Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (56 page)

Victasys unsheathed his blade, and flames roared to life all along Yuwa’s surface, his named soulwed blade, weapons bestowed to a Sword-Forged Devari. He had carried Yuwa at his side for nearly six decades, as such the blade had become his closest companion. And yet he did not feel for it nearly the way he had felt for those two young men.

Across from him, in the center of the green yard, Jian grabbed his soulwed sword, and for one of the first times in his life, Victasys felt true dread. Bright red flames bellowed forth, scorching earth and burning grass in a ring around Jian.

A bead of sweat formed on Victasys’ forehead, rolling down into his eye.

This man was not simply stronger. With a blade, Jian was death.

Abruptly, wind burst over him and Jian
flew.
Victasys’ sword flickered, blades clashing as Yuwa met those brilliant red flames. Jian’s expression didn’t flicker, his arms flexing as his blade pressed down. The flames roared louder, searing Victasys’ face, and he cried out, lunging and attacking with everything he had. But with every move, Jian’s blade was there, meeting it almost casually. Blades clashed and steel thundered as a flood of blows sounded, echoing through the courtyard. Victasys moved faster and faster. He sacrificed sure footing and exposed vital targets all for the chance to land a blow. His battle cry grew louder and louder as he slashed at Jian’s midsection and then lunged for his head. But it was not enough.
No,
Victasys thought with rage.
I will not fall here!
He used his ki, forcing all his will upon the man in an attempt to read the Devari leader’s movements. A barrier met him, harder than steel and thicker than any city’s wall. But that was not his intent. He simply wanted to distract Jian. It worked. Victasys lunged and his sword met flesh.

Jian retreated in a rush of wind.

They stood a dozen paces away, and Victasys found himself breathing so hard he felt as if he were a youngling once more. He wanted to vomit, but he suppressed the urge. His arms were limp, tingling beneath the ringing power of Jian’s blows. He wanted to let them fall to his side, but he refused, holding his sword upright, as if he was ready for more.

He looked to Jian, and tensed.

How?

Only a tiny gash marred Jian’s cheek. Victasys’ confidence wavered. The man casually wiped at it with a finger and flicked the blood to the ground.
But if he can bleed,
he thought,
then he can fall…
He ground his teeth, forming a plan hastily.
Confidence
. If he could feign confidence perhaps—

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted as Jian…
transported.

For that is only what it could be called. It was not magic, Victasys knew, not the spark, but pure strength.

He was simply too fast.

He tried to move, but it was no use.

Victasys felt cold steel pierce his gut and he gasped, pain shooting through his limbs. He felt his limbs twitch. Knowing Jian had hit his spine, he knew he was dead, that it was only a matter of seconds before Jian would cut and end it. Mercifully. He tried to speak, but only blood poured forth. He swallowed it down and tried again.

“I… would have… followed,” Victasys said, unsure whether it was garbled or the words came out with any coherence. His mind started to waver, all things blurring. He fell to his knees, seeing the bright grass rustle from a subtle breeze.
Wind… Gray…
His heart warmed at the thought, despite slowing down, knowing that those two would live and see Ezrah to safety.

The last thing he saw as he felt something cut his spine and sever all life was Jian’s mixed expression.

Duty…
So thick it could have buried a man alive.

And beneath that:
Sorrow.

The Trader

T
HIS WAY,
K
IRIN PLIED.

Gray listened, anger and sorrow roiling through him with each step.

He led the others as they passed through the green courtyard and into a black tower on the eastern end of the Citadel. Several guards twisted at their sudden appearance.

The two groups reached for blades, but Gray wasted no time.

Monkfish Darts Beneath the Waves.
He rolled, dipping beneath the first guard’s slash, barely. At the same time, the other guard’s halberd plummeted towards Zane. The fiery man sidestepped and rammed his fist into the man’s gut, dropping him. Gray came to his feet, ramming the pommel of Morrowil into the side of the first guard’s head. The man’s armor clanked as he crumbled to the stone floor.

Gray didn’t slow, but he asked…
Is he…?

Unconscious. Don’t worry,
Kirin said.

A four-way split approached and, from around the bend, swords raced towards Gray. He couldn’t move in time, and he prepared himself to feel steel, cringing—

The guard cried out, collapsing. Nearby, he saw Meira’s hand extended, face smooth. “Careful,” the three-stripe Reaver advised.

Gray nodded in thanks.

“How exactly do you know where we are going?” Meira asked as they continued.

“Call it a hunch,” he lied, ducking left.

“A strong hunch or a bad liar. Why do I feel it’s the latter?”

Gray grumbled but didn’t slow. Three corridors.
Left
, Kirin said. Gray didn’t question. He dashed down the left courtyard, the footsteps of the other Reavers echoing behind him. Though Meira had tried to wedge herself closer, Zane ran between them, near to his side. As always, he was glad for the fiery man’s presence, but he felt as if there was a hollow at his other side.
Victasys
. Pained, he turned his thoughts away. He looked to Ezrah as they ran. The man’s eyes were closed as the two Reavers carried him upon the golden stretcher.

An Arbiter.

His grandfather…

“If you are no Devari, then what are you?” the woman asked yet again, breaking him from his reverie.

Gray paused at a four-way intersection. “Does it matter?”
Where?
he asked Kirin, but again silence.

“If we are following you, it matters.”

Gray sniffed the air and smelled dirt closer down the straight path before answering. “I am something different,” he said with a small smile, then ran. He felt her emotions spike in curiosity through his ki. And he reveled in her curiosity and irritation, but her face became a mask of coolness once more. He tried to sift between her barrier. She was strong, immensely so, but he found a slim gap. All at once, her emotions rushed through him, her feelings overpowering him.

Duty and pride… Strength and reserve… Sorrow and loss…

Beneath that was a driving regret, and he knew who that was for—the man on the golden stretcher.

And at last, a wisp of love surrounded by denial, and he wondered for whom.

But most immediately, her every muscle twitched wanting to stop, to turn back. It was clear. This is the wrong way, her body shouted. Gray retreated, eyeing the woman as they ran. She was expressionless. How could she act so placid, yet be so ruffled inside? If one overlooked the sweat and blood, Meira could have been out for a simple jog. She had thick, dark brows and a slender but strong Serian nose.
Serian? Who or what is that?
Kirin, he knew. He tried to guess her age. She couldn’t have been old enough to be his mother. Then again, her angled brown eyes were full of wisdom, like a woman many times her age.

Meira opened her mouth.

“And to answer your next question,” he said, interrupting her, “you yourself said the Eastern Gate is blocked. This is the only way out.”

Meira’s lips tightened in response. “Presumptuous, are we? What makes you think that was my next question?”

Gray gave another small smile. “A strong hunch,” he replied.

This time Meira’s annoyance and curiosity was obvious, but she remained silent.

Gray moved through a stone hall and saw a door ahead.

The postern gate,
Kirin said. The iron-strapped door was bolted shut, but they didn’t slow. At his side, Zane raised his hand and a bolt of fire exploded forth. With the others at his side, Gray ran through the cloud of splinters and found himself in a dusty street of Farbs. Clay buildings surrounded them, but there were no signs of guards.

“Where are we…?” a younger Reaver whispered fearfully.

But just then, there was a sound.

With a trickle of his power, Gray felt back along the corridors from where they came, then suddenly felt the presence of hundreds of soldiers storming through the halls like a flood of barred steel, barreling closer. Their eyes, cruelly lit in the dim halls, shone with the lust for blood.

At their head, he saw a man in gruesome red-stained robes, a blue stone in one large palm, pulsating and crackling. Gray’s vision snapped, racing back into his body.

Zane’s hand was on his shoulder, reassuringly. “What did you see?”

“They are coming…” Gray whispered.

“Then we run?” Zane asked, gulping a breath, looking haggard. His hands were on his knees. He seemed as if he wanted to lie down and sleep. Gray felt exhaustion to his bones as well. How long had they been running? He could barely think straight let alone drive his leaden legs to move once more. A strange determination kept him standing, kept his head high and his back straight, but how much longer would it last? He felt as if he stood on borrowed time.

“We cannot run anymore!” shouted another Reaver. “Besides, where is there to go?”

Reaver Dagon stepped forward, head held high. “Then this is where we make our stand.”

“But none of us can fight!” said another, “I can barely feel the spark!”

“Agreed,” said a bearded Reaver.
Hutosh
, Meira had called him. He gripped the nearby wall, flexing his palm as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s strange… but I would be lucky to light a candle at this moment.”

“Then what do we do?” Reaver Dimitri questioned.

“We die,” Zane said, unsheathing his sword. Oddly, thin flames danced along its surface, for a mere moment, but then were gone. Gray shook his head.
Was he seeing things as well now?

The footsteps grew louder as the hallway seemed to breathe darkness. Gray was so tired, but he held onto that inexplicable strength and lifted Morrowil, readying himself for whatever came. At the same time,
the ground rattled, but it was coming from elsewhere.

Gray twisted when, from around the bend, a cart rumbled into view. The man in the driver’s seat lashed the horses, voice ringing.
“Ho!”
he called, and the beasts came to an abrupt stop. The man wore a wrinkled smile and had a big nose and dark eyes that bulged from his small head. Upon his skull, a floppy cap tried and failed to contain his bushel of snowy white hair. “Need a lift?” he called.

“Liam…” Meira breathed, sounding stunned.

The scrawny man scrambled from his perch, hastening to throw open the doors of the cart. “My lady,” Liam said, bobbing his head. “So sorry, but no time for any more formalities. Quickly now, quit your gawking and load him in!” And the Reavers jumped to. “Watch it now, careful with his head! He’s an Arbiter for bloody sake, not a bushel of wheat!”

“Where in the seven hells did you come from?” a dark-skinned Reaver voiced.

“From the land of
It Doesn’t Bloody Matter Right Now
,” Liam said. “Now do you want to be rescued or not? If so, all of you get in, or I’ll leave your sorry hides behind!”

Each man jumped to, leaping inside as if the ground was on fire.

Gray felt the earth tremble. He looked back towards the hallway.

They were coming…

With Zane nearby, Gray bounded into the cart as a blue light filled the air, crackling with power, and Meira and the other Reavers gasped as if being stabbed.

* * *

Men burst from the postern door, soldiers charging towards the cart. Ignoring the pain, Meira leapt up into the side-driver’s seat. Grabbing the wiry man’s stick thin arm, she yelled, “Ride! Get us out of here!”

Liam winked. “Ah, but with pleasure, my lady!” he said anxiously. He clicked his tongue, and the horses burst into a gallop, racing down the dirt streets.

Meira peered over her shoulder.

Calmly, Sithel walked out of the hall, surrounded by men. His bloodied white robes brushed the ground as he watched the cart race away, a small smile upon his cruel lips. In his hand, the blue orb crackled in the dry, empty street, sucking at all life—even the golden motes in the air seemed to fizzle beneath the orb’s touch. Wavering in her seat, Meira had only one thought looking upon that man and the stone in his hand: Sithel was death.