Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2)

by Matthew Wolf

  “What are you?” she breathed.

  “Death,” said an elf that was not Hadrian.

  Karil shivered. The way he said it. With such certainty. She knew she couldn’t let him live. I must kill him. Her grip tightened around her sword, visualizing it piercing the hollow of his throat. Yet she remembered the sorrow in his eyes. It was still there, she knew, lurking behind this black cloud. Somehow, Dryan had corrupted Hadrian. He was still within. “There is still good in you, Hadrian,” she pleaded. “I see it. Do not give into Dryan. Do not be swayed by his darkness. Return to the light while you still have a chance.”

  Hadrian looked to her. A light shone in his eyes, glinting amid darkness. His face contorted with pain, but then the light winked out, consumed by darkness, and Hadrian’s lips twisted as he spoke. “Before your father died, Dryan said he begged for his life, that his last moments were ones with tears of fear running down his face. A pitiful but expected end to a pathetic king.”

  Karil felt a stab of pain to her heart, and she backhanded him across the face powerfully, hard enough that her hand stung from the force. His head, however, barely moved.

  A thin trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He jerked hard against his bonds, lurching forward at Karil. She leapt back. A demonic voice emanated from Hadrian’s lips. “Eldas is no longer yours, girl. Now die with that knowledge. Die, and join your father and mother in their shallow graves.”

  Suddenly, the Hidden’s muscles flexed, sending the spikes in the ground flying forth.

  Karil wasted no time, she stabbed, but Hadrian was quicker. His neck twisted slightly but with such perfect timing that the blade slipped off his skin, cutting only a shallow groove in his neck. She cut again, determined to finish the job, but it was too late. Hadrian used the back of his hand, slapping the flat of the blade. It felt as if a rock had smacked her broken sword. Her hand throbbed, numb with pain. But she didn’t let go. She wouldn’t. She cried out, stabbing again. Hadrian gave a primal cry, heavy muscles straining. The ground shuddered, taking Karil from her feet. Chains thundered as he climbed to his full height, dirt and root being pulled along with him.

  Elves charged forward, crying out. The tent exploded in chaos as more Lando dove for her. Chains flew from the ground, every which way, lashing out. Elves leapt at the Hidden. Hadrian roared and whipped his body, and a thick chain flew, crashing and sending them flying. Karil raised her broken blade, preparing to charge, when something seized her arm.

  She twisted and saw a guard protecting her. Lannor. “Rydel! He is our only answer!” Lannor said and then gasped. His eyes split wide, and blood ran from his mouth. He became limp, eyes filled with the hollowness of death. He fell, a metal spike protruding from his back.

  “No!” she cried, and threw her blade with all her strength. It flew end over end, but Hadrian twisted just in time. He caught it by the handle and cut down two elves with inhumane ease. Karil swallowed… What have I done? Lando, her very best warriors, were no match for this elf. They were no more than wooden posts against a Hidden.

  Dozens of elves surrounded Hadrian, inching forward. The Hidden suddenly bellowed, “Enough!” and the huge chains smashed into the ground, throwing many from their feet, others sinking to their knees. He lunged forward and grabbed a nearby elf, putting the elf’s own blade to his throat. The elf struggled uselessly, and the sword pressed closer. “Drop your blades or I will kill him!”

  “Halt!” she called, raising a hand, and the elves stopped their advance.

  Hadrian looked up over the elf’s shoulder. His dark blond hair was straggled across his face as sweat ran down his muscled body. The Hidden was breathing hard, but Karil didn’t take that as a weakness. She couldn’t take anything he did as a weakness. “I do not want to kill anymore of you,” he voiced. “That is not my intent.”

  “You make a convincing case otherwise,” Karil stated furiously.

  “I simply seek to defend myself,” his breathed, his voice low and burning. “You mistake me if you think I will die willingly!”

  “Yet you deserve death!” she declared. “Before you wanted it, you practically begged me to end your life.”

  “No,” Hadrian said, blond hair shaking. “I realize now that I did not kill those elves. It was not me!”

  “Then who was it?”

  Again, Hadrian looked frustrated, a murky blackness roiling across his green eyes. “I do not know—believe me, I wish I did. But I can feel it inside me still.” His jaw clenched in pain. “If you approach, whether I wish it or not, you will die. Even now, it is like a demon inside that seeks only blood.”

  “Then if we kill you, we kill the demon.”

  “Unfortunately, I do not wish to die, and none of you are a match for me.”

  “And if we let you go?”

  “This one survives,” he answered. “And I will kill no more of you.”

  “You know too much,” she said, shaking her head as her fists tightened at her side. “Besides, if I let you go, who’s to say you won’t just quietly hunt us, killing us one by one?”

  Hadrian gave a thin breath. “You have Rydel. He is a match for me. But either way, I will not. I know you can see the truth of it in my eyes and my voice.” Karil couldn’t deny that she did believe him, but she couldn’t risk the lives of others. Not for a gut feeling. “I swear it to you.”

  “A murderer’s promise,” she said, looking to the corpses of nearby elves.

  “I kill to survive, much like you,” he said, and the words hit home. “You must understand—whatever possesses me is not me.”

  “What’s to keep it from taking you over?”

  Hadrian laughed. “I am a Hidden, my queen. Do not underestimate me. My powers and training were not only physical but mental as well. But even as we stand, I can feel it like a poison in my veins, wanting to kill each and every one of you. I can keep it at bay, but only for so long. You must let me go. Now.”

  “And when we do? You will just go back to Dryan.”

  “I doubt you’ll believe me if I tell you I had a change of heart?”

  “Doubt would be a mild way of putting it. You will be lying,” she said.

  “Strength is life, weakness death,” Hadrian said, as if quoting, biting off each word. “There’s an old saying, my queen, born with the elves since time immemorial: ‘The heart of the Hidden is truth’, but I see now the heart of the Hidden has been twisted, manipulated to fit a purpose and turned into a lie,” he said mysteriously, then shook his head as if returning to the moment. “The truth is simple—I do not believe Dryan had my best interest at heart, nor any elf’s, but my destination is my own. Let’s just say I plan to right some wrongs… to deal a little of my own justice. Beyond that, you will have to believe what you will.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to do it. The answers Hadrian held could spell their victory, but looking in the elf’s eyes, she felt fear. She couldn’t let another die because of her. Yet if he killed more? If he killed hundreds? Fury roared through her as well. How was she to judge what he would do? She had seen Hadrian’s inherent good, but she had also seen a darkness trump that light like a wind snuffing a flame.

  Suddenly Hadrian cried out, limbs shaking, chains rattling. A faint, black flame surrounded his body and the Hidden roared as if trying to resist it. The elf in his grasp tried to twist, to grab his blade and attack, but Hadrian was too strong. “No!” she cried. The murky blackness in Hadrian’s eyes swirled and his blade cut. The elf’s throat was sliced open and he fell to the ground with a bloody gurgle.

  Karil’s mouth fell open, and her heart dropped. Pitiless…

  Elves charged forward angrily, but Hadrian was too fast. He grabbed the nearest elf and Karil tensed. “Stop!” she bellowed. “Do not attack!” Hadrian held Temian, blade tight against the elf’s neck. Temian’s face was stone as if he knew what was coming… “Let him go, please,” Karil pleaded.

  “Curse you!” Hadrian roared. “I did not want to do that! Yet you f
orced my hand, and now his death is on your head!”

  “No,” she seethed, “you may shun the blame, but it will not save you from the truth. The darkness inside you is too strong!”

  Hadrian growled. “I can control it. Now let me go, or see more die.”

  Karil felt anger and sorrow spiral inside her. He had killed too many already, and if he did return to Dryan, anything he had learned would be turned upon them. And yet… “Let him go,” she ordered.

  “No! Don’t, my queen!” Temian shouted. “He cannot be trusted!”

  Hadrian’s blade tightened on Temian’s throat, but the elf held Karil’s gaze, shaking his head.

  “Do it!” Karil commanded, louder.

  Reluctantly, two Lando strode forward and unlocked Hadrian’s shackles. One by one, the chains that bound him fell. She almost felt as if it had been more ceremony than necessity. She feared now with the chains gone he would be even more of a nightmare. “Go,” she breathed angrily. “Go and never come back.”

  Hadrian’s sword continued to rest on Temian’s neck, blood dripping from the steel. Tension mounted and Karil feared she had made the wrong decision. Black tremors spidered across Hadrian’s arms, his body shaking, muscles tense. The chains clattered, matching the howling wind outside in fearful chorus. At last, Hadrian shoved Temian forward and twisted, moving to the back of the tent. No elves followed. The Hidden slashed, cutting the heavy canvas, unveiling a windy night filled with horizontal rain.

  Hadrian turned back, wind and rain tousling his hair and dirtied, battered clothes. “A final warning, my queen, for letting me go… Beware of Dryan, for his strength is not only his own.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s not alone,” Hadrian replied. “If you kill Dryan, it will not end his evil. It is only the beginning. You must follow the strands and kill the source.”

  Karil eyed him darkly, refusing to speak.

  “Dryan follows a dark philosophy. Root out that, and it will lead you to the head of the snake. But beware—somehow I fear it is an ancient evil, the greatest this world has ever known.” He moved towards the entry, as if to leave.

  “Wait!” she called. “What dark philosophy?”

  “Ask your trusted guardian, for it is the very same belief. It is the creed of the Hidden.”

  Karil’s breath was stolen, a shiver running through her.

  “I will not forget this, my queen,” Hadrian said and, with that, he was gone.

  Temian rose, moving to her side. “You should not have let him go, my queen. My life was not worth it.”

  She looked to the other Lando with their pieces of her father’s crown shining proudly on their breast in the dim light. They had survived too much to die now, and so pitilessly. But what had she given up? Had she made the right choice? Time will tell. “Truth be told, I did not do it for your life alone, dear friend,” she answered at last. “In the end, he would have killed us all.”

  And the slash in the tent continued to flap from the wind, accentuating her ominous words. Meanwhile, her mind churned.

  The creed of the Hidden…

  Rydel.

  The Dimilioc Summit

  MEIRA LISTENED AS FINN SPOKE, EACH in the room wearing different expressions.

  Hutosh was a noble-looking man. She wondered perhaps if he wasn’t of royal lineage, but now, as a three-stripe Reaver, all heritage was stripped from him. His proud features were recognizable from a field away—strong jaw, cliff-like nose, and bushy brows, though his brown hair was thinning considerably. He listened to Finn with attentiveness and worry. Tugard was a Sevian man. As such he was darker of skin and wore the characteristic short pointed beard of Sevia, thick below his bottom lip, flowing down to his chin, and ending in a sharp point. Tugard was hardened by the constant warfare of the plains, and as such, his face was blank as always, but Meira saw through the stoic exterior and saw his brow crease, listening raptly. Her dear friend, Finn himself, spoke passionately, his frame nearly shaking with the fervor that she had perhaps placed inside him.

  “We must save Ezrah,” he said finally.

  Finn’s voice settled, and the room returned to its previous quiet.

  On the walls, the Yunais flickered. Yunais were silver globes with hundreds of mirrored facets that would reflect light. They illuminated the small room in hoary white, making all figures appear like the already deceased returned as phantoms. It was an omen of what was to come—one of two paths.

  All four were gathered at last in the Room of Dimilioc, a room with gold-veined marbled floors. On a nearby dais, a pair of white robes with gold trim was draped carefully without so much as a wrinkle. A strange, ruby-throated scepter sat on one pedestal and on another a golden ring humming with spells. Though small, Dimilioc was a place of great magic. She had chosen it purposefully, for it was the place where Reavers became Arbiters.

  Finn’s final word hung in the air—the cerabul in the room that no one wanted to see, or, in this case, hear.

  Ezrah…

  Hutosh spoke, voice panicky. “That name, you cannot say that name. It is—”

  “—Enough,” Meira said, interrupting the three-stripe Reaver. “You’ve evaded your conscience for far too long. We all have. Now it is time to do what is right.” Ezrah’s words echoed in her head. “While Finn is right, he is only speaking my words, words that I know each of you are thinking even at this moment, and have been since the day we were assigned to this task, this horror. But now it is time. Now we must rise up. Now we must save Ezrah.”

  Hutosh replied, “You would willingly sacrifice yourselves? For that is what this path is…”

  “Yes,” she declared.

  The other four looked shocked, even Finn.

  “You do not mean that, do you?” Finn asked.

  Please, stay at my side, a part of Meira pleaded, noticing her friend’s surprise. “I mean every word,” she replied, “for, as we stand, we are already among the lifeless.”

  “What do you mean?” Hutosh said, “We have our lives.”

  “That is where you are wrong,” she answered. “We have bodies, and perhaps minds, but our souls and even our very wills are not our own.”

  Hutosh’s brow crinkled, and he rubbed his jaw, striding back and forth anxiously. “Meira, do you know what you’re saying?” the noble man argued. “We are rebelling against the will of the Citadel. I despise what we do as much as you, but we are an ant fighting a giant.”

  “It’s Sithel’s will, not the Citadel’s,” she countered.

  “Still,” Tugan said, speaking finally. “If we are caught, Meira…”

  “Then we will die,” she said. Silence reigned, and Meira felt her passion grow. “No more,” she breathed in a wrathful whisper, letting down that barrier she held on to so tightly, feeling hot tears that she hadn’t shed since she was a child. “No more will I let others control my life. No more will I let my own fear determine my path. No more will I torture and do what is wrong when I know what is right, even if it costs me my life, for I would rather die on my own terms than live a life like this.”

  All were silent, but each looked affected by her words.

  “Meira…” Finn said, looking pained.

  “Tell me you each do not feel it, and I will leave you be,” she said angrily. “Tell me you do not feel the sorrow and the rage… the guilt…”

  Tugan eyed his own hands as if they were covered in blood and replied with quiet angst, “I feel it.”

  “By the gods, we all do!” Hutosh said, looking equally distraught by his own deeds. “What we are doing is not right. Light, that is an Arbiter down there! He is supposed to be our leader, and more than that, he is a human being. But what are we to do?”

  Suddenly the silvery Yunais flickered and stone rumbled from the heavy marble door. “They’re here,” Finn exclaimed, turning.

  No! Meira thought in terror. How did they find out?

  Each summoned the spark, filling with power as the door sli
d open and a dark figure resolved itself. Reaver Dagon stood in the entry. He was tall, with wavy black hair and tan skin. His head tilted as if curious what he had stumbled upon. Yet above all, the four black stripes on his scarlet sleeves drew Meira’s eyes like a moth to a flame. She readied her power, fearfully. Behind him, however, was an empty hallway. He was alone? Silently, he entered and the door slammed shut.

  “Greetings,” Dagon announced.

  Meira debated throwing all her power at him, but he hadn’t made a move yet, and beyond that, she wasn’t sure of the limits of a four-stripe Reaver. Even attacking together, they might not be enough to take Dagon, she admitted. “What are you doing, and how did you get in here?” she questioned.

  “You underestimate me,” Dagon said. “And a better question is what are you four doing?”

  “I…” Finn stammered.

  Hutosh spoke smoothly, interrupting. “We were discussing matters of the next High Rank. In fact—and uncomfortable as it is to admit—we were considering you,” he lied.

  A noble man and politician indeed, Meira thought in admiration, eyeing Hutosh. The High Rank was a title chosen by a majority of Reavers and given to the most favored brother or sister—usually the most experienced and well liked. The High Rank was the go-between to the Patriarch himself. It was a mark of prestige and honor, but none had been named for centuries.

  Dagon raised a single brow.

  And Meira joined in, latching onto the lie. “Indeed,” she added smoothly. “However, as such we needed someplace private to discuss it. In light, perhaps it would be wise if you were not a part of this discussion. If any other found out, they may think you had swayed or even coerced us into our decision.”

  Dagon scratched his temple as if amused. “Clever, both of you, but I am not here to expose you, so cut the falsehoods. I am here to join you to save Ezrah.”

  Hutosh blinked and even Meira gawked.