Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (62 page)

He couldn’t see the dark spires of the Citadel in the night, but he felt them. It should have been scary, knowing a war was coming, but Gray instead felt his heart beat in anticipation.
And fear,
he admitted, remembering Victasys, and his heart knotted in memory.

A figure appeared from the darkness, menacing as he strode into the fire’s light. “A clever move. You can use your power at will again?” Zane asked, walking out of the dark and into Gray’s circle.

Zane stood bare-chested, his red vest cast aside, his hair stuck up in a crazy array, reminding Gray of Darius, only blond.
“We’ll have to see,” he replied. “I’ve brought you out here to answer that very question.” Gray let the nexus fill him, and golden threads filled his hand, bright in the dark night. With it he grabbed the torches that burned in the ground, carefully twirling them in the air, as if they were lanterns held by invisible hands. He dropped them back to the ground.
“I can’t lift anything very heavy. Not yet at least.”

“Well, if you brought me out here, I suppose it’s to show me more than a few dancing flames,” Zane said.

“It’s time for one final fight,” Gray answered.

Zane grinned in the light of the fires. “Then let’s get it over with.”

With that, they charged at one another. Wherever his blade slashed, Zane’s sword was there.
Under the Bridge
—it was an upward slash that ducked beneath his opponent’s cut. Zane met it with
Guardian’s Garrote
—parrying and slashing, trying to take Gray’s back. Their blades flickered as they moved about the courtyard. Quickly, Gray’s exhaustion caught up with him, sweat beaded and dripped into his eyes.

Zane called out the moves Gray had taught him. “
Down the Hill! Falling Sky! Clean the Blade meets The Dragon’s Fang! Two Hands
Clasp!
”
His sword hammered down, and Gray backpedaled under the man’s attacks, each one feeling like a mountain crashing down. But still he waited. He needed to know if he could summon it when it truly mattered.
“You are stronger than this!” Zane called. “Show me your true strength!”
The words were just like Faye’s upon the desert, teaching him the sword and
si’tu’ah
.

Anger and stillness.

Zane’s sword pounded down at last, nearly reaching Gray’s neck.

The nexus pulsed.

He embraced it, not out of need, but willingly, calmly. Warmth and light flowed through him, and he felt his limbs suddenly coated—a thin, white wind flowed over his body. Zane’s blows became less heavy, and Gray’s arms, less leaden. Abruptly, Gray stopped his retreat. Shock showed in the fiery man’s features as he held Zane’s parry with ease, swords gnashing, sparks flying. A thin smile crossed Gray’s face… and he attacked. Zane barely had time to block as Gray’s sword whipped. He cut at the man’s arms, legs, head, and torso, almost all at once. His limbs moved, almost too fast for him to handle.

Suddenly a burst of fire flew forth.

Gray ducked, stunned. His vision returned, and he saw Zane.

Small flames still dancing from his fingertips, Zane looked confused, almost apologetic. He opened his mouth, but Gray didn’t give him a chance, lunging with his sword and crying out. The wind powered his strike—
Boar Charges down the Hill.
Zane parried in the nick of time, and flames roared to life across the fiery man’s sword. The two blades clashed, flame and wind dancing. But it was Gray who was stronger now, his blade inching closer to Zane’s face.

Gray smiled. Anger and serenity thundered inside him. “Admit defeat!”

Zane snarled, fury dancing in his eyes, but beneath that was a smile.
“Never.”
And he cried out, flinging his hands. Gray cursed, leaping back as a fountain of fireballs hurtled forth, flying out of the dark night. Fear flushed through him when a memory struck him.
Dragons descending from all sides upon a golden walkway. Shields of golden wind, hovering in the air between the rushing villagers and the horrible clawed beasts. The shields…!
his mind shouted. He conjured those threads again, and the fiery orbs clashed with the shields of wind.
One, two,
and
three…
Each ball of fire exploded, weakening the wind until… The shield shattered. Yet another ball of fire raced through the air. Gray shot out his other hand. A bolt of wind imploded the fire and sped towards Zane’s head. The man growled and threw himself flat then he slapped his hand upon the ground and a line of flames roared, scorching grass and racing towards Gray. He began to thread a shield but—
It’s too much to stop with a shield!
his nexus shouted.

It can speak?
Gray felt fear and confusion.

The nexus flickered as his serenity wavered but he held on. Rage welling, he envisioned a spear, one made of wind. He threw his arm forward and a strange, giant lance of wind rushed forth. It doused the flames but didn’t stop. The gust barreled into Zane, who had just gotten back up, and threw the man from his feet. Gray closed his eyes. He felt threads form around him, thick and complicated. He knew the threads, but they were not easy to wield. His anger and stillness trembled. He held the two tight, refusing to let go and…

The nexus pulsed.

Suddenly, he stood over Zane. He’d
shifted
—moving from one place to another in the blink of an eye. His sword hovered above the man’s throat. “Do you concede?”

Zane’s eyes were uncommonly wide. “How… How did you do that?”

“It’s a skill of the Devari,” he lied.

Then, slowly, Zane grinned and Gray extended his hand. Zane took it, rising to his feet. “Either way,
that
is what I call training,” the man said, looking invigorated.

At his words, Gray’s legs trembled. Zane caught him before he fell, and then helped him to sit upon a nearby stone bench.

“You all right?” he asked gruffly.

Gray nodded. He was. He was elated even
.
He’d never felt more right. Though
shifting
took a lot out of him. It was not an ability he could use often, not until he got stronger. Still, his power… It
was
back! He had summoned things he had conjured before, upon the Gates and in the desert, even new things.
What was that spear?
He had envisioned a lance, and it had come. Could he create anything he saw in his mind? If so, wind seemed limitless. Inside his mind, the nexus floated, golden and whole once more. There were no blemishes or cracks, but a swirling ball of pure wind.

Anger and stillness.

He held out his hand and the wind that flowed across his arms channeled itself into a single dense ball of white air, churning upon his upturned palm like a globe of living wind, brilliant and white in the dim night.

He looked up and saw Zane’s face turn suddenly pale in the flickering flames.

“What is it?” Gray asked.

“Your eyes…” Zane breathed.

“What about them?”

“See for yourself.”

Gray held up Morrowil. Despite the darkness, he saw his eyes in the blade’s reflection. There was no pupil, just spheres of swirling white, like the wind within his hand. He nearly gasped, dropping the blade. Instead, his concentration slipped. Serenity and anger left him in a rush. The white wind coating his body vanished, leaving a chill through him as it dissipated in the air. Gray watched as his eyes returned to their normal gray-green.

“What are you?” Zane asked. He wore a look of burning curiosity.

Can I tell him? Is it safe?
Or does the man fear Ronin like all others?
He answered at last, honestly, “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. I’ll tell you when I find out.” But as he said the words, Gray didn’t fear the uncertainty and mystery that was his future. He was Kail’s progeny, but he knew he would never be Kail.

They sat on the nearby bench, exchanging a skin of water. How long had they battled for? It was still a deep night, but he felt the chill in the air soften—was that also a skill of the Ronin or Devari? He wondered if it would be difficult to decipher the two. He figured wind was Ronin and Devari was anything with ki, but perhaps the two would overlap.

Regardless, a slow fog rolled in.

Dawn was coming.

And with that, war.

“Gray… Do you think we’re strong enough to take Jian?” Zane asked into the night, unexpectedly.

“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “I hope so.”

“With the way the Devari look at us now, and especially now that you’ve got your power back, I doubt an average brother or even low ranking Reaver will be a problem. But Jian… Thieves have told fearful tales of his prowess. They say even Darkeye is afraid of the man.”

It was true. Gray felt different. With each passing moment they each had grown faster and stronger.
But Jian seems special,
Gray thought.
He seems
more
than a man.
“We will just have to see,” he said at last.

“I will see Jian’s blood upon my hands before this is done. He will pay, just as Darkeye will pay for laying a hand upon my sister.”

Gray felt the same anger, and he swore, “Victasys’ sacrifice will not be in vain.” He looked over and saw Zane’s eyes were swirling with thoughts. He knew he was thinking about his sister. He couldn’t blame the man. His own thoughts kept drifting to Ayva and Darius. But he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything negative. He knew.

They were alive.

They had to be…

The Pit of Despair

“
W
E’RE ALMOST THERE,”
F
AYE ANNOUNCED.

Darius breathed a thin sigh. He watched Faye’s back as she moved like a predator through the cavernous tunnels. As they moved, red glimmered eerily off the woman’s armor from the strange red rocks embedded in the dark, stone walls.

“What are those?” Darius asked as they moved.

“Bloodstones,”
Faye said from ahead.

“I’ve never seen anything like them,” Ayva said. “Are they valuable?” Her white shirt and gold vest looked out of place in their grim surroundings, but she moved at Darius’ side with confidence. Her hair was pulled back from her face, exposing her delicate features. A light burned in her eyes as she watched their surroundings.

“They are more valuable than gold. It is what Darkeye uses to fuel his small war against Farbs and the Citadel. They are only found deep beneath the earth.”

“More than gold…” Darius breathed, and reached out, wanting to touch them.

Faye was suddenly gripping his wrist. He gasped in pain. How was she so strong? “Don’t,” she snapped. “Bloodstones are incredibly dangerous.”

“Why?” Darius asked. “They don’t look so dangerous.”

“On their own, the stones hold no magic, but to one with the spark, someone like you… Put simply, they can accomplish great and terrible things. If you are an Untamed, there’s no telling what your magic might do to it. Simply touching one could ignite these Bloodstones and cause an explosion that would kill us all. Or they could simply fizzle into dust. If you wish to live, I would advise against using your power down here.”

Darius shivered, yanking his hand back as if seared. “Why does everything in this forsaken land have to be so damned dangerous? Let’s save Hannah and get out of this cursed pit already,” he ordered, moving forward. He watched as Ayva put her hands to her side as if that would prevent her from causing any trouble as they continued.

Ahead, the tunnels seemed to breathe darkness, and Darius felt a cold wind hit him. He reached out to his leaf, but then hesitated, remembering what Faye had said. The bloodstones could ignite and kill them all. Something in the ground felt
wrong.

They moved onward, snaking their way deeper into the tunnels. Bloodstones now littered the walls, ceiling and even the ground, shining iridescently, their glassy surface casting them all in shades of red. Still, deeper they wound themselves, the tunnels narrowing.

As they moved, Darius heard the trickle of water and, beneath that, a faint scraping noise. It echoed off the jagged walls. “What is that?”

“We’re beneath the entrance of Farbs, the Southern Gate. Water pipes run throughout these tunnels, leading up to the surface,” she explained. They continued, turning a corner, and Darius froze.

Ahead was a grand, circular chamber. In the murky half-light, Darius made out a domed ceiling high above, reaching for the surface—but it was unlike any roof he had ever seen. It
glistened.
In the dim light, it appeared as though made of water, as if a dark lake was suspended above them. The walls, though also far away, were engraved with huge, strange runes the size of buildings. The floor was empty save for more unfamiliar carvings, white unpolished marble, and the occasional glittering bloodstone sprouted from its surface reminded him of little red eggs. Dim, glistening light hung in the air, touching everything faintly.
Darius squinted.
In the center of the grand white floor, was a curious black pit.