Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (75 page)

Gray gestured angrily to those nearest.
“Look around you, Jian, we are not your enemies! You must sense it!” The battle raged, but Gray could feel the hesitation in the air. Even those who fought knew this was wrong.

“We can only do what we must—upholding the law of the Citadel is my duty.”

“Laws are nothing without reason!” Gray shouted.

The Devari leader sighed, beckoning him forward. “I’ve said all that needs to be said. Now come. Show me the strength of Ren’s murderer.”

Gray felt rage build, and he breathed in the magic around him, letting it fill him. He attacked with a cry. Jian coolly raised his blade, parrying. Morrowil collided, and Gray’s arms shuddered as if he’d run into a wall of steel. He didn’t relent, however, slashing in a series of advanced Devari forms. But wherever he moved, Jian was there, his roaring blade flicking Morrowil aside like a gnat. The man had barely taken more than two steps, and Gray realized Jian’s blade was not simply a blade. It
was
him.

Every limb in Gray’s body began to burn. His battle with Orrick had sapped him, and he was reaching the limit of his control with the nexus. With a hand, he threw out a bolt of wind, and Jian cut it from the air disdainfully.

“Wind…?” the man spat. “What are you?”

Gray didn’t answer, throwing a dozen more bolts of wind, hardened like lumps of steel.

Jian slashed them from the air, retreating.

He’d bought himself room, but Gray sagged from the effort, feeling leaden, as if his simple black pants and green tunic were made of steel, dragging him to the ground. He feigned confidence, standing straight.

The battle raged around them, fire exploding, swords ringing, dirt erupting as the Devari whirled, spells cut from the air fizzling beneath the Sword-Forged Devari. Gray realized his group was on the verge of being surrounded and overtaken.

“Impressive,” Jian called loudly, ducking impassively beneath a bolt of whizzing fire, “for a man without honor, but I hardly believe this is what defeated the last leader of the Devari. Show me your true strength!”

With that, the man
disappeared
.

Shifting?

No, but still—

Immediately, Jian reappeared in front of him, scarlet blade lashing. Gray barely ducked and dodged the man’s lightning-fast attacks. Each blow grew heavier, rattling Gray’s arms as he dodged a cut that would have taken his arm.
He’s too strong!
Kirin raged.

It was true.

He was going to lose.

Jian knew it too. He moved faster as if confident of his win, whipping his blade and making crimson flames ripple, devouring and scraping closer to Gray with every strike. With a grunt, Gray threw himself forward, clashing against Jian’s blade in a desperate parry. “You don’t have to do this,” he breathed through gritted teeth. Their swords ground, their steel sparking.

“It is time to finish this,” Jian declared. “In the end, it seems Ren wasn’t nearly as strong as the stories claim.” The crimson flames roared, searing Gray, singing his clothes and flesh.

He cried out when he heard a presence murmur:
Use me.

Morrowil.

Let go,
the blade uttered—in
feelings
, not in words. He listened to the sword, uttering a strange breath from his center. Morrowil listened, something unlocking within. The blade vanished, hard steel becoming white eddies of wind. However, Gray had simply used the move to get closer. Jian’s sword still continued, heading for Gray’s neck. He let it. And he reached out—not with his sword, but his hand,
touching the man’s arm.

Suddenly, images collided.

Kirin’s memories.

He remembered it all.

It flooded through Jian as well.
The dark room, the death and chaos, and even Ren’s death. He saw the darkness consuming Kirin’s mind back then, controlling him against his will as the oozing black tendrils murdered the guards, Devari, and finally his friend… But it was not Kirin. It was not
him
. “It’s not my fault,” he whispered aloud in sudden realization.
The epiphany of his words rumbled through him, shaking him to the core, and he gasped as if emerging from a frozen lake. The memories were so clear, so strong.

More memories came.

Sithel, his darkness, and the voidstone. Lastly, a vision of Ezrah’s torture. He saw the dream he’d had in the desert of Farbs—his grandfather screaming in agony beneath the cruel hands of eight Reavers as flames, stones, water, and more assailed his starved, half-naked body.

When he opened his eyes, Jian’s sword was held against his throat. The flames were gone, but the blade had begun to cut, blood trickled down the cold steel. The man had seen everything. Gray breathed a thin sigh, backing away. Both were on their knees, gusts of golden wind pulsating over all. A silence hung in the air in the wake of the powerful visions. Slowly, Jian lowered his blade.

The other Devari froze. Darius, back to back with Ayva, watched Gray and Jian in confusion. The vines dropped, and Ayva’s light withered. A dozen Devari fighting with Meira and Finn simply lowered their blades—the two Reavers’ brows pinched curiously.

Gray spoke, “You know what happened now. I killed Ren, but it was not my fault. And there is a darkness here, Jian, that is greater than you or I—greater even than the Citadel. I fear Sithel is only the beginning. But if you have eyes to see, then you know the last thing we must do is fight amongst ourselves.”

“My… duty…” Jian said, eyes watering as if something were breaking inside of him.

“
A wise man once told me a Devari’s duty is to protect life,” Gray replied. He felt pain, remembering Victasys’ words, but he let it go and continued, “and
Farhaven
, not just the Citadel is in danger. The world needs us. It’s time to accept your fate.”

And Jian rose, standing tall and imposing once more. He waved a hand and his Devari took up a line, standing behind him in a perfect file as if nothing had happened.

“You have shown me a harsh truth this day, Gray,” the Devari leader uttered. “But I will tell you one as well. I see the look in your eyes. I know there is more to you, that sword, and your powers. We, however, have suffered enough betrayal to last all time. Kail’s treachery shattered us for a thousand years, and Ren’s death nearly broke us again. Know now, our allegiance is to ourselves. We will fight, to save the Citadel and combat Sithel’s darkness, but that is all.”

Gray squinted. His words sounded almost like a threat. “That is all I ask.”

Darius and Ayva, as well as the others, approached.

“Blood and flesh…” the rogue breathed. “What just happened?”

Looking around, Gray saw the courtyard looked as if a war had been fought, benches shattered, trees splintered, lampposts cracked, and dirt upheaved, but miraculously no one looked more injured than scratches or bruises—flesh wounds easily healed.

He looked down. In his hand, he felt the smooth marbled handle of Morrowil. He remembered, even all those days ago when he had scrubbed the blade clean of blood and brought it to Mura. He had feared long ago where the blood had come from and if it was
his
doing. Now he knew it wasn’t his fault at long last. It felt like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. He felt lighter, breathing easier.

Whoever Kirin was, he wasn’t evil. And while Kirin might not have been who Gray was now, the two were no longer halves—the memories would return he knew, and when they did, he would be whole.

Ayva scanned him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I am,” he answered.

Suddenly, a breeze tousled cloaks, flowing towards Gray like a tempest. As it ruffled the hairs on his arms, every muscle in his body stiffened. He gagged upon its smell.
Darkness
. An evil so heavy it nearly took him to his knees.
What is this?
He looked up at the ramparts, as the red-orange glow of dawn bathed the walls.

He knew he’d sensed that smell before, and the memory came back as clear as day. It was just before he’d nearly died upon the sands. The smell was mixed with the odor of man and beast, but the ancient evil overrode all others.

Darkwalkers.

He eyed the red dawn—the direction where the breeze had come from. There was a noise, distracting the others, and he slipped away. In a trance, Gray moved towards the ramparts, following the scent of death.

The True Threat

T
HERE WAS A LOUD CRASH AS
the double doors of the Citadel opened and a flood of dirty men, women, and children flowed into the courtyard. Joy filled the air as Reavers, Devari, and gray-robed Neophytes reunited, battered and bruised, embracing in tears and laughter. Ezrah stood on the steps, watching the scene, and Ayva breathed a sigh.
We did it.

And yet…

Something wasn’t right still.
What is this feeling?
Absence, she realized, like a page missing from her books, or the moment before a coming storm. She knew they weren’t done yet.

Ayva looked over and saw Darius sitting upon a rock. The dawning light spilled over him, making him look oddly heroic in his fine, green tunic.
Over that, he wore a black coat with a high flaring collar that he’d picked up somewhere along the way. He stared at a leaf between his fingers while his strange blade lay in his lap, close as always. She remembered it slicing through the Darkwalker as if the beast was made of clay. He was nothing like the rogue she’d always known.

Speaking of changes…
She stood in the center of the courtyard, feeling the curious stares of both Reavers and Devari. But it didn’t make her nervous. Perhaps the old Ayva would have shirked beneath their gaze, but not now—not after everything she’d been through. She was stronger, and she felt it to her bones.
They all were, not just Darius, but Gray too. Suddenly, she realized that’s who was missing.

“Where’d Gray go?” Ayva asked. “He was just here.”

Darius looked up from the leaf he twiddled. “He’s on the ramp above.”

“Why?” she asked, “And how do you know that?”

“You can’t sense it?”

But as she dug into her mind, there was a strange knot—a presence. She shook her head, and the presence faded. No, the rogue was just making her imagination run wild again. But still… “C’mon,” she said, pulling Darius up.

“Wait,” he protested as they wove between men and women, “Where are we going?”

“To find out what’s coming,” she answered, dragging him along.

* * *

Finn lowered his hands, letting the roots slither back into the ground, deep beneath the earth’s crust as the Devari moved away, gathering around Jian in a large cluster. He shivered, he didn’t like fighting Devari, but luckily it seemed Devari didn’t like fighting Reavers. It was obvious that was the only reason none had died.

At his side, Meira raised a brow, “Not so trustworthy, are we?”

He laughed, brushing flakes of dirt from his once-clean, scarlet robes. “Not all of us are so talented with flesh—a more easily concealed weapon.” She raised a brow, as if unsure what he was insinuating. Finn sighed. “I can still sense you’re holding your spark, Meira. In case you’ve forgotten, dear friend, we’re both three-stripes.”

She sighed and at last released it. “So I was, suppose I barely noticed it.”

He nodded, “Oh, surely.”

Meira grumbled something, which sounded like ‘fool’. “And did you say
friend
?” she asked, as if amused. “Is that what we are?”

“Well, I meant…” Finn began then cleared his throat, feeling a heat rise in his cheeks. He knew a dangerously loaded question when he heard one. Suddenly his head spun, and he felt woozy upon his feet. Light flickered. When his eyes opened, he realized he had fallen and Meira had caught him. Her face wore a look between concern and annoyance, but beneath it was true caring.

“You’re hurt,” she said, dabbing a finger upon his forehead, and he winced in pain as she showed him his own blood.

“Is that what that looks like?” he asked, summoning a woozy grin. “Been a while since I’ve seen that, being the tough guy I am and all.”

“Being the fool is what you are,” she muttered. “That smile… You know, despite being nearly two hundred years old, sometimes you act
and
look just like the Neophyte I remember so well, that reckless 12-year-old who just couldn’t stop himself from getting into trouble.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he remarked as he stood.

Meira sighed and reached out to heal him.

He gripped her wrist, stopping her. “No. Others need it more than I.” He felt Meira retract, looking hurt. “I’m all right, I promise. It’s only skin deep. You need to conserve your strength.”

She relented, but before he could stop her, she ripped off a strip of her robes and tied it around his forehead, stopping the flow of blood. “Always the valiant fool,” she said.