Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia Read online

  Rogue Legacy

  The Secret History of Issalia

  Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Fallbrandt Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Author’s Note

  Map of Ancient Issalia

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Part II

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Also by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Copyright

  © 2018 by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  First printing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9994107-0-9

  PUBLISHED BY:

  JEFFREY L. KOHANK & FALLBRANDT PRESS

  www.JeffreyLKohanek.com

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  The Runes of Issalia Series:

  The Buried Symbol (May 2016)

  The Emblem Throne (October 2016)

  An Empire in Runes (April 2017)

  * * *

  Rogue Legacy (February 2018)

  * * *

  Look for Jeffrey’s next series, launching in mid-2018

  Author’s Note

  Rogue Legacy is a tale drawn from the lost histories of Issalia, set 400 years prior to the events that occur within The Runes of Issalia trilogy.

  While I prefer that readers use The Buried Symbol as their entry point into Issalia, this story was written such that it can enjoyed without reading the Runes series first.

  For more information about my books and the world of Issalia, visit www.JeffreyLKohanek.com. Be sure to sign up for my author newsletter for access to free bonus content and updates for each upcoming release.

  -Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Part I

  Duplicity

  1

  Harman eased the window open, wincing at the squeak that emerged. He poked his head out and found the alley below covered in shadows, the sky above purple – teetering between sunset and nightfall. One leg slipped through the window, his body following as he found a foothold on the vine-covered trellis. Pain shot into his finger, almost causing him to fall. The bloody fingertip found a moment of relief in his mouth as he tried to suck the pain away.

  “Stupid thorns,” he muttered.

  “Funny. I seem to have no problem with them.” Harman looked down and saw an old woman standing below, her hands on her hips. “Then again, I’m not the one who’s climbing down the trellis in hope of finding trouble.”

  Harman sighed and climbed down, dropping the last few feet to land in a crouch.

  “You’re old, Grandma Jane. You’re happy living a boring life.”

  The woman’s graying black eyebrows rose. “You think your life is so bad, then? In your fifteen years, you know all there is to know and you’re ready to conquer the world? Have you learned nothing from the history books I gave you?”

  With her arm about Harman, the old woman led him down the alley and toward the front door.

  “Since my parents sent me here, I haven’t done anything fun. My entire life was spent preparing for the Academy, but now that I’m to join the school, I realize that I have yet to see or do anything interesting.” Harman stepped through the door as the woman held it open for him. “Besides, I’m tired of studying history. Why do I need to learn about some dusty old king who’s long dead? I want to go out and experience the world.”

  Jane scooped the glowlamp from the sconce near the door and shook it, the soft blue light flaring up to light the room. She set the lamp on the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.

  “Please sit, Harman,” his grandmother beckoned. “I’ll pour us each a cup of tea.”

  Harman dropped into the chair, his shoulders slumping as he sulked. When his grandmother returned to the table, she set a steaming cup before him and sat at the opposite chair.

  “Believe it or not, I remember what it was like to be your age. The world is full of possibilities for you yet, a series of adventures waiting for you to find them.” Jane nodded with a bemused look on her face. “As for history, there’s a fair bit you can learn from it. You might find it less painful to discover what others have gleaned from their mistakes rather than making every mistake yourself. I’m sure you’ll make enough of them, regardless. Issal knows I did.”

  “I get it.” Harman tilted his head backward, running his hands from his forehead and through his black hair. “But studying is so boring.”

  The old woman frowned, her amber eyes meeting Harman’s. If not for the surrounding lines, one would find that their eyes mirrored one another. Harman took after his grandmother. Everyone told him so.

  “Perhaps a story will help to provide perspective.” Jane took a sip of tea, grimacing. “It needs a squeeze of lemon,” she sighed. “However, they’re out of season, and we are far from the ocean.” She set the cup down. “The tale I’m about to tell you is quite old. It’s a tale of sorrow, a tale of adventure, and a tale of wonder. Despite the outlandish nature, I assure you that this is what really happened. It includes the details that history forgets – and sometimes details make all the difference.

  “Let’s see…where to begin?” Jane put her finger to her chin as her mouth twisted in thought. “In the country of Vinacci, in a city called Vinhagus, there lived a girl…no. No, that’s too early.” Her brow furrowed for a moment before her eyes lit up. “I know. Let’s start in Vingarri instead.” The old woman’s gaze shifted outward, staring toward something distant, something Harman couldn’t see.

  “Picture yourself as a starfetch, soaring high above the Sol Mai Ocean, your wings stretched wide as you float on the never-ending ocean breeze. You tilt your body, wings extended as the wind carries you toward a city overlooking a sheltered bay. You circle, slowly descending toward rows of houses stacked on the hillside, strewn along a zigzagging dirt roadway that connects the castle at the top with the bustling harbor below.

  “A haunting melody captures your attention as you near the rooftops, the beauty of the sorrowful tune luring you i
n. Downward you spiral, irresistibly drawn to the music. The enchanting tune grows louder as you near its source – the first-story window of a house nestled halfway up the cliffside.

  “You flutter your orange-streaked wings and settle on the sill to find two people within. One, a middle-aged man with dark wavy hair and a bushy mustache that hides his upper lip. The other person, you discover, is the source of the mesmerizing song.

  “Blurred fingers masterfully stroke lute strings that accompany the haunting lilt of her voice. With black hair and eyes like amber pools in the light of the setting sun, the girl’s face portrays the emotion of her song. Beneath a sleeveless dress of pale blue, you notice that she retains a frame more common to someone younger than her fifteen summers might suggest.

  “Unable to restrain yourself, you begin to tweet along, providing harmony to the aria. Pointing your tiny beak toward the reddening sky, you lose yourself in the emotion of the song, swaying to the rhythm of the melody. Far too soon, the song reaches its conclusion, the last remnants of the final strum remaining in the air, the music refusing to accept its fate…until it is swallowed by the sound of crashing waves, far below. With the melodic spell broken, you take flight to return to your nest for the evening.”

  “Very good, Lyra,” the man said as he dried his eyes. “Very good, indeed. I believe your skills are now beyond mine, leaving me with little I can teach you.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Lyra responded, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “Does that mean I can finally play for an audience?”

  Her father grunted. “The inns that might allow you to play are no place for a young lady like yourself.” He stood and held his hand toward her. “I shall seek you an audience a bit more refined. There are options between playing in a tavern and playing for Queen Iglesia.”

  As she handed the lute to him, she smiled. “Really? You promise?”

  Taking the lute, her father smiled in return. “Yes. I’ll find you something soon.” He lifted the instrument over his head as he slid the strap over his shoulder. “But now, I must go to the castle. The Queen has guests tonight and I’m to perform,”

  Lyra stood, smoothing her skirt. “Do you know who the guests are?”

  He stared at Lyra as he considered a response. “I’m not sure. Some duke or baron, I suppose.” He slid his hat into position and stepped to the door. “I expect I’ll be back late, so don’t wait up for me. Keep the door locked, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Lyra nodded. “Goodnight, Father.”

  With a final nod toward his daughter, he slipped out the door, pulled it closed, and used his key to secure the bolt.

  Lyra stared at the door, listening as the key slid into the lock, clicked into place, and was withdrawn. She moved toward the open window and peeked her head out to survey the street outside. When she saw the back of her father’s green cloak heading uphill, a smile crossed her face. After closing and locking the window, she bolted to the stairwell.

  Reaching the second floor, she ducked into her room and stripped down to her shift. The movement in her vanity mirror caused her to pause, turning as she held her shift tight to her stomach and examined her reflection. She frowned at the athletic figure in the mirror, one that appeared too much like a boy. A sigh slipped free. The women in Vinacci tended toward voluptuous and she envied their curves. Perhaps her body might blossom as she matured. For now, she would use her physique to her advantage.

  Lyra loosened the buckles of the sheath strapped to her thigh and set it on the bed. She shifted to the foot of her bed, bending to open her storage chest and removed a pair of tan breeches. After slipping them on, she grunted as she forced her feet into a pair of black riding boots that stopped just below the knee, covering the bottom of her breeches. A black tunic emerged from the chest, sliding over Lyra’s head - the shirt covering her arms to the wrists, laces tightened past her collarbone. An old brown leather coat came next, covering the tunic and adding some bulk to her frame.

  Using both hands, Lyra gathered her hair behind her head and tied a black ribbon around the tail. She dug into the chest and grabbed her wide-brimmed hat. With a couple thrusts of her fingers into the collapsed bowl, she unflattened the hat, slipped it into her head, and turned toward the mirror. With a satisfied nod, she watched the boyish image in the looking glass mimic the action.

  Lyra bent and dug deep into the chest until her fingers found a leather pouch. The weight in her palm brought a satisfied grin to her face. She slid the pouch into her coat pocket and ran back downstairs, taking two steps at a time.

  A click sounded when she unlocked the deadbolt. She opened the door and glanced up the street. Although her father was long gone, she remained on edge – leery that he might return for some odd reason. Fishing her key from her pocket, she locked the door and stepped off the brick stoop to inspect the house. A dark interior lie beyond the closed windows, while the weathered gray wood siding and worn shutters made the narrow building seem no different from those surrounding it. Non-descript. Boring. Perfect.

  Lyra strolled down the dirt road, taking a deep breath of the salty ocean air, enjoying the smell of freedom.

  Local citizens passed her as they trudged up the steep grade, returning to their homes on the hillside. Most moved with heavy steps, their faces appearing weary. She wondered if it was the result of the climb or a long day at work. Perhaps it was just a side effect of their dreary lives. A few others, like her, were heading toward the Vingarri business district, nestled in an arc that encircled the capital city’s harbor.

  As Lyra neared the bottom of the hill, the traffic thickened. She passed shops and street vendors who were closing for the day, many boasting last-minute deals in hope of ridding themselves of perishable inventory. A stab of panic emerged, her pulse racing when she noticed a man with a lute on his back. The scare was brief, ending when she determined that he was just a stranger with a build similar to her father. With her father safely tucked within the queen’s castle, there was little chance she might run into him.

  Continuing on, she turned at the next corner and descended the stairs the led toward the docks, the damp air thickening as it grew cooler. She emerged from a narrow, torchlit alley and approached her evening destination. As she stepped inside, the loud buzz of conversation greeted her, along with the smell of stale ale, undoubtedly spilled days or weeks earlier.

  Lyra weaved her way across the busy room, knowing exactly where to find the game. A cluster of men in the corner would have been a clue if not for her previous visits to the tavern. The Striped Dog had become among her favorite evening haunts since she and her father moved to Vingarri.

  The crowd before her erupted with a collective sigh, “Aww”.

  As men clapped each other’s backs and exchanged coins, Lyra wiggled her way through them, into the heart of the action. To one side of an open circle stood a young man with wavy black hair, the look of frustration on his face. Across the circle stood a sailor – tall and sinewy with a brown goatee, a shaved head, and a ring in one ear. The sailor laughed heartily and clapped the young man on the shoulder.

  “’Twas a good try, Roland. However, you have to do better than that to beat Sully at a game of Tali.” The sailor lifted his tankard toward the younger man with a nod before taking a long swig.

  Roland glanced at Lyra, and he gave a subtle nod when their eyes met.

  Lyra stepped into the circle and said with a deep voice, “I have some coin for a match.”

  Sully wiped the foam from his lips as he stared down at Lyra. The sailor’s gaze swept her from head to toe, his brow furrowing in the process.

  “Ain’t you a bit young for gambling, laddie?” Sully asked.

  Lyra shrugged. “My silver is as good as anyone else’s.”

  Lyra pulled a silver coin from her pocket and tossed it into the circle. The sailor’s eyes followed the coin, watching it as it settled on the dirt floor.

  “This is Aryl,” Roland said. “He’
s been here before, and he’s a fine player. He’s even beat me a time or two, although I find myself winning often when playing him.”

  Sully’s brow shot up, his smile revealing two missing teeth. “Well, then. I guess I could humor the lad with a game.” He stared Lyra in the eye. “Ya’ sure you want to be betting silver, laddie? We can play for a copper or two.”

  Lyra shrugged. “Silver is fine by me.”

  “Suit yerself,” Sully said as he pulled out a coin purse, digging inside until he withdrew a silver mark, which he tossed to the floor beside Lyra’s coin.

  “You have your own knucklebones, then?” Sully asked.

  Lyra removed a pouch from her coat pocket, loosened the drawstring, and poured the contents into her palm. When Sully saw how the five knucklebones filled her small palm, he gave a nod.

  “To show I’m a good sport, I’ll even let you go first,” the man said.

  Lyra nodded. “Um. Thanks.”