Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (72 page)

“You look worried,” he said reading the concern on the man’s wizened face.

“I’ve seen your journey. I fear the things you’ve seen.”

“Darkwalkers,” he voiced aloud. “What are they?”

“Darkwalkers have been around since the beginning of time, though few have ever seen them,” Ezrah said. “Only recently have they shown themselves and in such numbers. They appear like a dark swarm upon the land and devour all they touch. Some believe they are the reflection of a dying world of magic. Others that something is… stirring them, awakening them from their dark slumber.”

Gray read what Ezrah wasn’t saying…
Something? Or someone?

Ezrah continued, “Darkwalkers hold no definite form, appearing in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes on two legs like a man, four like a dog or horse, or eight or more legs like a giant insect. Fire, stone, metal, flesh, leaf, ice, moon, and sun are all useless against them. But Darkwalkers and Algasi?” Ezrah voiced, his gaze distant, as if seeing a game of Elements but not knowing the next move. “The prophecy mentions both of them, but I do not know how it unfolds. It is dark to me. But somehow I know your friends have a role to play.”

Gray felt their presence, just beyond the wall, waiting for him.

Ezrah nodded. “Just as you have a role to play in this coming fight, they also have a purpose.” His grandfather’s eyes softened. “Your life is one of great dualities, simply because you have greatness in you. Moreover, your power, while truly yours now as I sense, will never be so simply held.”

“Like Kail,” Gray said, “just as he fell victim to the power and his darkness. Was that his fate?”

“Perhaps,” Ezrah said. “The Wanderer faced great adversity time and again, and in the end, perhaps he did fail, or perhaps he was meant to fail.”

“Meant to fail?”

“Perhaps in failing the wanderer actually succeeded, aligning events as they were always meant to be.”

“How so?” he asked.

“You arrived, did you not?”

Gray shook his head. “Fate,” he cursed.
Ayva, Darius, and now Zane,
he
thought. He cared for them dearly, but was it his own choice to befriend them, or was it simply destined? “Is that all I am, a product of fate? A simple cog in the wheel of time?” he questioned angrily.

Ezrah smiled and it banished the darkness in Gray’s heart, the stubborn fear rising. “Have you learned nothing of prophecy, dear boy? Fate or prophecy may be written, but we always have a choice, just as you had a choice at the Gates. What you do will define you
and
strengthen you, giving you the ability to fight greater odds and meet tougher choices… but never believe that our troubles or challenges will fall off once we simply ‘know who we are’ or ‘make one right choice’.”
Ezrah paused, throwing on a long, elegant coat over his white robes. “When I look at you, I will not lie, I see the potential for the terrible darkness you fear—it is the mantle all those with power must bear—but I see a brilliant light too, just as powerful if not more. Which one you choose is up to you.”

“Will I ever be rid of the darkness?” Gray asked.

Ezrah looked out the window. “Darkness will always exist,” he said, “but just as night needs day, all things have balance, and for that very reason a terrible darkness must always be met with a brilliant light such as yours.”

Ezrah opened the door, and
Darius leapt back having obviously been eavesdropping. He grumbled and then moved off, standing beside Ayva. Along the walls were a dozen Reavers and an equal number of Devari. At their head, Meira waited, her ever-present friend, Finn, never far from her side. His grandfather turned back to Gray and spoke with a wise smile, “In the end, my boy, life is always a knife’s edge, whether it is written in prophecy or not.”

A Game of Elements

G
RAY MOVED CLOSE TO HIS GRANDFATHER’S
side, watching the man’s white robes whisk along the desert streets. Not far behind, the others trailed, moving beneath the moon’s dappled light.

An army of Devari and Reavers.

Despite the time of night, citizens of the great desert city still moved about as well—though many secluded themselves in their homes, for the tension in the air was all but palpable.

It was clear this was a night for blood.

Ezrah, however, with the aid of a dozen Reavers, had used the element of moon and cloaked them all in shadows. It felt strange upon Gray’s skin, as if a dark cloud clung to him. Ayva and Darius rubbed at their arms as well. Only Zane seemed at home in the strange shroud of gloom. And Faye, of course.

They entered a simple alley. Gray breathed a sigh. Immediately, he recognized where they were. It was cold and dark like any other. High above, clotheslines held drying garments of green, blue, and red, with a yellow moon in contrast. A memory of a day long ago sifted back to him.

He looked around. The alley was empty save for the tall, tan brick walls, and hanging clotheslines high above. On his left, in the damp sand lay the pendant. He grabbed it and rose to his feet, moving to leave when he felt something. Gray looked back. There, in the shade of the alley, lay the sword. He sheathed it and with a deep breath he stepped forward into the desert street…

Gray’s vision snapped back to the moment before him.

He looked around to see if the others had noticed his reverie, but Ayva and Darius were just entering, looking confused, by the strange narrow alley. He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Zane’s copper eyes.

“You all right?” the man asked, looking genuinely concerned.

Gray nodded. “This place… it’s familiar.”

“It should be,” Ezrah announced, ahead of him, coming to a stop. “It was your last memory as Kirin.”

The words were like a slap. A strange terror welled inside his breast, a voice and memory trying to bubble forth, but he pushed it down.
Was that Kirin’s dread?
But before he could ask anymore, the Arbiter lifted a hand. A block suddenly slid inward, as if someone had punched the seamless clay wall with a square hammer.

A transporter,
Gray realized.

Abruptly, a sphere of purple appeared in the air and hung, suspended and weightless.

“A transporter?” Meira questioned, stepping forth, shaking her head of dark hair. Her scarlet robes were freshly cleaned, her three-striped cuffs in stark contrast to the bright red cloth. “Why here? I thought all of them were contained to the Citadel.”

At her side, Finn scratched his head as well. “You never cease to amaze, even for a man of your rank.”

“But more importantly, where does it lead?” Reaver Ethelwin asked, her head held high, stately as ever, looking down her sharp nose. Her eyes glinted with intelligence. Gray had grown accustomed to that expression, passing her in the halls of the Tranquil House. It was neither cruel nor kind, simply unyielding. Reaver Dagon was at her side, only a hair behind—as if both four-stripes had argued where they would stand in position to Ezrah and had resolved this particular arrangement. The four-stripe Reavers bickered like cats, despite their power and rank.

“A valid question,” Dagon echoed. “This transporter looks as if it hasn’t been used in decades. It could be faulty—if so, it could land us on the top of an ice-capped mountain, or place only
half
of a person in one location, and the other half somewhere else entirely.”

At Gray’s side, Darius shivered and mumbled, “In that case, I vote to go last.”

“It works,” Ezrah declared firmly.

“But—”
Dagon began.

Arms folded inside his billowing white sleeves, the Arbiter cut Dagon and Ethelwin’s objections short with a mere glare.

“How
do
you know?” Ayva asked softly.

Ezrah looked to Gray. “It’s been used before. Two years ago to be exact, and by my own grandson.” All in the alley eyed Gray. He felt the weight of their stares—powerful Reavers, menacing Devari, and his friends, each questioning. He held his stance, unwaveringly, but still he had no answer. “If I can trust his life to it, I can trust yours.”

“Enough delaying,” Faye stated, striding forth smoothly, “Who’s first?”

“I’ll go,” Gray said. He felt their eyes on him as he stepped into the waiting sphere. As if suffocated in stone, the purple haze vanished around Gray, leaving behind the cold, wet alley, replacing it with a warm room and stone walls. The walls were lined with books, an elegant white desk sat in the corner, and against a large window that showed a keep cast in shadows was a table. Upon the table sat a board game, pieces laid upon the checkered surface as if the game were in progress.

“This place…” he whispered. It was beyond familiar.

He heard a
vwoom
sound, and he leapt back as another purple sphere appeared, filling the room. The sphere dwindled and in its place stood Ayva, Darius, Zane, and Hannah.

Darius gripped his stomach. “That… was unpleasant…”

Ayva simply looked around, mystified. “That was incredible… I’ve read stories about transporters, but my spirits, I never thought it would be like that!” She suddenly took in the room, eyes wide. “What is this place? It has the look of a library.”

With one hand, Darius gripped his leaf-blade sword as if there were hidden enemies behind the ornate bookshelves. “I don’t like it… It feels like magic.”

Ayva smacked his hand. “Can you stop that? The desk isn’t going to attack you.”

Darius grumbled but let go.

“It’s Ezrah’s room,” Gray declared, scanning the chamber.

The four turned to him curious. “How do you know that?” Zane questioned.

“Your memory has returned?” Ayva asked, touching his arm warmly.

“Not yet, not all of it at least…” he admitted, but what he didn’t say was that it felt as if his memories were a deluge of water held behind a dam. And that dam was on the verge of bursting.

Kirin was about to return…

Fondling a glass figurine upon the board shaped like a small, orange flame, he knew he’d played it before. It was a game of hidden tactics. A game of war—it felt like a fitting metaphor for what they were here to do.

“What is that?” Darius asked, nodding to the small flame.

Gray opened his mouth to answer when a deep voice intoned,
“Elements.”

All turned to see Ezrah. A group of Reavers stood behind the Arbiter: Reaver Ethelwin and Reaver Dagon included, Reaver Meira and Finn not far either. Among others, Faye was there as well, watching him with her mysterious black-rimmed eyes.

“Quaint,” Faye snorted, eyeing her surroundings.

Soon enough, all of their forces were amassed in the dark halls with long windows that overlooked the grand Citadel, and Ezrah spoke. “We shall form two groups—one to search the grounds for resistance while gathering those not yet swayed by Sithel to our side, and the other faction will head directly to the prisons to release our shackled brothers and sisters. I shall lead the second company, while Gray shall lead the first.”

Gray froze.
Me?
He eyed his grandfather. He opened his mouth to object, but before he could, Ayva, Darius, and Zane joined his side, Hannah included. A group of Devari joined them as well, and a smattering of lower-rank Reavers. They stood behind him, their expressions hard.

Dagon spoke. “Surely, I, or Reaver Ethelwin, or even another should go with the boy—he is your grandson, my Arbiter, but still he is just a boy.”

“He’s right,” Gray said. “Another would be more suited to the task than I.”

Meira stepped forward, Finn close behind. “I will go with the boy.”

Gray gave a breath of relief as she joined his side.

Ezrah nodded and the two groups exchanged looks. “Once it is done, we shall meet at the northern entrance of the Citadel. May the winds be at your sides,” his grandfather declared.

With that, they split, heading down opposite halls.

“Come,” Meira voiced. “This way.”

Gray wasted no time, moving quickly with the others at his side.

“Where are we?” Ayva asked as they ran.

“The restricted halls,” Finn replied. “None but the most powerful are allowed here.”

Ayva swallowed, not in fear but in awe. Darius shivered and Zane merely looked purposeful, his hand upon his blade’s hilt. Gray took in their surroundings as they moved. The halls were sparse, aside from dark stone that seemed to pulse with magic, as if thousands of Reavers had left their mark upon the stones. Twice, he saw rooms that were huge libraries with limitless ceilings and endless rows of books. As he passed, the musty scent of ancient tomes wafted forth. Windows to either side showed more glimpses of darkened courtyards or stone ramparts, familiar and yet not. They continued on and a strange feeling filled Gray, growing with every step. It was in the very air—it felt lifeless, absent of laughter, chatter, or the warmth of another.

A feeling of absence.