle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tommy Clark
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393136620

Book preview

-Prologue-

The fire flickered in the late autumn breeze, barely illuminating the two men who sat staring into its depths. The silence that had settled over them seemed to stretch into eternity, but neither of the two appeared bothered by the thought. Eternity was not something to be feared.

Logan Thallius poked absently at the coals as he peered into the darkness at the man sitting across from him. The two rarely met, and yet they were extremely close. If anyone could be said to be close to the distant figure across the fire. As far as Logan knew, his companion had no real friends - only a few acquaintances with whom he spoke occasionally. He lived a solitary existence, and seemed to prefer it that way.

Do you plan to stay holed up in here forever?

His brother spat into the fire. What is there to bring me out into the world? There are no challenges for me out there. I grow bored with this game, Logan. What of Corwin?"

What of him?

He needs his father.

Kryon glanced toward the starlit sky. He needs his mother. But even I cannot give him that.

You, however, might make a fine substitute, if you would try.

You don’t understand, little brother. The boy is my life. He is everything to me, and he will do great things in the world.

And don’t you want to be the one who shapes the things he does? He thinks that you abandoned him out of apathy.

Kryon jumped to his feet. Is that what you’ve told him; that I do not care for him? Are you trying to turn my son against me?

Logan sighed in frustration. No, brother. He is nearly grown. He forms his own conclusions.

Temporarily mollified, his brother sat down again. Does he know about the medallion?

Of course he knows about the medallion. He wears it on his neck wherever he goes.

And he knows that it’s the key?

Logan shook his head.

You haven’t told him?

No. It’s somewhat difficult to work into conversation.

Kryon was back on his feet. So his feelings are your fault!

This time, Logan stood up to face him. No. His feelings are your fault. Sixteen years may not seem long to you, but it’s Corwin’s entire life. You have had ample opportunity to seek him out. You’ve known where he’s been. If you want him to think highly of you, you must give him reason to do so. You cannot expect him to love someone he’s never seen.

Logan turned his back on the fire and started for the mouth of the cave.

Don’t walk away from me, brother! The heat from the fire intensified as Kryon’s ire rose. Logan Thallius ignored them both.

-1-

You can't beat me.

The words echoed in Dylen's mind while the sound of steel on steel echoed throughout the room.

I may not beat you, he thought, but I'll make sure you feel it in the morning! Dylen took a half step back, then lunged forward at his opponent's midsection. Tristen brought his sword across to knock the blade harmlessly to the side, then spun into Dylen, bringing his elbow up for a quick strike. Dylen had seen that move before, however, and ducked just before the blow landed. Thinking quickly, he spun as well, attempting to sweep the other man's feet from under him. Tristen jumped back and Dylen stood up straight, holding his blade at the ready.

At just nineteen years old, Dylen was already one of the best swordsmen in the service of King McRuine. He had begun to learn nearly eight years ago and had advanced far in his training. His teachers told him that he had the build for it, whatever that meant. He wasn't large, but his lithe muscles held all the power he needed. And he was quick.

Tristen, his younger brother, seemed as though he should be a lumbering oaf by comparison. He was four inches taller, and weighed half again Dylen's eleven stone, but somehow Dylen could never beat him at sparring. It always seemed that no matter how fast Dylen parried, no matter how quick his riposte, Tristen's blade was always waiting exactly where it needed to be.

But this time, Dylen had a plan. This time, he would emerge the victor. Panting, he allowed his blade to sag just enough for Tristen to notice.

Watching from against the wall, their third companion, Roderick, smiled knowingly. Dylen had formulated the plan with his help.

Tristen took the bait. He advanced with a powerful overhand sweep that Dylen chose to dodge rather than block, still maintaining the charade of exhaustion. Tristen recovered quickly and slashed across laterally. Dylen waited until the last second before throwing his sword into place. At the instant the blades connected, Tristen changed direction, flinging his sword up, then down diagonally across his body. Dylen back stepped, and Tristen continued his furious advance, intent on finishing his tired opponent off. He came in hard with a slash left at the waist, backhand right at chest level, then a lunge that would have impaled most swordsmen. Dylen made a show of barely blocking all three of them, then quickly took two more steps back, disengaging for a split second. Tristen would have none of it. He leaped forward; his arms upraised for another overhand strike.

Dylen met his eyes briefly and flashed a quick grin as he found the opportunity he had been waiting for. He flung himself toward the ground directly in front of his brother’s feet and felt the solid thuds as both of Tristen's boots connected with his back. A small price to pay, however, as Tristen went sprawling to the ground, landing hard on his stomach, his sword skidding off to the side. Dylen sprang to his feet and prepared to leap onto his fallen opponent. It was all over. He would finally win.

Playtime's over, gentlemen.

Dylen lowered his sword and turned. When he saw Prince Ryddin and his right-hand man, Sir Vandervon, he snapped to attention, bringing his blade up before him in a sharp salute.

The prince returned the salute and beckoned for the squires to follow. We’ve been summoned to see the king.

Dylen’s pulse quickened. A- all of us, my Lord?

Yes. We two and you three. Now let's get moving. Prince Ryddin half smiled as he looked at Dylen. And watch your back.

Dylen heard a quiet shuffling sound behind him and spun, only to find Tristen's blade an inch from his belly.

His brother chuckled. I win.

Dylen cursed under his breath. You cheated.

Is it my fault you let yourself get distracted? We hadn't called an end to the match. Therefore, you're dead, and I win. Tristen reached around and slapped Dylen on the rump with the flat of his blade. Now, I believe I have an appointment with His Majesty. If you'll excuse me. He trotted out of the room after the two knights, leaving Dylen shaking his head.

I still say he cheated, Dylen said, walking over to Roderick.

He certainly did. Roderick wrapped an arm around Dylen’s shoulder. Now let's get going. We don't want to keep the king waiting.

The two walked briskly out of the practice room and soon caught up with the others.

What does the king want to see us about? Dylen asked.

I don't know, the prince replied. We'll find out when we get there.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, winding through the maze of corridors until they at last came to the large, ornate, double oak doors of King Xavier McRuine's private audience chamber.

A pair of the king's most loyal guards stood at attention outside the doors. At Prince Ryddin’s approach, one rapped sharply on the door three times with the butt of his halberd. Almost immediately, the doors swung open, pulled by another pair of guards, standing watch on the inside.

Dylen had never seen this room before and was most impressed by its grandeur. Its high, vaulted ceiling was almost an exact miniature of the public audience chamber. King McRuine's throne sat at the far end on a three-step dais. It, like his other throne, was made of the purest white marble. Many men would have looked out of place atop such simple elegance. King McRuine was not one of them. He wore clean, functional leather armor, set with a single opal over the left breast and a white cape that seemed to be spun from the very marble itself. His close-cropped beard and short white hair complemented the colors perfectly.

The five men entered the room swiftly, made their way to the front of the throne and sank to a knee.

Rise, my friends, the king said in his rich baritone.

Dylen stood up to find the king standing as well, towering over them all at nearly seven feet tall. Dylen got the impression of a giant reaching down from on high to devour them. He swallowed involuntarily.

Prince Ryddin stepped forward. At your service, Father.

The king sat back down on his throne. Guards, leave us.

The twelve guards filed almost silently out of the room. Only after the last of them had left and the great doors shut behind him did the king continue. "I fear there is something amiss.

For the last few months, the trade routes between ourselves, Honor Guard, and the Order of the Taurus have been faltering. Our trade with Kingdom Ortegas has fared little better. Now, trade seems to have halted completely. Of course, the implications of this could be dire indeed. Without trade between us, all of our economies will falter. More grave still, however, would be if our allies were our allies no longer. I don't believe I need to say anything more in that vein.

No, Father, Prince Ryddin answered. What would you ask us to do?

I need you and Vandervon to go to Honor Guard and speak with their leader, Commander Brimstone. Dylen, Tristen and Roderick will serve as your squires. He turned to the three young men. More importantly, you will serve as my eyes and ears among the lower classes. The squires, the servants, the common folk. They hear more than we know, and usually know more than we hear. I need you all to gather as much information as you can.

Dylen was ecstatic. Finally, a real mission from the king. He had had enough of training and felt he was ready to prove himself. Perhaps he would even be promoted to Knight’s Apprentice.

Without thinking, he blurted, Great! When do we leave? Then, remembering where he was and whom he was addressing: Uh... Your Majesty?

The king smiled. You leave as soon as you are packed. If you hurry, you can still get a half a day's travel before dark.

The five of them bowed and began to leave the audience chamber. King Xavier’s voice stopped them. My friends. They turned as one. Be careful.

Dylen swallowed again as he took note of the real fear in the powerful king's eyes.

* * * * *

Dylen packed his few belongings into a saddlebag, thrilled to finally be doing something. He burst out of his chamber door, nearly flattening a guard patrolling the hallway. The guard instinctively reached for his sword, which brought Dylen up short. He mumbled a quick apology and ducked back into his room. Stepping back out into the hall a moment later, buckling his sword belt as he went, he noted the guard had already moved on.

Dylen started to make his way out to the stables when another thought crossed his mind. Athmey!

Athmey, next to his service to the king, was the main reason for Dylen's existence. She was a cook's assistant in the castle kitchens. In Dylen's eyes, she should have been queen. It was said around the castle that Athmey's beauty was unsurpassed in the keep and its surrounding town. Her hair was long and auburn, and when it caught the light just right, it seemed to be liquid copper flowing around the perfect features of a goddess - piercing blue eyes, a straight nose, and amazingly full lips.

She was seventeen - marriageable age. Which is precisely what Dylen intended to do as soon as he earned the rank of Knight‘s Apprentice. Then, he thought, he would be able to provide for her much better than he could as a lowly squire. He'd been telling her this for the last year of their two-year courtship. For some reason Dylen couldn't understand, she was willing to wait.

And now he was about to run off to Honor Guard without so much as a good-bye.

Dylen reversed his course and sprinted toward the kitchens, hoping to catch her before the rush of preparing the midday meal. Judging by the smells wafting from up ahead, he was too late.

Nevertheless, he barreled into the room, pushing past chefs, bakers, and scullions. Athmey! Athmey!

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and turned. His heart skipped a beat as he met Athmey's eyes. Yes?

Athmey! I finally get to go on a mission for the king as the prince's personal squire and we're going to Honor Guard and I don't know how long we're supposed to be gone but I had to come and tell you so you wouldn't be mad at me and maybe I'll get my Knight‘s Apprenticeship and we can finally get married!

Athmey laughed melodiously as she led him into an alcove off the main kitchen. Dylen, slow down. You're going where?

Panting, Dylen told her of his audience with the king and how he would be leaving for Honor Guard as soon as they were all ready.

That's great! she cried and wrapped her arms around him. I'm so proud of you!

Dylen felt himself blushing and held the embrace until his cheeks cooled. He tried to put on his best manly air. I have to go now. My country needs me. But I'll be back soon.

I'll be waiting, my brave knight. She pulled a clean white handkerchief from a pocket in her apron. Batting her eyelashes demurely, she handed it to him. Will you take this favor to remember me by?

Of course, my love. Grinning, he pulled her into his arms again and kissed her, then turned and ran from the kitchen to the stables, where the other four were already waiting.

-2-

Killian Ortegas, Crown Prince and heir to the throne of Ortegas, rode regally through the north gate of Castle McRuine, his shoulder-length black hair flowing freely behind him. He dismounted just inside the gate and handed the reins of his black charger to a stable boy. His sole companion and closest friend Martin jumped from his horse to land beside him. Martin tossed a coin to the boy, who caught it in mid-air and tucked it into his pocket almost before Killian could blink.

The prince smiled as he and Martin began making their way through the courtyard to the inner keep. He was in a good mood, despite the gravity of his mission. He always enjoyed traveling. Ever since he was a boy, the road seemed to call to him, beckoning him to explore its mysteries. He always felt like a new man when he reached his destination. As though he had a fresh, new start and could forget all of the worries that came with his title.

I'll certainly miss these little adventures, he muttered to himself.

Why is that? the sharp-eared Martin asked.

Startled, Killian felt his cheeks warming. He hadn't expected anyone to hear him thinking out loud. Never mind, my friend. I was just lamenting my fate as future king. When I'm tied down with the crown, I'll no longer be able to travel.

Martin gave a huge sigh. Alas, my Prince, he joked. The woes of a Crown Prince are great, indeed. However will you cope? Would that you were but a carefree peasant, enjoying the daily struggle for bread!

Killian chuckled at his companion's theatrics. All right, I get it. It could be much worse. I'll still miss- Killian stopped in his tracks. Across the courtyard, carrying a basket of bread in from the market outside the east gate was one of the most beautiful girls Killian had ever seen. Her long, auburn hair swam about her as she glided across the rough stones of the pathway. Her clean, gray homespun smock was just loose enough to hint at perfect curves, but not so tight as to eliminate the imagination. And when it came to women, Killian Ortegas had a superb imagination.

Martin followed his gaze and sighed again, this time in exasperation. A fine-looking young lady.

Martin, she's beautiful. Finally composing himself, the prince resumed his walk toward the castle. I must have her.

And no doubt you will. But I'm sure I don't have to remind you that we are here for a reason. Our mission must take precedence.

For the first time all day, Killian frowned. Yes, I know. We must meet with the king. Always business with you, isn't it, Martin?

No, my prince. Just business before pleasure.

The two friends walked through the great double doors and into the entrance hall of the keep, where a page was waiting for them. The page bowed low. May I show you to your quarters, Your Highness?

Killian gestured for the boy to lead the way, and followed him through the maze of passageways to the guest chambers. His thoughts, however, remained in the courtyard with a young girl and a basket of bread.

* * * * *

Killian and Martin spent the rest of the day lounging in their shared chambers - an impressive five-room suite with a sitting room, two bedrooms and a bath chamber for each. The quarters were much more lavish than anything at Castle Ortegas, as Killian's father preferred more functional surroundings.

At first light, a page came to wake them and invite them to share breakfast with the king. The two dressed swiftly, having had their best clothing pressed the night before, and followed the page down to the dining hall.

King McRuine was already sitting at the high table with a few courtiers and a finely garbed, middle-aged man who appeared to be some kind of advisor. Killian and Martin approached the two open seats at the king's left hand. McRuine stood up to greet them. Killian was impressed by the man's size.

My young friends. I am delighted to have you here. I trust your rooms are adequate?

Killian bowed his head to the king, while Martin dipped much lower, as befitted his rank. More than adequate, Your Majesty. I thank you for your hospitality.

Killian and Martin sat down, with Killian next to the white-haired king. As soon as they were seated, servants swarmed out of the doors to the kitchen and began placing huge platters of food on the table. Killian waited patiently as King McRuine took the first helpings, then set to with a vengeance, heaping his plate with eggs and bacon and ham and toasted bread with a wonderful blackberry jam. To his delight, ewers were brought out full of fresh milk and yet more urns of steaming hot coffee, a rare delicacy that was almost impossible to come by in his own lands.

Killian reached for an urn of coffee, his gaze sliding toward the double doors to the kitchen. His hand paused in its journey as the auburn-haired girl from the day before slipped gracefully into the dining hall, her arms laden with a tray of eggs.

The coffee forgotten, he turned to the king. Your Majesty, who is that lovely young girl carrying the eggs?

McRuine looked up from his ham and fastidiously dabbed jam from his beard before smiling. Ah. Her name is Athmey. She is said to be the most beautiful girl in the entire castle. Perhaps the country. Surely these old eyes find her easy to look on.

As do these young ones, I assure you. I wonder, is she married?

No, my boy. Not married. The king's gaze returned to his breakfast. Though it is said that her heart is taken by one of our young squires. Very much in love, they’re said to be.

Killian watched her as she made her way through the room, delivering the eggs to one of the lesser tables at the far side of the dining hall. As she sat them down and stood up, she seemed to feel Killian's eyes on her and turned. For an instant, her gaze locked with his. Killian felt as though her blue eyes shot right through to his soul. For the first time in his life, he looked away first, suddenly intent on the coffee he had forgotten a moment before.

They finished the meal making such small talk as royalty can make - speaking of crops and taxes and generally discussing the state of their two kingdoms. After breakfast, King McRuine retired to his chambers to make ready to hold court while Killian and Martin went for a stroll on the grounds.

Killian nudged his friend when they were alone and held up a beautiful silver goblet.

The Royal Bandit strikes again!

Martin shook his head and chuckled ruefully. That's going to get you into trouble, someday, my Lord.

Killian waved him off and stashed the goblet back into his coat. His penchant for petty larceny hadn't been discovered so far, and he didn't intend for it to ever be.

Killian had to resist the urge to locate the kitchens and find the girl. He kept reminding himself that he was here on business first. Business, which would hopefully be taken care of swiftly at his midday audience with King McRuine. Killian was getting bored, and it was often said in his country that there was nothing more dangerous than bored royalty.

* * * * *

The guard at the door rapped the butt of his spear three times on the flagstone of the audience chamber. Announcing His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Killian Ortegas of the Kingdom Ortegas accompanied by Sir Martin del Caballo, Knight of the Kingdom Ortegas.

Xavier watched the two young men as they walked down the red carpet toward him. He had always liked Lucas Ortegas, and Killian seemed to share many of his father's endearing qualities: confidence, charisma, a sharp wit, a flare for the dramatic, and a wild side that was generally the talk of the kingdom. But underneath it all, Xavier was sure that they were both good men. Killian would do well as king as long as he could keep his mind out of the bedroom.

He didn't really know this Martin character. From what he had heard, there wasn't much to know. Quiet, a good knight, and immensely loyal to the prince. What Killian had done to earn that loyalty, Xavier didn't know and didn't care. The simple fact that he had it was an encouraging sign of his leadership capabilities.

The two reached the foot of the dais and dipped into low, respectful bows. Xavier rose from his seat and inclined his head in return.

Killian rose from his bow and looked the king directly in the eye. Your Majesty.

Xavier smiled warmly. Your Highness. You have important business to discuss.

Yes, Your Majesty. A matter of grave importance to my kingdom. With no disrespect, my Lord, do you believe everyone in this audience hall to be trustworthy?

Always so dramatic, Xavier thought. Aloud, he said, Yes, my friend. Every man in this room I would trust with my very life. No sense spoiling the boy's fun. Besides, King McRuine had always enjoyed the occasional bit of overacting. What is afoot?

A rustle behind him alerted the king to the return of his closest advisor, Christoph, who had stepped out to the privy. He briefly introduced the three, then returned to his seat.

Killian looked around at the guards and courtiers lining the room. Your Majesty, I shall be frank. My father fears the beginnings of a war.

McRuine's smile faded. A war?

Yes, Your Majesty. A war brought on by the Honor Guard and the Order of the Taurus.

Murmurs erupted all around the chamber.

The king held up his hand for silence. The Court shall break for afternoon tea. You will all return at my summons. Dismissed.

The courtiers got up and filed out of the throne room, already buzzing excitedly about what they had heard. Soon, only the king, the prince, the knight and the advisor remained.

Killian grinned impishly. So, Your Majesty, not everyone is as trustworthy as you thought?

McRuine stood up from his throne. From the dais, he towered over young Ortegas. He had never been fond of this approach, but he had to admit - watching the prince take an involuntary step back - that it was effective. You had better have damned good evidence, boy, before shouting an accusation like that in front of my entire court! If what you say is untrue, the damage you could have already caused is significant.

Killian glanced from the king to Christoph, to his friend Martin, then finally met the king's gaze again. Your Majesty, I apologize for my thoughtlessness. But my father does indeed suspect something of the nature from our two old allies.

Xavier sat back down. What evidence does he have to support this claim?

The prince launched into a long history of - in the king’s opinion - perceived insults from Honor Guard or the Order, some of them nearly twenty years old. Then he said something that piqued the king's interest.

And now, for the past two months, we've had no trade or contact with them at all, despite our best efforts. We've sent messenger after messenger, but no reply ever comes back. He paused and shook his head. For that matter, neither do the messengers.

King Xavier sat forward on his throne. Is there any word on what has happened to them?

None, Your Majesty. It is our hope that they are merely held prisoner, of course, but that hope is slim.

Xavier glanced at Christoph, who seemed to be thinking the same thing he was, for he laid a hand on the king's shoulder and said quietly, He'll be fine, my liege. He's very capable.

Killian glanced to Martin, who seemed to say something in his ear, then turned back to the king. Your Majesty, is everything all right?

Xavier composed himself quickly, sitting up straight-backed looking down on the prince. What you say rings true, young prince. My country has also experienced a... lapse in trade with our mutual allies. I sent my son, Prince Ryddin, Several days ago to speak with Honor Guard. The grave tidings you bring regarding your messengers worry me, though my son is well equipped and well accompanied, and I am sure that he will encounter no problems. Therefore I pray you, Your Highness, remain here as my guest until the return of Prince Ryddin, that we may both be apprised of the situation more fully. From there we will begin to formulate a plan of action. Until that time, let us no more speak of war.

Seeming to take his cue from the king's sudden formality, Killian dipped a quick bow. Yes, Your Majesty. I am honored to accept your hospitality and look forward to the safe return of my old friend Ryddin.

King McRuine stood up and returned the bow, grateful for the ability to hide his emotions under formality. A letter will be sent to your father immediately advising him of your safe arrival. I trust I will see you at supper. Good day, Your Highness.

Good day, Your Majesty, the prince replied as he and his companion turned on their heels and strode from the hall.

Once they were clear of the doors, King McRuine sat down heavily in his throne, put his head in his hands, and tried to fight back tears.

* * * * *

Dylen dove from his horse just in time to avoid the arrow. He hit the ground hard, but rolled to his feet, managing to keep his breath.

As he stood up, a man, clad all in black, flew from the woods toward him. Dylen pulled his sword free from the scabbard and flung it up to block his attacker’s descending dagger.

The impact almost jolted Dylen’s blade from his grip, but he held on and drove a kick into his enemy’s midsection. The man sprawled backward into the dirt. Before he could recover, Dylen kicked the blade from his hand, knelt down, and punched the man in the jaw knocking him unconscious.

As he stood up and turned, Dylen counted seven other black-clad assailants. Prince Ryddin fought two, Tristen and Roderick each fought one, and Sir Vandervon battled three in an attempt to get to the prince.

Surprise on his side, Dylen slipped up behind one of the prince’s attackers and hamstrung him. It was an odd feeling, Dylen had never intentionally cut another person before. All of his skill was theory and training, not practical. There was a lot more resistance than he’d imagined.

Prince Ryddin’s sword driving through the fallen man’s chest brought Dylen back to the moment. He turned around in time to see Sir Vandervon dispatch his second enemy and advance menacingly on the third one. Tristen and Roderick stood triumphantly over their foes. He spun back toward Prince Ryddin and watched as the prince ran his other assailant through.

When the brief fight was finished, Prince Ryddin shook his head sadly. Bandits. Has our country fallen so far?

Sir Vandervon was checking the bodies. Are there any left alive?

Dylen pointed to where he had felled his first enemy, but the man was gone.

-3-

Bison glanced around at the other four orcs seated at the table with him, each grim faced and staring hard at him. Their calloused hands gripped their tankards like weapons, seemingly waiting for Bison to make a wrong move, say the wrong thing.

Bison was nearly universally despised among the regular orc, for, try as he might, Bison could never be regular. He was an albino. A white-skinned, pink-eyed, pale-haired freak in a culture that only recently - most likely a result of contact with the civilized races - stopped killing any child born different, let alone accepting that difference into society.

But Bison knew that he had the upper hand here. They would probably jump him for it later, but he would finally beat them at their own game. Keeping his face as implacable as his opponents', Bison tossed two silver coins into the middle of the table.

Traa'shak slammed his mug on the table and guffawed. "Aww... da little one finks 'e kin play