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  ROGUE

  SHADOW BRIGADE BOOK ONE

  Copyright

  Rogue© copyright 2018 Robyn Wideman

  Published: Sept 2018

  Publisher: Magicblood Media Corp

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  Author Notes

  1

  Rogue

  A dour figure crouched low, peering over the precipice of a high, obscure cliff. His dark eyes scanned the highway below. “They should be coming out of the forest at any minute now,” Rogue muttered to himself as he eyed the steep slope he would have to traverse to get back down to the road.

  A pair of riders emerged from the woods. Two hard-looking men wearing the king’s colors.

  “This is it.” Rogue inhaled slowly. With the ease of experience, he forced himself to move slowly, even though the sight of the two men sent through him an urge to remain practically invisible. The sun was behind him and shining bright. To see him, the men would have to shield their eyes, and even then his tunic was a faded wool that blended into the rocks. The only thing that would give him away would be a sudden movement or a reflection, and he’d prepared for those possibilities.

  Following several hundred yards behind the two riders came a carriage. Rogue ever so slowly shifted his weight and moved to his left. He leaned back so his haunches were against the mountain and lifted his left foot, placing it behind the boulder he’d prepared earlier. He waited for the lead riders to cross the bridge, then started his countdown. When the count reached thirty, he pushed with all his might and sent the boulder crashing down the mountainside. It rumbled down, knocking loose other rocks until a full-blown landslide was crashing down the mountain towards the road below.

  Without pausing to watch the effects of the landslide, Rogue darted to his right and down the mountain. He jumped, hopped, and slid until he landed on the road just beside the bridge. The two front riders, having heard the landslide, had already turned back and were riding towards the bridge to check on their companions. Rogue reached under the bridge, took the rope, and gave it a hard tug. The pillars he’d precut toppled over and the bridge collapsed into the gorge below. The riders were cut off from the carriage.

  Rogue turned back to the carriage. He’d timed the rockslide perfectly. The landslide had piled a tremendous amount of rocks and dirt behind the carriage, cutting off the two riders who had been following behind it. Now Rogue was isolated on the road with the carriage.

  Rogue ran towards it. The driver was busy settling down his team of horses, but his partner was pulling back on his bow to fire an arrow at him. Rogue dove forward and to the side. He felt the arrow zip past his head. He rolled and kept running forward. As he rose from his roll, Rogue pulled a dagger out and threw it, striking the bowman on top of the carriage.

  The driver, having finally gotten the spooked team of horses stopped and under control, had tied off the reins and was getting off the carriage to confront Rogue. He was met by a hard right to the chin that sent him sprawling. He landed on his back, unconscious.

  With the driver and bowman out of commission, Rogue slowed down. He opened the door and looked into the carriage. A man sat nervously inside, the color drawn out of his face and his knuckles white as he clutched the edge of his seat in fear.

  The man tried to put on a bold face. “I am an official of the king. What right do you have to stop my carriage?”

  Rogue grinned. “None at all. However, you have something I want, so I did it anyways.”

  “There is nothing here for you,” said the man stiffly.

  Rogue’s grin disappeared and his eyes narrowed menacingly. “You are a tax collector who just visited three villages to the east of here. Lie to me again and there will be consequences. Now hand over the money.”

  The tax collector reached into his pocket and pulled out a sack of coins. He handed it to Rogue.

  Hefting the sack in his hand, Rogue shook his head. With his empty hand he reached into the carriage and grabbed the tax collector. He viciously pulled the man until his face smashed into the side of the carriage.

  “Arg!” cried the tax collector. He put his hand to his face and tried to stop the blood from flowing further. “You broke my nose!”

  Rogue reached back into the carriage and the tax collector’s outrage rapidly turned to fear as he squirmed to get out of reach. Rogue held out his hand and gave a come-here gesture. “The rest of the gold.”

  “This is an outrage. The king will have you flayed for this.”

  Rogue nodded. “And worse, if he ever catches me. However, that isn’t your concern. Your only concern is getting out of this situation alive. And every second you delay giving me the coins, the chances of you living decreases dramatically.”

  The tax collector’s resolve finally broke. He touched a knot on the wooden carriage seat and a secret compartment opened. He pulled out two more sacks, both far heavier than the first one he’d given up. He reluctantly tossed them to the door, not wanting to get within touching distance of Rogue again.

  Rogue grabbed the sacks and nodded at the tax collector. “Give the king my regards.” He then turned and looked back at the landslide. The two riders who’d been cut off from the carriage had dismounted and were making their way over.

  Running as fast as he could with the three sacks of gold, Rogue headed down the side of the mountain. He ran a route he’d picked before the attack, avoiding the numerous trees and boulders that would’ve slowed him down had he not known exactly when to turn.

  Two minutes of travel down the mountain brought Rogue to his horse. He placed the sacks in the horse’s saddlebag and mounted. He could hear the crashing and swearing of the king’s men as they tried to chase him down the mountain. Rogue squeezed his legs around his horse. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to the animal. As the horse started forward, Rogue looked back up the mountain. One of the king’s men came into sight as he tumbled down and crashed into a tree. Rogue grinned and rode away unscathed with the king’s gold. By the time the king’s men got back to the road, got their horses and found a way down the mountain he’d be long gone. The king of Middle Vaton had just made one more payment against the debt owed to Rogue.

  2

  Vernon

  Picking the lock to the entrance, Vernon Glaire entered the sewers. With the evening’s festivities at the council, gaining entry to the castle grounds had been easy; he’d walked right through the main gates with a group of party goers. After that it had been simple to fall behind the group and veer off to the woods surrounding the castle.

  Vernon held his breath as he hunched over and walked along the stone walkway. He held his hand out and created a small glowing orb of magic to light his way. He chuckled at the thought of a secret passageway through the sewers that needed a stone walkway. Whoever had designed the sewers knew a thing or two about the need to escape quickly. Trudging through sewer waters would make escape far more challenging than having a separate escape tunnel.

  It wasn’t long before Vernon found the secret door. He examined the brick wall beside the door until he spotted the brick he was looking for. Pushing the brick, Vernon smiled as it moved a
nd he heard a click. He pushed open the door and entered the passageway. After a short walk, he entered a dark corner of the castle’s cellar.

  “You are late,” said the man waiting for him.

  Vernon shrugged. “You didn’t say the baron was holding a party here tonight. There were dozens of carriages and visitors out there.”

  The man looked carefully at Vernon, trying to see past the glowing light of Vernon’s magical orb to his face under his hood. “Were you seen?”

  “Of course, but not entering the sewers.”

  The man seemed satisfied with the answer. “Come this way.”

  Vernon followed as the man led him out of the cellar and down a series of hallways. The lower section of the castle was like a maze. Finally, the man opened a door and indicated for Vernon to enter.

  Inside the room were three figures in dark travel robes with the hoods up so their faces wouldn’t be revealed. It didn’t matter to Vernon, as clients who wanted to keep their identities safe were usually the ones who paid the best. Besides, the men hadn’t changed their shoes and Vernon knew where they were from because of it. If things went sideways he knew where to look.

  “Please come in,” said the man in the middle.

  Vernon walked forward, making his glowing orb disappear. The two torches in the room were more than enough light. He didn’t want these men seeing his face any more than they wanted him seeing theirs. “I understand you have a job offer?”

  The middle man nodded. It seemed he was the spokesperson in the group. “Yes.” He turned to the man on his left. “Give him the list.”

  Vernon accepted the list and stepped closer to one of the torches. He turned so that the light would illuminate the list and not his face.

  “Can you handle it?”

  The list was short but several of the names were people of great importance, and once the killings started it wouldn’t take long for people to see the pattern. “This would be costly, but it can be done.”

  The third hooded man stepped forward and put a heavy sack in Vernon’s hand. He then stepped back without saying a word.

  “That should be enough to get you started,” said the spokesperson for the three.

  “Some of the names will take a while. I’d have to travel or send men I trust.”

  “We don’t care who kills them, just that it gets done, and sooner the better.”

  Vernon nodded. That made things simpler. “Good. I will take care of the top name myself.”

  “Just be aware. The job isn’t done until all the names are taken care of.”

  “I’ve always finished what I’ve started. It is why I’m the best,” Vernon said. “You make sure you have the rest of the gold ready.” He then looked towards the door. “A list like this, I will have to take certain precautions.”

  The spokesperson nodded and then the three hooded men walked out of the room, leaving Vernon alone. The fourth, who was their inside man in the castle, stood waiting for Vernon. “Count your gold if you like but be quick about it. I can’t stay down here forever.”

  Vernon attached the sack to his belt. “No need.”

  They went back through the maze of corridors to the cellar and the secret passage. When they reached the sewers, Vernon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bludgeon. “Thanks for the tour. I think I’m going to sneak into the party now. No one will notice one more visitor, and I could use a drink,” he said.

  The man turned to look at Vernon. “Are you out of your mi—”

  Vernon struck him across the head. The man fell face-first into the sewer waters. The blow might not have killed him, but it made drowning him in the shallow water of the sewer much simpler. “Sorry, friend, but can’t have any witnesses. I’m sure you understand.”

  Leaving the body in the sewer water, Vernon headed into the trees. When he reached the road, he started to stumble as if he was drunk. When he reached the outer gates of the estate the guards looked at him in amusement. He was just another drunken reveler from the party.

  Once he was a distance from the gates, Vernon stood up straight again and started to whistle. The killing of the messenger, likely a member of the house staff of the baron who owned the castle, hadn’t been part of the original plan, but when one is asked to murder a prince, one can’t be too careful.

  3

  Rogue

  Rogue, or that dirty thieving bastard, as others called him, sat alone in the corner of the bar. He’d only been in town for an hour and already there was trouble looming.

  Sam, the bartender, brought Rogue a beer. “Here you go,” Sam said as he placed the drink in front of Rogue. He then leaned in and whispered in Rogue’s ear. “You have to watch the big one, he fights dirty. Likes to use brass knuckles.”

  Rogue gave the briefest of nods. Anyone watching would’ve thought he was being rude to Sam.

  As Sam headed back to the bar, Rogue scanned the room. It was a typical weekend night. Plenty of young men from the nearby mines and nearly as many from logging camps to the west. During the week the bar was tame, but every weekend the workers came to town to spend their hard-earned coin, and their favorite place to spend said coin was the Wretched Wench. On a slow day, the Wench was a rowdy and vulgar place that catered to all a man’s carnal wants. On a weekend it was downright nasty. Fights between miners and lumberjacks were common. And when they weren’t fighting each other they were fighting the locals, who took pride in being able to drink, fight, and fornicate just as well as the weekend crowds. It was said the village of Riverside was the roughest place east of the Harthorne, the infamous city to the east. Rogue knew Harthorne and knew it was far worse than Riverside. The Wretched Wench was Riverside’s only truly bad bar, and Harthorne had three that made the Wretched Wench look like a monastery. In Riverside, a bad night meant losing all your money and spending your night in the local drunk tank—or being stabbed or beaten. In Harthorne’s bars, they called that an average night.

  The trouble Sam was referring to came in the form of a new group of miners who were drinking hard and looking to start trouble. They wanted to be known as the toughest men in the Wretched Wench. An honor that many had enjoyed over the years, and an honor that many more had proven unworthy of. Sitting at his corner table, Rogue could hear all the conversations of the nearby tables. The big one was called Loron. Loron had beaten up two sturdy lumberjacks last weekend and had been eyeing up Heath Brown, the local blacksmith. Heath was a regular at the Wretched Wench and was considered one of the toughest men in town. But when Loron approached Heath and asked him if he thought he was the toughest man in Riverside, Heath had shaken his head and said, “Not tonight. Rogue is in town.” Which led Loron and his companions to return to their table of miners to find out who Heath was talking about.

  The miners were across the room, out of hearing range, but Rogue didn’t need to hear them to see the looks that were being sent his way. Some of the older miners were warning Loron, while others were egging him on.

  Rogue smiled and drank his beer, savoring the cold liquor. Sam had a cold room where he kept ice, brought down from the mountains, packed in straw. All year round, the Wretched Wench had cold beer. It was one of the reasons Rogue kept coming back. The other reason was the lovely ladies who worked there.

  The big miner, Loron, stood up and walked across the room. By now, most of the patrons in the bar knew his intentions and the tables between him and Rogue started clearing out of the way. Others around the bar turned their chairs so they wouldn’t miss the action.

  “I hear you think you’re tough,” Loron said as he reached Rogue’s table. He curled his large hands into fists and put them on the table, causing it to rock slightly.

  Rogue was impressed. The man’s hands were huge. The size of a small ham, they were meaty, and his knuckles were well-scarred, definitely the hands of a fighter. He could also see the slight scars that ran across his hands from using brass knuckles. Rogue guessed that more than once the big man had missed his target and h
it his hands against something hard like a wall. Something soft like a man’s face or belly wouldn’t cause that kind of scarring. Yet his face was attractive and unmarked. This was a young man who fought often yet didn’t take much damage.

  Taking another drink of his beer, Rogue leaned back in his chair. “Not me. I’m a lover, not a fighter. And you’re not my type.”

  Loron grinned. He looked around the room and spoke louder, so all his audience could hear him. “I’m not your type? I suppose that means you like little boys? I’ve heard stories about men like you. You only like to wrestle with the pretty ones. Don’t want to fight a real man.”

  Rogue casually drank his beer, slowly tipping it back and finishing the mug in one long swig. He put down the mug and let out a satisfied belch. “Damn fine beer they have here. You should try it.”

  Loron looked disgusted. “Beer? Beer’s a woman’s drink. I only drink whiskey or ale.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Rogue replied, “Suit yourself. More for me.”

  Frustrated by his inability to draw Rogue into a fight, Loron turned to the rest of the room. “What type of joke is this? This milk drinker can’t be the toughest man in Riverside? A boy-loving, beer-drinking wanker.”

  “For a guy trying to pick a fight, you sure talk a lot,” Rogue said. Still leaning back in his chair, Rogue suddenly used his foot to push his table forward into Loron. The table was slightly higher than the big miner’s knees and when it hit Loron in the back of the legs it buckled his knees, sending him falling back into the table.

  For a big man, Loron moved quick. He turned his hips and reached around to grab the table to keep from falling on top of it. The problem was that as he reached out to grab the table, Rogue was coming forward, lunging from his sitting position into a wicked uppercut that landed square on Loron’s jaw. Loron’s head snapped back, but the tough miner took the blow without falling. He pushed the table to the side to get at Rogue.