Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (41 page)

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 light 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.”

Ayva eyed the nearby shadows with renewed fear, peeking around every corner as if it were moments from revealing a new attacker. With that, they wound their way deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast.

A Path to Salvation

D
UST FILLED
G
RAY’S MOUTH AS HE
followed Victasys. The sun blazed high in the sky, beating down on their backs as they strode with deadly purpose. They drew closer to the Citadel, the black spires rising.

Ezrah.

Gray set his jaw.

Every second they delayed, the man was that much closer to death. He pushed faster. The streets grew more crowded, but the manner of people changed. The common folk of Farbs thinned, the bright dress changing to dark red and black.

Victasys’ long legs took him quickly through the throngs. He hid his scarred face deep within his hood, but Gray saw that hood shift, taking in everything. He wondered if Devari could use the ki to sense danger. It made sense. A threat was just a result of emotions, wasn’t it? If the man sensed a thief’s blood rising, or the anger of a slighted patron, then perhaps Victasys could even sense the attack
before
it came. The thought set off a realization in Gray. That’s how he had avoided injury, walking through Maris’ Luck as if made of smoke.

But something bugged Gray much deeper than Victasys’ special powers.
And he spoke suddenly, his curiosity burning a hole in his gut. “Do you really not know me?”

Victasys didn’t miss a step. “I do not.”

Gray shook his head. “But if I lived here, how is that possible?”

The man responded without turning, “All Devari live within the Citadel, save for a rare few. Some of them reside in one of the other nine Great Kingdoms, serving as emissaries of the Patriarch and the Citadel. Until a year ago, I lived within the Great Kingdom of Sun as a councilor to the steward of Vaster, Lord Nolan. When I heard of threats of war close to our borders, and unrest in the heart of my home, I requested to be sent back to Farbs. As a result, much of my life has been spent beyond the walls of the Citadel.” Gray narrowed his eyes. If Victasys was disappointed with being separated from his home for so many years, the man hid it well. He almost wondered if the Devari actually had emotions.

Zane was still staring ahead, but Gray knew he was listening too.

Both men were more attentive than rabbits listening for a hawk.

Motri…

It was the name of his hawk. Well,
a
hawk, as it wasn’t really his. But Motri had saved his life by alerting the elves to come to their aid at Death’s Gate—of course only after he had inserted the blade into the stone and stopped the Kage, taking a dark blade in the gut in return. Without the hawk and the high elf healer, however, Gray doubted he would still be there. He wondered where Motri was, hoping the strange, intelligent bird was still alive.

Returning to the moment, Gray gave them details about the room where Ezrah was being held as they moved. Victasys spoke, “That most closely matches the Vaults, a dangerous place.”

“Are you certain?” he questioned.

“The Star of Magha is the eight pointed star you described. It’s the Citadel’s emblem. It stands for the eight elements of the land—Water, Stone, Metal, Flesh, Sun, Moon, Leaf, and, of course, Fire. It is the power all Reavers and Neophytes can wield to greater or lesser degrees.”

“What about Wind?” he asked.

Zane and Victasys looked at him uncertainly. “Wind is the banished element,” the Devari said, eyes narrowing. “No one in the world can wield Wind, and it is forbidden to speak of it, just as it is forbidden to speak of the nine forbidden ones.”

Gray noticed Victasys’ voice wasn’t afraid or resentful, but cautious. He decided to risk his luck and test the man. “You mean the Ronin,” he said. “And you don’t believe the stories, do you?”

Victasys snorted. “Long ago I discovered the truth. The Ronin were not evil.”

Were not…
Gray thought.
Is he right? Are they gone for good?

“What does any of this have to do with the Star of Magha?” Zane questioned gruffly. “How does this help save Gray’s grandfather?”

“The Star of Magha is as old as the Citadel itself. It is inlaid into the ancient stone of the keep in only three places, each of particular significance. One is placed in the Oval Hall, a place where Neophytes are tested and rise to the rank of Reaver… if they pass the grueling Seven Trials.”

“The other two?”

“Another is located in the Patriarch’s grand chambers. The last star is said to be within the Vaults.”

“Then where are the vaults?”

“Below the Citadel.”

“Where exactly?”

“I do not know,” Victasys admitted.

“Then what?” Zane asked, interrupting. “We just saunter up and ask someone where they are torturing the second most powerful man in Farhaven?”

“I doubt that will work,” Victasys replied matter-of-factly.

Gray laughed, but it died in his throat.

The two men weren’t joking. In fact, Victasys looked to be considering Zane’s question seriously.
What have I gotten myself into?
They were mad. He hoped at least Ayva and Darius were faring better with Faye. The woman was fearsome, but at least she wasn’t crazy. Then again, after hearing about her past and knowing at least some of who she had been, could he ever look at her the same? Gray shook his head—now was not the time for such thoughts.

Victasys looked over his shoulder. The sun lit his hood. His scarred face shone a glistening white as he took in Morrowil. “By the way, that sword you hold, I’ve never seen its like. Where did you get it?”

“Its owner no longer needed it,” he replied honestly, if perhaps too quickly.

It was an evasion, but the words were true. Kail no longer needed it, for the Ronin were no more.
Weren’t they?
he wondered again. The book in Gray’s bag written in another language and the scrap of Kail’s cloak made him hesitate.