Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (74 page)

At his side, Ayva spoke, short of breath. “This… this is…”

“Wayfayer’s Hall,” Gray stated.

“I was going to say
amazing
, but that too,” she replied.

Zane snorted and said bluntly, “If this is impressive, you should see it when the transporters are working.”

“It’s true,” Meira admitted proudly. “It’s a place unlike any other, a hub of life and magic. Over the centuries, nearly all of Farhaven has passed through here at one time or another.”

Ayva’s mouth was open in wonder.

Darius nudged her, and she clamped her mouth shut, but when the rogue looked away, his eyes rolled in his head like loose marbles. They continued. Gray’s neck craned as he took in the giant statue in the center of the floor. The statue was the height of several buildings stacked one atop another. Its sandaled foot alone reached above his head. In the vast room, the robed figure’s gaze felt heavy, as if accusing their company of the odd absence of life, and consequently standing in judgment with its scepter and living flame. Gray suppressed a shiver. Then he saw Seth in marbled form, once again. At his side, he felt Zane stir, fingers playing along his sword. The carved likeness of the fire Ronin knelt at the robed statue’s side. Seth’s face was hard as always, gaze fixed ahead as if still seeing a danger or hope beyond sight.

“The northern entrance is just beyond,” Meira announced. “Let us not linger.”

Quickly, they passed out of Wayfayer’s Hall, the sound of the giant flame dwindling.
Gray moved into the courtyard seeing stone benches and fading yellow lampposts. A dawning crimson light peered over the bailey of the Citadel, as if announcing a bloody dawn.

Suddenly, from around the keep’s bend, a fleet of men appeared. Their steel-colored cloaks wavered, and Gray saw the familiar insignia of crossed-swords. Devari. They fanned out in a long line, blocking their passage. Gray noticed their faces were grizzled with age and experience. He tensed.
Sword-Forged, all of them.

Suddenly, their ranks parted and Jian stepped through.

Eyes fogging with rage, Gray took in the leader of the Devari with his sweep of blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and strong features. He wore a long coat that brushed the ground, faded black pants, and dark brown boots folded at their tops. At his waist, hooked to a thick and metal-tooled leather belt, was his blade. Though the man couldn’t have looked ten summers Gray’s elder, the hilt of the blade looked worn to the bone.

“Jian…” Finn breathed angrily. “Is this your doing? What has happened to the Citadel?”

“I know not, but if you seek Sithel, he is gone,” Jian said.

“Then what are you doing here?” Meira snapped.

“What am
I
doing here?” the leader of the Devari replied calmly, stalking forward with deadly grace. His coat barely shifted as the man moved, as if by way of magic.
“Restoring order, of course.”

“Order?” Meira scoffed. “The keep is empty, you fool! There is nothing left here to save!”

Jian’s eyes blazed. “Nothing? While there is honor and truth in this world, there is always something left to save,” he replied darkly. His gaze passed over the Devari of their group, and scorn riddled his hard, handsome features. “I see not all of you believe the same. Duty is a hard mantle to bear. Many are not strong enough for it. Duty is a thing as old as time. The Ronin Kail bears the title of traitor for failing in his duty and abandoning his brothers. There will always be those who uphold their duty to the last breath and those who are twisted or run from it, like each of you…”

Finn shook his head, baffled. “Enough of your twisted logic. Sithel is the one we’ve come for. Tell us where he is and then step aside.”

“I know not where that worm went,” Jian answered casually. There was a sharp ring as the ground trembled, a wave of heat rushing over him. When Gray opened his eyes, Jian gripped his blade that was coated in dark red flames. Jian wore the gaze of an executioner. “As for the rest, I shall step aside when I finish you just like I finished Victasys.”

A rage-filled cry cut the air.

Gray twisted to see Zane charge.

Dozens of Devari unsheathed their blades as one, fire blazing along their curved steel.

“Zane, no!” he cried. With a hand, tapping into the nexus like lightning, Gray reached out. He extended thick threads of wind. They were suddenly seared, but he sent more, thicker and faster, but again they were burned to a crisp, falling short. The other Devari shifted to aid their leader, but the man held up a hand. Zane reached Jian, his cry pitching. In the last moment, Jian coolly ducked Zane’s slice, ramming his fist hard into the fiery man’s gut.

Zane collapsed to the ground, motionless.

“Zane…” Ayva breathed.

Darius gripped his leaf-blade tighter.

One blow…
Gray thought, stunned. He reached out with the wind, and felt the air before Zane’s mouth.
He was still alive
. Gray shivered. He remembered their training
.
The fiery man could take far more punishment than him. How hard had Jian hit him that he wasn’t moving?

This man was no mere mortal.

Worse still, the Devari leader hadn’t even glanced at the worn handle of his blade. That confidence was unnerving. Yet he feared it was justified. Reaching out with the ki to Jian, Gray felt…
something
. It was like touching a mountain of fire cloaked in stone and steel.
How did I ever think I could face this man?

Jian’s gazed panned up with a sigh. “Proud but foolish.”

“Are you mad?” Finn questioned. “He’s just a boy! We are not your enemy, Jian!”

Hannah suddenly cried out, pulling a blade from a guard’s sheath and racing forward. This time, Gray was quicker. He grabbed her in bonds of wind, holding her in place. She screamed, limbs thrashing to reach her brother, but he held on. At his side, he felt Ayva, Darius, and the others ready themselves—threads taking form in the air. Meira and the other Reavers’ hands swirled with molten fire.

Just then, a brown-haired Devari with a knotted scar across his left eye interjected, “My eye, it can’t be… I know that boy!” he said in disbelief, sword aimed at Gray. Kirin shrieked something, as if trying to flee. “It’s him! The rumored one, the boy who slayed Ren and the other brothers!” Silence fell upon the crowds—Devari, Reavers, and all others.

He felt the pressure of their gaze bore into him like hot awls.

“Are you certain, Orrick?” Jian asked, “That boy, if he ever did exist, was rumored to have died or crossed Death’s Gate.”

“I swear it,” the Devari, Orrick, answered, grinding his teeth, and that gnarled eye squinted in distaste. “I’d know that smug face anywhere. Ren and he were as thick as thieves all those years ago. I always found it odd the liking the man took to him, a non-Sword-Forged. It was… unnatural.
Kirin
, yes, that’s his name. I’m sure of it now—it’s him.”

Inside Gray, Kirin suddenly tensed, flooding him with caution.

“Orrick’s right,” said another Devari, baffled. “He’s aged, and there’s a different look to his eyes, but I remember him. He’s a Devari, a youngling.”

“Kirin?” voiced another Sword-Forged, looking crestfallen standing beside Jian. “It can’t be… How could you? Ren loved you as a son. You… you betrayed us all…”

Gray’s heart panged, at a loss for words.

Orrick’s sword blazed brighter as he spoke, voice dripping with venom, “You don’t remember me, do you, Kirin? This—” he pointed to his missing eye, striding closer, “is a present from you when Ren wanted to demonstrate to all that
strength
is more than title. You wounded me in more than flesh that day,
boy
, but I will have it out of you and more.” He was now only a pace away. “I wonder do you even know how to wield that hunk of metal any longer?”

Beware!
Kirin sent.
Orrick holds a grudge that only blood can slake.

Gray lifted Morrowil to the man’s throat. “Another step and you will find your answer and your end.”

Orrick sneered, tension thundering. “A man’s pride is more than his life.” And he struck. His hand moved fast but, gripping Morrowil, he writhed in pain and agony, his palm spurting blood. But still he stabbed, lunging for Gray’s throat. By a hairsbreadth, Gray ducked the man’s sword but its flames singed his hair. Growling, he pulled hard, but Orrick was faster. As if sensing his action before it happened, the one-eyed man released Morrowil and roared. His boot slammed against Gray’s chest, launching him across the yard. As he fell, Gray caught himself with a cushion of air. Just then, the air parted as Orrick’s blade plummeted, racing for his head—the man’s single eye bloodshot with rage.

Roots shot out, gripping the blade.

Darius,
he knew.

Suddenly, the courtyard exploded in action.

Devari scattered like a swarm of ants, racing forward. Fire ruptured the ground, launching dirt into the air. Devari moved amid the chaos with liquid ease. Vines raced, but the men cut them down. Meira cried out, and several Devari fell, oddly, spasming uncontrollably as if grappling with invisible arms. Fire, stone, metal, leaf, and more roared across the impasse between the two groups. Gray’s eyes burned with the images, but a seething voice drew his attention back.

“Do… not… ignore me!” Orrick bellowed. The man flexed, snapping the thick roots with his brute strength, and charged forward. Gray realized he couldn’t contend with his sword—he needed to end this with his power. He summoned the nexus and reached out with thick threads of wind, attempting to grab Orrick. The wind raced and Orrick sneered. Gray reeled as the man cut, his threads sliced down as if his arm was lopped clean. Fear flashed. He barely ducked an overhead swipe. Out of instinct, from his training with Zane, he stabbed.
Parting The Needle
—a quick thrust aimed for the gut. But it was too slow as Orrick, despite his girth, danced back.

“Wind?” Orrick cursed. “I knew you were demon spawn. Luckily you’ve forgotten the power of a Sword-Forged Devari. Bloodstone pays no heed to magic, and I can sense your every move.” That was it.
The man’s sword.
Orrick’s ki could sense his reactions and somehow that blazing sword could dissolve even the flow.
I can’t beat this man, not without my power.
Orrick was simply too fast and strong. How in the seven hells did he think he could ever face Jian?

Fortunately, in the corner of his vision, the Devari leader simply watched the chaos, his gaze riveted to Gray, as if waiting his turn. Then dread filled him as he realized that even
if
he beat Orrick, his next opponent would be his last.

Orrick leapt high into the air—higher than any man should be able to.

He crashed down upon Gray, and his knees buckled beneath the man’s strength. “Give in!” Orrick ordered, “You have lost.”

Summoning his will, muscles shaking, Gray rose to his feet. “Never.”

“Then die!” Orrick roared, and suddenly, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, legs buckling as he fell to the ground.

“Your pride was always your downfall, Orrick,” he uttered, eyeing the man on the ground.

The words were his, and yet not.

Kirin.

He looked up to see Darius, who stood in Orrick’s place, breathing hard. His leaf-blade was in hand, pommel raised. “I just tapped him on the head. It wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“Thanks for the help,” Gray replied with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it looked like you had it under control, but he was just really annoying.”

Gray smirked when he remembered Kirin’s words.
How had he spoken without my will?
Confusion gripped him, but he shoved it down. The battle still raged, but it was a blur—through a clear path, he saw Jian. The man’s face was expressionless, watching him.

Darius cleared his throat. “I suppose it’d be too much to ask you to take this one on your own?”

He snorted and asked, “Are you with me?”

Darius grinned, gripping his leaf-blade. A faint emerald aura radiated from its glassy, green surface. The rogue opened his mouth when another answered—

“Of course we are.” Gray twisted to his left to see Ayva, her white dagger in hand. Her white shirt was singed, but otherwise she looked ready for battle—blue eyes blazing.

Gray nodded and, with the others at his side, he strode forward towards the waiting Jian, fear pounding in his chest. They neared and Jian waved a hand, indifferently. Devari leapt from either side, and Darius and Ayva reacted, roots sprouting from the ground and bursts of light flashing, blinding those nearest.

“Gray, go!” Ayva shouted.

Darius laughed beneath a Devari’s parry. “We’ll hold these thugs off! You just take him down and end this nonsense!”

Torn between aiding his friends and fighting Jian, Gray at last turned, striding toward the waiting leader of the Devari. As he approached, flames danced upon Jian’s sword, eating at the chill air, and the man spoke, “You are no match for me.”