Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2)

by Matthew Wolf

  “Wind…?” the man spat. “What are you?”

  Gray didn’t answer, throwing a dozen more bolts of wind, hardened like lumps of steel.

  Jian slashed them from the air, retreating.

  He’d bought himself room, but Gray sagged from the effort, feeling leaden, as if his simple black pants and green tunic were made of steel, dragging him to the ground. He feigned confidence, standing straight.

  The battle raged around them, fire exploding, swords ringing, dirt erupting as the Devari whirled, spells cut from the air fizzling beneath the Sword-Forged Devari. Gray realized his group was on the verge of being surrounded and overtaken.

  “Impressive,” Jian called loudly, ducking impassively beneath a bolt of whizzing fire, “for a man without honor, but I hardly believe this is what defeated the last leader of the Devari. Show me your true strength!”

  With that, the man disappeared.

  Shifting?

  No, but still—

  Immediately, Jian reappeared in front of him, scarlet blade lashing. Gray barely ducked and dodged the man’s lightning-fast attacks. Each blow grew heavier, rattling Gray’s arms as he dodged a cut that would have taken his arm. He’s too strong! Kirin raged.

  It was true.

  He was going to lose.

  Jian knew it too. He moved faster as if confident of his win, whipping his blade and making crimson flames ripple, devouring and scraping closer to Gray with every strike. With a grunt, Gray threw himself forward, clashing against Jian’s blade in a desperate parry. “You don’t have to do this,” he breathed through gritted teeth. Their swords ground, their steel sparking.

  “It is time to finish this,” Jian declared. “In the end, it seems Ren wasn’t nearly as strong as the stories claim.” The crimson flames roared, searing Gray, singing his clothes and flesh.

  He cried out when he heard a presence murmur: Use me.

  Morrowil.

  Let go, the blade uttered—in feelings, not in words. He listened to the sword, uttering a strange breath from his center. Morrowil listened, something unlocking within. The blade vanished, hard steel becoming white eddies of wind. However, Gray had simply used the move to get closer. Jian’s sword still continued, heading for Gray’s neck. He let it. And he reached out—not with his sword, but his hand, touching the man’s arm.

  Suddenly, images collided.

  Kirin’s memories.

  He remembered it all.

  It flooded through Jian as well. The dark room, the death and chaos, and even Ren’s death. He saw the darkness consuming Kirin’s mind back then, controlling him against his will as the oozing black tendrils murdered the guards, Devari, and finally his friend… But it was not Kirin. It was not him. “It’s not my fault,” he whispered aloud in sudden realization. The epiphany of his words rumbled through him, shaking him to the core, and he gasped as if emerging from a frozen lake. The memories were so clear, so strong.

  More memories came.

  Sithel, his darkness, and the voidstone. Lastly, a vision of Ezrah’s torture. He saw the dream he’d had in the desert of Farbs—his grandfather screaming in agony beneath the cruel hands of eight Reavers as flames, stones, water, and more assailed his starved, half-naked body.

  When he opened his eyes, Jian’s sword was held against his throat. The flames were gone, but the blade had begun to cut, blood trickled down the cold steel. The man had seen everything. Gray breathed a thin sigh, backing away. Both were on their knees, gusts of golden wind pulsating over all. A silence hung in the air in the wake of the powerful visions. Slowly, Jian lowered his blade.

  The other Devari froze. Darius, back to back with Ayva, watched Gray and Jian in confusion. The vines dropped, and Ayva’s light withered. A dozen Devari fighting with Meira and Finn simply lowered their blades—the two Reavers’ brows pinched curiously.

  Gray spoke, “You know what happened now. I killed Ren, but it was not my fault. And there is a darkness here, Jian, that is greater than you or I—greater even than the Citadel. I fear Sithel is only the beginning. But if you have eyes to see, then you know the last thing we must do is fight amongst ourselves.”

  “My… duty…” Jian said, eyes watering as if something were breaking inside of him.

  “A wise man once told me a Devari’s duty is to protect life,” Gray replied. He felt pain, remembering Victasys’ words, but he let it go and continued, “and Farhaven, not just the Citadel is in danger. The world needs us. It’s time to accept your fate.”

  And Jian rose, standing tall and imposing once more. He waved a hand and his Devari took up a line, standing behind him in a perfect file as if nothing had happened.

  “You have shown me a harsh truth this day, Gray,” the Devari leader uttered. “But I will tell you one as well. I see the look in your eyes. I know there is more to you, that sword, and your powers. We, however, have suffered enough betrayal to last all time. Kail’s treachery shattered us for a thousand years, and Ren’s death nearly broke us again. Know now, our allegiance is to ourselves. We will fight, to save the Citadel and combat Sithel’s darkness, but that is all.”

  Gray squinted. His words sounded almost like a threat. “That is all I ask.”

  Darius and Ayva, as well as the others, approached.

  “Blood and flesh…” the rogue breathed. “What just happened?”

  Looking around, Gray saw the courtyard looked as if a war had been fought, benches shattered, trees splintered, lampposts cracked, and dirt upheaved, but miraculously no one looked more injured than scratches or bruises—flesh wounds easily healed.

  He looked down. In his hand, he felt the smooth marbled handle of Morrowil. He remembered, even all those days ago when he had scrubbed the blade clean of blood and brought it to Mura. He had feared long ago where the blood had come from and if it was his doing. Now he knew it wasn’t his fault at long last. It felt like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. He felt lighter, breathing easier.

  Whoever Kirin was, he wasn’t evil. And while Kirin might not have been who Gray was now, the two were no longer halves—the memories would return he knew, and when they did, he would be whole.

  Ayva scanned him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I am,” he answered.

  Suddenly, a breeze tousled cloaks, flowing towards Gray like a tempest. As it ruffled the hairs on his arms, every muscle in his body stiffened. He gagged upon its smell. Darkness. An evil so heavy it nearly took him to his knees. What is this? He looked up at the ramparts, as the red-orange glow of dawn bathed the walls.

  He knew he’d sensed that smell before, and the memory came back as clear as day. It was just before he’d nearly died upon the sands. The smell was mixed with the odor of man and beast, but the ancient evil overrode all others.

  Darkwalkers.

  He eyed the red dawn—the direction where the breeze had come from. There was a noise, distracting the others, and he slipped away. In a trance, Gray moved towards the ramparts, following the scent of death.

  The True Threat

  THERE WAS A LOUD CRASH AS the double doors of the Citadel opened and a flood of dirty men, women, and children flowed into the courtyard. Joy filled the air as Reavers, Devari, and gray-robed Neophytes reunited, battered and bruised, embracing in tears and laughter. Ezrah stood on the steps, watching the scene, and Ayva breathed a sigh. We did it.

  And yet…

  Something wasn’t right still. What is this feeling? Absence, she realized, like a page missing from her books, or the moment before a coming storm. She knew they weren’t done yet.

  Ayva looked over and saw Darius sitting upon a rock. The dawning light spilled over him, making him look oddly heroic in his fine, green tunic. Over that, he wore a black coat with a high flaring collar that he’d picked up somewhere along the way. He stared at a leaf between his fingers while his strange blade lay in his lap, close as always. She remembered it slicing through the Darkwalker as if the beast was made of clay. He was nothing like the ro
gue she’d always known.

  Speaking of changes… She stood in the center of the courtyard, feeling the curious stares of both Reavers and Devari. But it didn’t make her nervous. Perhaps the old Ayva would have shirked beneath their gaze, but not now—not after everything she’d been through. She was stronger, and she felt it to her bones. They all were, not just Darius, but Gray too. Suddenly, she realized that’s who was missing.

  “Where’d Gray go?” Ayva asked. “He was just here.”

  Darius looked up from the leaf he twiddled. “He’s on the ramp above.”

  “Why?” she asked, “And how do you know that?”

  “You can’t sense it?”

  But as she dug into her mind, there was a strange knot—a presence. She shook her head, and the presence faded. No, the rogue was just making her imagination run wild again. But still… “C’mon,” she said, pulling Darius up.

  “Wait,” he protested as they wove between men and women, “Where are we going?”

  “To find out what’s coming,” she answered, dragging him along.

  * * *

  Finn lowered his hands, letting the roots slither back into the ground, deep beneath the earth’s crust as the Devari moved away, gathering around Jian in a large cluster. He shivered, he didn’t like fighting Devari, but luckily it seemed Devari didn’t like fighting Reavers. It was obvious that was the only reason none had died.

  At his side, Meira raised a brow, “Not so trustworthy, are we?”

  He laughed, brushing flakes of dirt from his once-clean, scarlet robes. “Not all of us are so talented with flesh—a more easily concealed weapon.” She raised a brow, as if unsure what he was insinuating. Finn sighed. “I can still sense you’re holding your spark, Meira. In case you’ve forgotten, dear friend, we’re both three-stripes.”

  She sighed and at last released it. “So I was, suppose I barely noticed it.”

  He nodded, “Oh, surely.”

  Meira grumbled something, which sounded like ‘fool’. “And did you say friend?” she asked, as if amused. “Is that what we are?”

  “Well, I meant…” Finn began then cleared his throat, feeling a heat rise in his cheeks. He knew a dangerously loaded question when he heard one. Suddenly his head spun, and he felt woozy upon his feet. Light flickered. When his eyes opened, he realized he had fallen and Meira had caught him. Her face wore a look between concern and annoyance, but beneath it was true caring.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, dabbing a finger upon his forehead, and he winced in pain as she showed him his own blood.

  “Is that what that looks like?” he asked, summoning a woozy grin. “Been a while since I’ve seen that, being the tough guy I am and all.”

  “Being the fool is what you are,” she muttered. “That smile… You know, despite being nearly two hundred years old, sometimes you act and look just like the Neophyte I remember so well, that reckless 12-year-old who just couldn’t stop himself from getting into trouble.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he remarked as he stood.

  Meira sighed and reached out to heal him.

  He gripped her wrist, stopping her. “No. Others need it more than I.” He felt Meira retract, looking hurt. “I’m all right, I promise. It’s only skin deep. You need to conserve your strength.”

  She relented, but before he could stop her, she ripped off a strip of her robes and tied it around his forehead, stopping the flow of blood. “Always the valiant fool,” she said.

  “When this is done, remind me to thank you properly,” he said mischievously.

  Meira sighed, but he could see a hint of amusement in her beautiful, dark eyes. “How you can think of something like that at a time like this is beyond me. But…” she said and looked up into his gaze. “I do look forward to being in your arms.”

  He smiled, holding her eyes.

  Meira shook her head, as if clearing those thoughts, and looked around at the wounded Reavers and Devari. “This was just a taste, Finn.”

  “But a taste of what is the real question. Let’s find out,” he declared, moving to meet the others. Meira nodded and they moved forward, towards Ezrah who stood on the top of the white, marble steps. The orange light from the dawn washed over the Arbiter, making Gray’s grandfather look like the legend he was. “For the record,” he added, “I only got in trouble because I was half as good as you at my studies. You and Morgan had the intellectual side covered, I figured we needed a rogue to round out our group.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Meira said, looking over her shoulder.

  And Finn knew where her gaze settled without looking.

  How had Gray ended that fight? Even before seeing his power of wind, he’d known the boy was different. Now? He shivered. Gray was more than extraordinary but he did not envy the boy—for he knew that, with a destiny like that, great and terrible things were on the horizon. Finn looked over his shoulder and saw the crimson dawn. For that matter, he thought, great and terrible things are on the horizon for us all.

  * * *

  Zane winced, squinting from the bright sun.

  “Ah, welcome back,” Hannah announced.

  “How am I alive?” he asked.

  They sat in the yard, commotion rumbled around them, but he paid them no heed, finding Hannah’s soft brown eyes instead, which were watching him warmly. “I healed you again. I think I’m getting stronger. See? No spark fever,” she said, pointing to her face. “Course, some other Reavers tried to shove their noses into the matter, saying I’m just a puny Untamed.” She huffed, and then beamed smugly. “You should have seen their looks when I proved them wrong. It wasn’t that hard really.”

  He sighed. “Really, Hannah, challenging Reavers?”

  She punched his arm, hard. “Look who’s talking! This coming from someone who just tried to take on the leader of the Devari! Besides, I just saved your life, all right? Show me some respect!”

  He grunted from the blow and growled, “I’m sorry, all right? It’s just you’re an Untamed and I… I worry about you, that’s all.”

  Luckily, he didn’t need to expound anymore as she nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry too. I’ll be careful.”

  “Good,” he grumbled and rubbed his sore arm. “You’re getting stronger, you know? That didn’t used to hurt so much.” She smirked, looking glad. “But I suppose that answers whether or not I’m still dreaming.” Though, as Zane looked around, he questioned his last statement. The courtyard teemed with life—thousands filled the grassy grounds. He sat in a pocket amid the commotion. “What is this? Where did all these people come from?”

  “The prisoners,” Hannah explained, looking equally staggered by the milling throng. It was an army. “Turns out Sithel had banished all those who had resisted him to the prisons. Thousands were down there. Neophytes, Reavers, Devari, and guards—practically the whole Citadel.”

  Zane nodded. That explained the absence.

  Hannah’s nails slowly clawed at her pant legs, and she shook her head in anger. “Zane, how can a man do such a thing? He caged little boys and girls in those dark cells.” She shivered, and he knew she was speaking from experience. He still felt a dark rage at what Darkeye had done to her, but he kept the rage in the back of his mind lest it consume him.

  Darkeye will pay in blood, he swore. He’d refrained from asking more about her experience, knowing any detail of it would only stoke his ire. Looking around, Zane realized the truth of her words, seeing the children huddled together by a group of Reavers, their small bodies barely filling their gray robes. His anger for Sithel spiked, but between all that, he glimpsed another group. Meira and Finn stood beside Ezrah alongside Reaver Ethelwin, Dagon, and other high and mighty threaders of the spark. Meanwhile, more Reavers tended to Devari who bore bruises and cuts, but nothing more. “Was there a fight?”

  Hannah laughed. “You could say that.”

  He growled, wishing he had been a part of it. “How did we survive?”

  “Gray,” she
answered. “He saved us.”

  Zane grumbled, frustrated and angry, but glad Gray had shown his true strength. He knew the man was strong—he’d seen it, felt it. But part of him was truly relieved. “Then Jian is dead and Victasys’ is avenged. That is good. I only wish I had been the one to see his face—” Hannah winced, and he halted as she pointed.

  A group of Devari parted, revealing Jian.

  Wrath shook through Zane.

  Hannah gripped his face, turning him to face her. “Zane…” she pleaded, holding his gaze. He tried to push her away, but she held on. “Please, don’t. I know that look in your eyes, but please, let it go. He’s on our side. Sithel, he’s the real enemy, remember?”

  Grudgingly, Zane took an even breath, letting the pulsing fire inside him subside, somewhat. “So be it,” he admitted at last then rose, picking up his blade from the shriveled grass. He hadn’t realized, but he’d seared away a patch of earth from his presence alone. Luckily, Hannah hadn’t noticed—admitting his power to her was something he wasn’t ready for. “I think it’s time to find Gray. This is far from over.” He extended a hand. “You coming?”

  She laughed, grabbing his hand. “And miss out on all the fun so far? Not likely.”

  Zane nodded, pulling Hannah to her feet. “Of course, you know I only asked you because I knew you would come anyway.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, and together they moved through the crowded yard in search of Gray.

  * * *

  Ayva walked up the wide, stone rampart, reaching the top of the bailey when she saw him.

  Gray stood, looking out over the Citadel’s walls. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his tension. It sat heavy in the air. Beyond the black stone crenulations lay Farbs—a sprawling city of colorful tents and tan buildings—and beyond that, the rolling Rehlias desert.

  Darius found her side.

  Suddenly Zane appeared from behind them, Hannah in tow. “What’s going on?” the fiery man asked, “What’s with him?”