Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2)

by Matthew Wolf

  “Ever the savior,” Meira said softly.

  Oddly enough, Finn shivered, hand upon his sword. “I don’t think I’ll ever get comfortable with you using the banished element, but I do approve of your methods,” the three-stripe Reaver answered. “It’s a horrible thing to kill a man.”

  With a flick of her fingers, the dozen men sagged in his bonds. He let them go and the thieves crumpled to the ground. He looked at Meira, angry, and she answered, “Not dead. With the right threads, flesh can convince the simple of mind to slumber. Not that sleeping amid this insanity is the safest of paths.”

  A sudden cry of men and women sounded.

  “Meira,” Finn ushered. “The other Reavers need us.”

  “Good luck, my guardian,” Meira advised sincerely, and with that, the two vanished into the mist once more.

  * * *

  Finn led the way when there was a break of fog, and he saw Guran, the vile three-stripe that had led their Fusing when they were torturing Ezrah. Guran fought other Reavers and Devari with bouts of flame and earth, and Finn tensed, watching the horror.

  “He’s there,” Meira announced. “Sithel.” She marched forward.

  “Wait,” Finn said, sensing the man’s level of the spark. It was almost more powerful than his and Meira’s combined, but she was right. Where Guran was, surely Sithel was as well. “We have to gather help, for Guran and the others are too strong. We cannot fight them alone.”

  Suddenly the ground rumbled, erupting in a cloud of dust and flames. Finn cried out, reaching for Meira. “No!” he bellowed. The world spun, stomach churning as the ground lurched. Finn gripped the spark, trying to balance himself, when it flickered… The dust settled, and he saw Sithel marching through the fog, Guran at his side. Finn saw Meira too, closer still. She rose to her feet, bracing herself with all her power, and he choked, staggered by the sheer amount of spark she held, brimming in her hand. Finn rose, racing for her when pain lanced through his limbs. He gasped and saw Guran curling his fingers in spite. “Stay!” the man shouted, as if speaking to a disobedient dog. Meanwhile, Sithel continued to stalk forward, hobbling with his feeble leg, wearing a slick smile, face pinched like that of a rat. Meira waited. She raised her hand, trembling from the voidstone, and unleashed all the power she had in a torrent of fire that raced for Sithel. In the last second, the man raised the blue crackling orb and the fire sizzled.

  Finn tried to thread bits of his own, but every time he did, his mind burst with new pain, shattering all thought with searing agony. Guran… he seethed through his jumbled torment. The man was just too strong.

  Sithel stood, looming over Meira, and more dark Reavers appeared from the fog like phantoms, Darkwalkers at their side, ambling like misshapen nightmares. Skin burning as if on the point of rupture, Finn tried to catch a desperate breath. Blackness crept across his blurred vision, distantly aware of his mind breaking. He reached out for Meira, watching her surrounded from all sides. Then, before it all faded, in a rare break in the mist, he glimpsed a vision of white high above.

  * * *

  Gray spun, looking for more Darkwalkers, his temper growing.

  He had a feeling they were losing. He heard thousands of cries of anger and pain and very few screeches from the inhuman beasts. He knew the Darkwalkers were too many. Twice more he found Darkwalkers, one scuttled across the sand on eight limbs like a spider, and another walked upon two spindly legs. He moved away from its horrible body quickly. However, as a whole, they were avoiding him now, as if growing smarter.

  Reavers, Devari, and Darkeye’s thieves misted in and out of the heavy, white fog like apparitions in a nightmare. Gray spun with each new muffled cry. Bloodcurdling screams sounded from everywhere until he thought his mind would implode. Suddenly—I’m coming… a voice said inside Gray’s head.

  “Darius…”

  Where are you? The rogue’s call was distant, the sound of rushing wind tied to the panicked thoughts, although Gray sensed elation and triumph in Darius.

  Parrying a dirty thief’s rutted blade and slamming his foot into the man’s chest, Gray twisted to the east and looked up. He cursed. Through the heavy mist, he couldn’t see a thing.

  But he knew.

  Drawing deeply upon his nexus, his vision flashed, blackening, and he fell to the ground. In his mind, the nexus flickered as well. “No…” He gripped the sand beneath him. It was draining the last of his energy, pushing him too far again. His weakness frustrated him, but worse was the fear of losing his power.

  Strength is within, my boy, Ezrah’s voice echoed in his head.

  Just a little while longer, Gray pleaded of his nexus and stumbled to his feet. Tying threads of wind to his blade, he slashed. Morrowil cut the air and a gale of wind followed it, kicking up a tempest of sand, and blowing away a swatch of mist to reveal hundreds of Reavers and Devari fighting. He saw Ezrah and Jian battling, but above that, he saw a patch of sky. Ayva suddenly was at his side, dagger in hand. “Is that…?” She questioned.

  “Darius,” he answered.

  Through patches of the fog, Gray saw a gryphon flying through the brightness, a rider on its back. Darius. On the rogue’s tail was a huge, strange and white beast but with giant black wings. With curling horns the size of a man’s leg, Gray knew what the creature was. A phox.

  I can’t see through this mess! came Darius’ voice, fearful. Where are you?

  “He’s brought help, but he can’t land,” Gray explained hurriedly.

  “I heard,” Ayva answered. “We need to clear a path for him.”

  Zane was suddenly at his side, Hannah close behind. His red tunic was riddled with gashes, but the blood in his blond hair didn’t look like his own. In his hand, his sword blazed a brilliant red to rival Jian’s who fought a score of Darkeye’s thieves a dozen paces away. “I heard something,” Zane announced. “Is that Darius?”

  Gray tensed. How had he… He shook his head. There was no time. “We need to clear away this mist,” he ordered.

  Fire leapt to Zane’s hand, searing the clinging vapor. “Then stand back.”

  A burst of light blinded both Gray and Zane. They turned to see Ayva holding a golden sphere of light in her palm, much larger than before, banishing the nearby mist with an even greater force. “How about together?” she posed.

  “Together,” Gray agreed, and as one, they poured their powers forth. Wind rushed along his arm, gushing outward and blowing away mist. Fire seared, and the sun took chunks out of the living vapor. “More!” he bellowed. He felt the nexus pulse, and he asked for more. Stillness and anger, he reminded himself and another gust of wind issued forth. But where he struck, more mist took its place.

  “What is this?” Zane bellowed. “It’s not working!”

  More screams echoed through the mist—without sight he knew they would all be slaughtered. Time was running short. Darkwalkers flashed about them, killing Reavers and Devari. They were growing bolder despite Morrowil.

  It was only a matter of time…

  “Look!” Ayva shouted suddenly.

  Nearby, he saw a group of Reavers—none that he recognized, their hands raised to the sky, a white haze pouring from their palms, filling in the gaps they created, allowing the misty killing-fields to continue. Gray growled, using more of his power. His knees grew weak, legs trembling again and he collapsed, but still he held up a hand, issuing wind for Darius to see. But it was not enough.

  They were going to lose.

  * * *

  Faye stalked towards the line of dark Reavers. They were the backbone of their army, the men and women who issued the nightmarish mist, creating this chaos. Eight huge thieves moved at her side. They wore leather vests that exposed the knotted scars of the bloodshot eye on their upper arm. She knew how fearsome they looked, stalking forward like death. Just then, a ratty looking thief with Darkeye’s badge, who’d been overlooking the carnage and obviously in charge of protecting the summoning Reavers, caught her advance. Nervously, he elbowed the
others and a fan of bows rippled through the ranks of Darkeye thugs. They looked relieved to see her.

  Two dozen, she counted distantly.

  “Officer Faye Silverus,” the ratty-man sniveled, “thank the blasted heavens you are here! The battle is turning and you are a sight for sore eyes in this fetid hell-hole. But with you at our side…” And he grinned as if already victorious as she broached the last few paces. Without flinching, Faye stabbed the man in the stomach with a long hidden dagger that had been pressed to the inside of her forearm. She didn’t break stride, moving towards the Reavers.

  Confused, he fell to the ground.

  The rest weren’t so easily confused and chaos erupted.

  Her men leapt to defend her, and the fighting became a blur. Faye’s only thought, only vision, was of those dark Reavers casting that perpetual mist. She cut down the first one-stripe Reaver and ducked a fireball, slitting the next man’s throat. “Enough!” A tall, dark thief bellowed, blocking her killing spree. She sliced but he was surprisingly nimble and parried her blade, throwing her back. “Stop this madness! You’re a part of the clan—what do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know Darkeye will have your head on a pike for this?”

  She cocked her head, as if confused. “Precisely.”

  Her crossbow had been drawn, and she fired three thick darts into the man’s neck. The tall thief choked, gripping the arrow’s shafts, then garbled something and fell over lifeless, his handsome face and bright brown eyes now vacant.

  “Let him come…” she seethed, knowing the price of her betrayal.

  Shouts sounded as more Darkeye brutes leapt at her. Many cried out words and questions of anger and protest, but Faye didn’t care or answer as she cut ruthlessly into their ranks. Their blades sliced at her, but she was fluid and one with the mist and shadows. Where they struck, blades clanged off her impregnable armor. She scored cuts along her arm, and two skimmed past her face cutting shallow grooves, but it only fueled her thirst for blood.

  At last, and finally, it was done. The mist from the dark Reavers dissipated. With it, the cries still continued, and the vapor still clung, but at least they would have a chance now. A slim chance, but a chance. Besides, her only real concern was whether she would be able to find Darkeye in all this madness. Three huge men moved out of the mist, wandering over the dead thieves, their brothers only moments ago. With faces like hewn stone, each sporting scars from a thousand fights, they were far from pretty, but they were hers and loyal to the bone. She smiled at them. They were the ones she’d encountered in the dark pit of The Lair of the Beast. They knuckled their foreheads in respect then smiled back. She counted them. Five out of the eight officers sworn to her had died, but three was better than none.

  Finally, it was done.

  Finally, she would see Darkeye dead.

  * * *

  Just like that, the regenerating mist ended, but still it lay over everything. The cries continued. Gray felt Ayva and Zane huddle closer to his side as the sounds and flashes of Darkwalkers narrowed in closer and closer.

  They were surrounded.

  He looked at them, exhausted to his bones and beyond. They exchanged a knowing final glance, having given it everything they had when…

  A burst of fire so bright that it seared his eyes shot over Gray’s shoulder and burned a clean path through the mist. A dozen, then two dozen, then a hundred more streams of fire burst behind it, scorching the thickening mist like a burning sun. Gray looked over his left shoulder and saw his grandfather.

  “We’re here, my boy,” he said. Gray felt a wave of relief quickly overtaken by awe as, behind Ezrah, a hundred Reavers in scarlet robes stood—Dagon and Ethelwin with hands extended, rivers of red fire flowing forth from each to match their rank.

  Ayva and Zane pulled Gray to his feet and watched as the mist broke. And in their place, Gray saw real clouds. No… he shook his head, realizing the clouds were moving too fast. White creatures. Gray found his feet. The white beasts soared through the air, growing closer, their shapes resolving. He recognized their forms. More phoxes. At their head, Darius rode upon his gryphon with the Matriarch right behind. The rogue hooted and hollered, whipping his leaf-blade above his head in triumph.

  As the mist parted, the Darkwalkers were revealed.

  The phoxes shrieked in unity. A thousand cries of ravenous hunger filled the air as they descended like hail upon the Darkwalkers, ravishing the evil beasts in a flurry of white feathers and translucent talons. Suddenly, a huge Darkwalker leapt from the mist. Fire rained upon the beast from nearby Reavers. But the flames bounced off its gleaming obsidian skin, useless. The huge nightmarish creature tore through their ranks, killing with its dozens of taloned limbs. Devari bounded towards the beast boldly, but their blades pinged off its skin. They leapt back, but the creature was too quick. It sliced two across the waist, dropping them to the ground, and another two it impaled upon its black, spear-like arms, holding them high in the air. Abruptly, the creature’s dozen eyes looked down, having cleared a bloodied swath around it.

  Hannah stood beneath the writhing evil, rooted in horror.

  “No!” Zane bellowed.

  Gray reached inside, summoning the flow.

  Listen, Morrowil beckoned again.

  He released that strange breath again, giving into the sword. The steel vanished and Gray cut. Three slashes in the air—just like he had upon the Gates, but this time he knew what he was doing. Three golden arcs of wind flew from his blade. The Darkwalker’s featureless face parted to reveal a maw with dripping black fangs. It reached for Hannah. But the wind raced as well. It cut, slicing limbs from the creature’s body. The two dead and suspended Devari fell to the ground and the reaching arm was severed.

  The creature roared in fury, turning and lunging at Gray.

  Too fast, he thought in sheer panic.

  Ezrah cried out. A flood of water filled the air, crashing against the beast then freezing into a pillar of ice. The beast was only slowed as it shattered the ice and lunged the last pace. Before Gray could raise Morrowil, a white blur plummeted from the sky crashing into the beast and smashing it into the ground with an ear-piercing cry. When sand and fog cleared, Gray saw the massive Darkwalker was pinned beneath the Matriarch’s huge weight. The equally colossal Darkwalker flailed its dozens of sharp limbs and shrieked—but its talons were useless. They ripped at the Matriarch, but the giant phox didn’t seem to care. Gray saw the Matriarch’s form blur where the Darkwalker’s claws struck, as if turning to wind and then flesh once more. The Matriarch’s pure white eyes widened with primal hatred as she gave a single loud screech and plowed her razor-sharp horns into the Darkwalker’s gut, thrashing it to pieces. Dark blood splayed onto the desert sand, and the beast let out a dying groan—then vanished altogether, as if never there.

  Through the disappearing mist, and the shrieks of Darkwalkers, Gray saw a figure.

  Faye.

  Her armor was even more bloodied than before. In one hand, she gripped her long, curved sword, and in her other fist she held a severed head. Casually, she threw it to the ground and looked up, finding his gaze. Pulling back her cowl, she eyed him. A lingering smile traced her pretty face, her dark-rimmed eyes amused and a bit remorseful. Abruptly, a horde of phoxes descended, colliding with a swarm of screeching Darkwalkers and obscuring his view. When they tumbled away, Faye was gone. He felt a strange absence, sensing that she was truly gone.

  Another loud thud rattled the earth.

  Zane held a ball of fire in his fist, red and angry, Ayva a sphere of brilliant gold, and Gray forced his heavy arms to lift Morrowil—even Hannah summoned a shred of her power. But each power fizzled as Gray turned to see the rogue, riding upon the back of a huge gryphon, its white feathered wings flapping as its lion body clawed at the sand beneath it.

  “Darius…” Ayva breathed.

  Laughing, the rogue dismounted smoothly and rushed forward. Gray found himself smiling as he embraced Darius. Pulling back, he shoo
k his head. “How?”

  “With luck, pure terror, and a bit of charm,” the rogue answered.

  The tide has been turned, Gray realized. The last of the army of Darkwalkers cried out, clashing with the white phoxes, their translucent claws and horns brutally killing the black beasts. As they fought, the phoxes blurred with each strike. It was too fast to make out, but Gray’s gaze crinkled, embracing his power, and he saw the truth just as a dozen paces away a big Darkwalker leapt upon a smaller, white phox. Just like the Matriarch, the phox blurred disappearing into a gust of wind. Sifting through the black nightmare’s claws, it reappeared on the Darkwalker’s back as flesh and bone once more, slashing. A dozen more phoxes rained down, biting and tearing into the Darkwalkers in a frenzied blur of white wind, shrieks cascading through the air.

  “The way they move…” Ayva said in awe. “As if made of wind.”

  Gray remembered the creature on the top of the book—a creature of wind. Phoxes, they were of his element, his creatures. It explained why he felt a strange affinity towards them, even now. And he realized, as they evaded the creature’s blows, they were shifting. Of course, he thought, how else would an army of wind creatures fight?

  Gray saw the Matriarch, the leader of the phoxes. Like children, the other phoxes all fell in behind her, landing silently. As the last of the phoxes alighted upon the desert sands, silence settled over all. Reavers, Devari, and guards eyed the hordes of white creatures with respect and trepidation for there were thousands of them. They watched the humans with curious, uncertain, silver gazes that reflected the morning light. Their deer-shaped heads bore small thorns where ears should be, and twisted side to side, like inquisitive birds. Most were on four legs, but some rose up on to their heavier hind legs, which made them appear more human-like. He saw Hannah scuffle closer to him and Zane, unnerved. Ayva held her ground, as did Darius.