Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2)

by Matthew Wolf

  She raised a brow. How had he known?

  “Your power?” Faye questioned, torches lighting her beautiful face.

  Ayva sighed. “It’s nothing, just lead on.”

  With a shrug, the woman motioned to the manacles in Ayva’s bag. “Best put those to good use now.” Ayva did as she said, shackling her hands together. The manacles were seamless metal with only a tiny hole for a key, which she held in her pocket. She’d made certain the act of reaching for the key and unlocking her bindings wouldn’t be too difficult. She was in Faye’s hands, but Ayva wasn’t wholly mad.

  Darius bound his wrists as well, cursing the whole while.

  “Mind telling us what we’re in for?” the rogue questioned.

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin. Just stay close to my side and look servile.”

  With that they marched forward, towed behind Faye like two docile and fearful prisoners. They moved through the tunnels, heading deeper. Suddenly, she saw a bright light ahead, along with the sound of voices and footsteps.

  Faye slowed and jabbed Ayva with an elbow. “Wipe that look from your face, girl, or you’re going to get us all killed.”

  “What look?”

  “That petulant fire in your eyes—the one that says you want me dead,” Faye answered. “No prisoner I’ve ever held continues to wear that look. Not in my presence.”

  At her side, Ayva’s fist tightened, her fire and anger rising. What had this woman done in her past life? How much blood had she shed? Just how many men and women had cowered in fear of her? She said she wanted to move beyond it, but there was no way to trust that. Of course she would say that, Ayva thought. And yet… Don’t all people deserve a second chance?

  Reluctantly, Ayva made her face as meek as possible just as they turned the bend and saw a group of sword-bearing guards arguing. Each bore the bloodshot eye upon their sleeves.

  At their appearance, the guards turned.

  Faye approached, head high and back straight—a queen amid her servants.

  “Name yourself,” said the biggest guard, brandishing his blade.

  “Faye Tumai’ Sliverus,” Faye intoned. Her voice—it had suddenly shifted. It was darker and full of importance. Ayva shivered.

  The other men seemed shocked by her words too, stiffening. All dropped their hands from their blades, and several fell to one knee reverently.

  “I’ve heard that name,” said a wiry Darkeye thug nervously.

  “An officer,” breathed another.

  Somehow Ayva knew that Faye was no simple officer.

  The big man swaggered forward. He was two-hands taller than Faye, but still she managed to look as if she was looking down her nose at him. He grunted, unimpressed, stepping forward threateningly. “An officer? And what is an officer doing without any of her followers?” He took another step, closer still.

  “Take another step, I dare you,” Faye breathed.

  The man laughed, and his booted foot lifted. Suddenly, his eyes split wide. Ayva hadn’t seen the dagger. She was certain no one had, especially the big brute. But Faye was cleaning her blade between her two fingers, flicking the blood onto the man’s body.

  “Any other objections?” Faye asked softly.

  The rest of the smaller men fell to their knees. “Proceed, Officer Sliverus.”

  And they did, moving deeper into the tunnels, which were now wide enough for two carts to pass side-by-side. The tunnel broke, opening up to a sudden chamber that took Ayva’s breath away. High above, she saw the dirt roof of the cavern. It fell hundreds of paces, to a wide basin beneath. A broad ramp spiraled down, hugging the sides of the cavern to the basin below. The whole thing was shaped like an inverted cone. All along the spiraling ramp were tunnels from which hundreds of men came and went. Down in the basin, Ayva spotted a swarm of structures like a small city.

  Darius’ mouth worked at her side, soundlessly. “What in the dice…” he finally breathed.

  Faye shot him a look as two big men passed, carting prisoners of their own. The Darkeye thugs cast Ayva and Darius wary glances, just as Faye snapped. “Move, you sacks of meat!” Ayva gasped as something sharp jabbed her lower back, pain blossoming.

  Luckily, the men continued on, laughing.

  Ayva let loose a breath, subduing an acrid look meant for Faye, knowing the woman had drawn blood with her sword. But Faye’s eyes were simply cold, brown embers as she guided them along the path, spiraling deeper and deeper. Darkeye’s thugs passed them in a steady stream. Most prodded prisoners of their own, treating emaciated men and women like human refuse. Ayva was surprised to see so many Darkeye thugs were women, but she knew the path of evil was equally appealing to all.

  As they spiraled deeper, she glanced into the dark tunnels using the corner of her vision. She noticed some led to bright paths while others were dimmer. On some paths, men wore clothes that practically fell from their bodies, carrying shoddy goods and half-broken boxes. The deeper they went, though, the fancier the loot and the thugs.

  Eyes fell to them, as if wanting to question or perhaps even just to snatch the prisoners. The brutes looked like hungry beasts wanting scraps, but a mere glance from Faye sent them running. She had thought previously that Faye was always comfortable with any setting, but this was different. This was truly Faye in her element.

  Men muttered things to Faye, eyeing her clothes as they passed, or the ornate bloodshot eye upon her breast. Their words reached Ayva’s ears as she kept her head bent.

  “Purge the weak, and find your strength.”

  “Kill the weak, protect the strong.”

  “Weakness, death—strength, life.”

  And most frequently, “The bloodshot eye sees all.”

  To some, Faye merely nodded, the rest, however, she ignored. Only to a few truly deadly looking men did she murmur something in reply, but no more than a word.

  They reached the bottom of the pit and Ayva had no trouble maintaining a look of fear, though she had difficulty not reaching for her hidden dagger.

  The Lair of the Beast.

  It was a small city, if a city could be purely evil. The floor of the basin was filled with men, women, and beasts. Sounds and sights flooded them—grunts, shouts, cries, the clashing of steel from nearby smithies, the hiss of steam, and a hundred other sounds and smells assaulted Ayva. But even worse were the sights.

  Cages littered the ground.

  As they walked, Ayva had to suppress her anger, seeing sad faces behind those rusted iron bars. Animals were caged as well—dogs, boars, goats, horses, and even stranger creatures.

  They passed a cluster of huge cages, twice as tall as any man, and Darius gasped. Ayva eyed beasts with huge white wings, bodies of brown animals, giant talons, and faces like a regal birds. Gryphons, she knew. The gryphons moved about in their cages restlessly, flapping their wings, causing gusts of wind, or screeching loudly. The worst were the ones that didn’t move. Ayva eyed an older gryphon with brown, molting feathers. It eyed her with huge, intelligent blue eyes, and Ayva’s heart hurt. She had trouble not rushing to the cages and shattering the locks, but instead, she made a vow.

  I will save you, she promised.

  “We’re nearly there,” Faye whispered softly as men, women and children shuffled by, all shackled in a long chain. Ayva’s fist tightened at her side, rage welling. Distantly, she nodded. Let us save Hannah and be out of this foul place, at least until we can return with an army in tow.

  They passed another set of cages stacked high, and in each were creatures that made Ayva’s heart clench. They were pale white beasts, almost human looking, save for distinct differences. Huge, bright silver eyes watched the three—too keenly and too predatory-like. Silver hair spiked from their shoulders like furry pauldrons. They were neither muscled, nor lean. Long, silver claws retracted from their human hands, in and out rhythmically. And many growled, showing long, shiny fangs, slavering with hunger. But most strange of all, they all bore short horns, translucent in color, many of
them warped or thorny, others simply straight. They bashed them against the heavy cages, rattling the ground and sending small shivers through Ayva.

  “Phoxes,” Faye explained in a low whisper. “All males, however, the females have huge, ornate horns… If there are any still alive.”

  “What are they doing here? What does Darkeye want with them?” Ayva whispered, eyes to the ground—it was hard, though, to keep her gaze from returning to the curious creatures.

  “Phoxes are powerful creatures. Not to mention they are the only things untouched by a Darkwalker’s killing touch. However, they are feral, and utterly uncontrollable.”

  “Then why does Darkeye want them?”

  “Darkeye seeks the last females,” Faye replied. “Tales say that among the females there is a Matriarch. And some say that the Matriarch will even bond with a human if she deems you worthy. If one can do that, then the males will obey that man or woman to the death. Of course, most who see a phox in the wild, let alone the Matriarch, simply die a quick death.”

  Ayva swallowed. “And what then?”

  “Darkeye cannot contend with the might of the Citadel… but with an army of phoxes at his command?”

  Ayva shivered, looking away. She didn’t want to think of a man like Darkeye with an army of foul thieves let alone magical creatures. It was a fearful notion. They entered a large burrow at the bottom of the pit. “Beware the next bend. These next men will be Darkeye’s Officers.”

  They rounded the corner.

  The tunnel was wider and darker, even though torches burned on the walls. It was as if the darkness was too strong, repelling the light of the fires.

  Ahead, a horde of men waited before a set of tall pikes that were planted in the ground and aimed at them. A few bigger, better-dressed men sat at a wide table, playing cards or conversing in low voices. The rest wielded crude weapons and stood at attention.

  Suddenly, Ayva recognized one of the men. He was smaller and sat at the table, complaining loudly. He cradled one arm in a sling while his other was lacerated with a host of bright white scars. At his hip was an assortment of serrated daggers, like broken teeth from a cruel beast. His one eye shifted as they approached, squinting, then widening in recognition. The man’s boney face twisted in a slow, wicked grin.

  Adorry Droverson.

  The man rose from the table, sauntering forward. “Well, well, what a pleasant reunion! So you’ve captured these two, finally. I knew it would be only a matter of time until one of the clan brought them in. Where exactly did you find them?”

  Faye, however, ignored him, approaching the biggest officer. “We come under Darkeye’s orders. He wants these two without delay.”

  “The mark,” the big officer ordered gruffly.

  Faye pulled down her upper-sleeve—a flap had been built in to show her branded skin, shaped in the image of an ornate Bloodshot Eye. The man grinned with a nod and began to exchange words with Faye that Ayva couldn’t quite make out.

  Adorry moved to Darius, sniffing the rogue like a mangy hound, face grimacing. “I smell your fear…” True enough, the rogue stared straight ahead, but terror etched his features. Is he still feigning? Ayva wondered. If he was, it was truly believable. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?” Adorry asked snidely.

  Darius’ fear flickered, a smirk flashing across his face, but then it was gone.

  Adorry looked confused, as if questioning what he had seen. He looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed Darius’ reaction. With a snarl, Adorry backhanded Darius across the face with his good hand. Blood sprayed the dirt. “I’ll be glad to see you hang for trying to make me look the fool. Darkeye will enjoy breaking you,” Adorry said then looked to Faye. “Beware of this one, he is a foul Untamed.”

  Ayva realized Adorry must not have seen Faye reveal herself at Maris’ Luck. The man was not only buying the ruse, but also somehow reinforcing their ploy.

  Faye pulled her sleeve back up. “His power is meek,” she said, “Only a weakling would fear it.”

  Adorry snorted, not rising to the taunt. Ayva saw fear in the man’s eyes as his gaze glanced to Faye. In fact, each officer eyed Faye’s menacing form of dark plate, fitted leather, and spray of weapons with trepidation. It made Ayva want to shiver—who was the true monster, the one they followed or the ones they were trying to avoid?

  Faye grabbed Ayva and Darius’ chain and yanked them forward, but as she did, Adorry slid before her like a serpent, blocking her path. “Why have you no men? You’ve just a few little rats following on your tail like pups looking for their mother’s teat. Speaking of which,” he said, leering at her chest.

  Faye ignored the man’s gaze. “Let us pass.”

  The two other officers and their horde of men stood aside.

  “Move aside, Adorry. It is Darkeye’s will,” said the biggest of the three officers, a man with an unruly scar that split his face. “Besides, this one should not be messed with, even you should realize that.”

  But Adorry didn’t budge. “Oh I’ll let her go soon enough, Gundar. But before I do, I think I’ll take one as a prize and payment for my broken arm. Anyway, I’m sure Darkeye won’t mind having just one prisoner to toy with,” he said with a laugh then gestured to several men. They lurched forward, grabbing Ayva’s arms before she could react.

  Instinctually, she fought. She wanted to cry out, to tell them to get off as their greasy fingers pawed at her and their rank, sour breaths suffocated her, but Faye had been clear. Her prisoners did not react that way. Ayva clamped her eyes, feeling their hands but forcing down her fear. She would not give away their ruse and be the one to doom Zane’s sister. She would rather die.

  “Now, you may go,” Adorry announced. The men’s hands continued to grope her more and more, and terror rose over Ayva’s barrier of calm as dreadful thoughts surfaced, a scream rising in her throat.

  “Let go of her,” Faye whispered. It was a voice so cold it made Ayva open her eyes despite the vulgar men around her.

  Faye hadn’t moved.

  “I think not,” Adorry replied haughtily.

  Faye’s hand glided slightly closer to her mace.

  Several large men stepped before her, blocking her path to Adorry who merely grinned. Faye’s hand crept another sliver closer. The men gripping Ayva reached for their blades—their fingers tightening on her nervously. The tension mounted. Then, as if it was a cord, it snapped. The two brutes near Ayva dove at Faye’s back. Small roots sprouted, breaking earth. They grabbed the men’s feet, and the brutes’ faces smashed into the ground. The other men blocking Adorry with their bodies leapt at Faye with a cry. Faye’s hands flickered. Two daggers found their mark, one lodging itself in the first man’s throat, the next dagger in another man’s chest. Both fell, looking confused. Two more men replaced them, moving faster and stronger. Daggers bounced off their leather armor, as if metal plate was beneath it. They sneered, slashing for Faye’s head. Casually, almost bored, Faye ducked. She withdrew two maces, caving in the first man’s head, then, breaking the second man’s knee. The man reached for his knee, opening his mouth to cry, but a sword suddenly flashed from Faye’s sheath, cutting the man’s scream short.

  Both crumpled, silent.

  Four men dead, and two injured in a matter of seconds.

  Adorry watched it all in both fear and confusion. His one eye narrowed on Faye, face quivering with rage. Suddenly, his one good arm moved with lightning speed and daggers flew through the air. One hit Faye, clattering off her armor, but then Ayva realized it was just a distraction. Four bits of steel hurtled towards Ayva’s face. She wanted to flinch, but instead she dove into her mind, pulling out of desperation. Something flickered—a bright white sun—and she summoned strange threads into the air. Bright light flashed. Metal sizzled, dropping from the air. One, two, three. All but the last dagger fell harmlessly to the ground… The last dagger flew, nearly reaching her. Ayva’s power wavered. No! She screamed inwardly, grasping at the sun as its ligh
t sputtered, dying. Work! She commanded, reaching and pulling hard. But the white sun vanished like a snuffed flame.

  The dagger flew.

  Ayva closed her eyes, waiting for it to hit.

  Silence.

  Suddenly, she realized her breathing was all she heard. She cracked open her lids and saw a piece of steel floating between her eyes. Faye’s armored hand held the dagger tightly. Her brown eyes now glowered like burning slits. She caught the blade, Ayva realized. Blood dripped from Faye’s glove and she threw the dagger aside. Voice robbed from her throat, Ayva nodded her thanks. Faye grudgingly returned the gesture.

  Turning back, Ayva saw that Adorry lay dead—several fletched arrows sprouting from his chest, and Faye’s crossbow still held in her other hand. The other officers were silent. They had watched the whole thing without moving. Their men numbered easily three-dozen, and they wore mixed expressions of fear, confusion, and hatred. Ayva thanked their luck. If the rest of the officers had joined the tousle, none of them would be alive.

  Faye straightened, turning back with the air of a monarch having just executed an unruly subject. She looked around, as if daring any of them to object. Then, she snatched Ayva’s and Darius’ chains and shoved them forward.

  Slowly, the officers moved aside, and their men parted like a dark sea. With Faye in the lead, Ayva and Darius made their way deeper into the tunnels.

  “How in the seven hells did we just survive that?” Darius whispered.

  “Luck,” Faye said darkly. “Adorry both legitimized our ruse and nearly foiled us.”

  But Ayva knew it was not luck. As she eyed Faye, she had a flash of guilt. Perhaps the woman was good.

  “I’m just glad that fool is dead at least,” Darius muttered.

  “Never be glad for death,” Faye said. “For Adorry’s death might be our doom or salvation. One can never tell the future.”

  “He was an arrogant, lecherous fool,” Darius countered. “He deserved it.”

  “I’ve done worse than that man. Do I deserve death?” Faye asked, and Darius’ mouth shut, disgruntled. “And if I did and was dealt it, what would have been your future without my help? No, better not to judge the dead, and better not to talk anymore. Voices can be heard from far away, and some are even more skilled than I am at hiding in the shadows.”