Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2)

by Matthew Wolf

  One by one, he moved down the line, the blue orb hovering before him. And each time, a boy cried and then crumpled. At last he reached Vitsu. The blue orb sucked at her. Her cry peaked, louder than all the others. More and more.

  “Stop!” Lucky cried. Please, he thought, no more.

  But still, the orb pulled, taking more. Vitsu’s skin grew ashen, her cheeks sunken, and her eyes hollow. Her cry suddenly ended, and she fell over, as if dead.

  Lucky’s heart thumped, his breathing hard and fast. Is she…

  Sithel shook his head, as if annoyed. He knelt down and threw off Vitsu’s tight cap. “This one isn’t even a boy. How many times have I told you no girls?”

  “I… It was a mistake,” a brute mumbled nervously. “The girl’s cap, I didn’t see—”

  Something flashed. Steel rang. Lucky saw something hit the ground with a sickening thud. A head. Lucky’s body quaked. The brute’s body stood for a second, and then toppled over, headless.

  “No excuses,” Sithel hissed. “Get him out of my sight, and take the girl back to the streets.” Another brute tottered forward fearfully. He grabbed the thug’s body, grunting as he hauled the corpse away. Sithel twisted to Lucky. His dark eyes gleamed despite the moonless night. His blue orb floated amid the darkness, crackling, but he sheathed it, throwing a black cloth over it.

  Lucky was visibly shaking. He couldn’t stop himself.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  Lucky gulped, but the lump in his throat felt stuck, like swallowing dry bread with too little water. He tried speaking but it came out in squeak.

  “Try again,” he said calmly.

  “Ten,” he breathed.

  “I see,” Sithel said, smiling. But his eyes didn’t smile.

  “What did you do to Vitsu?” Lucky asked, a tremor in his voice. But he felt anger too.

  Sithel sighed. “Sadly, some cannot handle the voidstone. Life is the spark. But her spark was too small. It drained it right out of her until there was nothing left. She may still live, but I doubt she will be the same. You cared for the girl?”

  Lucky hesitated, but shook his head. “She was just a Lost One, like me, but why are you doing this? Vitsu…” he sniveled, holding back tears. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Right and wrong are of no consequence, little one,” Sithel answered. “They are meaningless words, worn out by an era of weaklings. If you are strong, you live. If you are weak, you die.”

  Lucky had heard those words before… Darkeye’s men said them, and even more of late, spoken like a growing plague. Lucky hated the words now and the man before him. “You’re evil,” he breathed.

  Sithel’s grin grew, showing black, pointy teeth. “You mistake me. I am not evil. I am but the hand of the greater good. A tool for a grander purpose, just as you are.” His breath smelled like the innards of something long dead. Lucky’s heart pounded. He tugged at his bonds hard. This man… The light of madness shone in his eyes. Lucky wished he could stop trembling, stop his streaming tears, but fear held his body. “Now, let us see if the voidstone can find the truth within you. Let us only hope you are stronger than your friend.”

  Sithel withdrew the black cloth, and the blue orb pulsed. Lucky’s throat clenched. He tried to look away but couldn’t. The orb drew his gaze and he was lost in its swirling colors.

  “Do you sense it?” Sithel asked, his black eyes glowing.

  Lucky felt something being pulled from him. His skin prickled. What is this? he thought in terror. Look away! But he couldn’t. It felt as if his very soul was being wrung like a wet rag, squeezed from his body. An orange light appeared in the air before him.

  My spark.

  The blue orb ate his spark like a hungry beast. “Please,” he sobbed as tremors ran across his arms. Sithel continued to watch him, like a curious bug. Lucky tried to speak, to beg him to stop, but nothing came out as the world began to blur, fading as all dimmed.

  Distantly, voices sounded, talking. So far away…

  “What is the plan now?”

  “We kill this boy and the others. They are no more use to us.” It was Sithel’s voice.

  “But what about the Arbiter?” a man said, fearfully.

  Distantly, Sithel laughed. “I do not listen to her whims, you sniveling scum.”

  “And what about that old man? He’s still not breaking.”

  “Yes, he’s surprisingly resilient, even for one of his rank. Go now, and tell the Reavers I have need of them. I’ve a plan to break him once and for all.”

  Lucky felt himself slipping like a fall with no hold. His eyes fluttered. He was so tired. Sleep. But something inside him shouted. No! Stay awake! The sphere glowed darker and brighter at the same time. Pulling at him. The deep sleep drew him in, and he couldn’t resist it any longer. Somewhere, Lucky felt fear to his bones. Is this it? Lucky thought in dread.

  “What is this?” a woman’s voice questioned darkly.

  Lucky gasped. The blackness receded. He felt as if a dark, suffocating blanket had been thrown over him, and now it was suddenly gone. When his vision cleared, he saw the slender outline of a woman.

  Nearby, Sithel’s head scraped the ground. “Arbiter Fera,” he whispered. Lucky heard sharp fear in Sithel’s voice. Who is this woman? He swallowed, looking up as life returned to his limbs. Arbiter Fera stood with confidence. With her back to the thief’s moon, her frame was black as night. The faint light illuminated a shine of raven hair. It flowed to her slender shoulders. And Lucky knew deep down that this woman was strong—very strong. The air before him trembled with power, and he felt his small body tremble as well.

  “Rise, my pet,” she said as if talking to a faithful hound.

  Sithel stood, looking shaken.

  “Explain yourself,” she instructed softly.

  “Arbiter?”

  “This boy. He is not the one. Then why is he on the verge of death?”

  Lucky saw the other brutes sprawled on the ground in submission.

  “I… I had to make sure,” Sithel said quickly.

  She snorted, softly. She made it seem pretty. “If they have spark, it is proof enough. I told you before—the boy we seek is different. He carries the flow.”

  The… flow? Lucky thought, trying to think, his head still ringing in pain. He’d heard of such a thing in stories. Stories about the Ronin. Is that what she was talking about? But the Ronin were dead and gone in the war long ago…

  “I will do better next time,” Sithel replied meekly.

  “That, or you will die. Simple choices, Sithel,” she said calmly, standing in the darkness. “Now, let’s see if you did better with the rest of your orders. Where did you find these boys?”

  “Upon the streets, Arbiter.”

  “And do they all match my descriptions?”

  “Every word. They are what you requested.”

  “Hand me the prophecy,” she demanded. Sithel withdrew a paper from his sleeve, handing it to her, and she read quickly in the dark moonlight, then handed it back. “These are all too young. You were wrong.”

  “How?” Sithel breathed, sounding afraid.

  “The prophecy says the boy will be at least in his eighteenth year.”

  Sithel shook his head, looking afraid for the first time. Lucky felt a shred of hope. Kill him, he begged. “Surely, there must be a mistake. I followed your orders faithfully, mistress. I swear it.”

  “This time, it is not your fault. The prophecy has faded from our minds yet again. We must not forget to read it or we will continue to forget the truth. Now take them and go, but do not fail me again.”

  “Yes, mistress,” Sithel breathed.

  Lucky looked to the deadly woman and tugged desperately at his bindings. He felt the bristly rope bite into his flesh while his eyes looked for an escape, letting the blood run down his fingers. She approached slowly. Arbiter Fera knelt before him. She had a pretty face with smooth, pale skin that matched the white moon. Her full red lips twisted,
but it reminded him of the cold hard floor of the cave in which he slept.

  Lucky flinched. “Please… don’t kill me…” Hot tears streamed down his face, and he realized he was crying openly now.

  She extended her hand and he cried out, closing his eyes.

  When nothing came, he opened one eye. He watched as she calmly reached in his pocket, pulling out the statue. She admired it, fingering the little man’s sword. “Where did you come by this, my child?”

  “A friend gave it to me…” he lied.

  “A curious friend. What’s his name?”

  “Shade.”

  “And where is this Shade now?”

  Lucky hesitated. There was a hunger in her eyes. “Why? What do you want with him?”

  The woman smiled deeper. Arbiter Fera was pretty, and she looked at him calmly, almost kindly. But Lucky shivered. Those eyes were distant—he could have been just a scrap of meat to this woman. “You wish to protect this friend of yours? Such a valiant little thief.” A strange light flashed in the woman’s hand that held the statue. Magic, he knew. But then it was gone. She tucked the statue back into his pocket. “Keep it.” Suddenly, Lucky felt his tight bindings snap. His arms fell to his side. He looked around, ready to run. But he’d seen her magic. She would just blow him to pieces with her power.

  “Are you going to kill me now?” he asked, terror in his voice.

  Arbiter Fera cupped his wet cheek softly, almost tender if it weren’t for the fire in her eyes as she pressed something into his palm, cold and hard. He looked down. A gold Farbian coin. The single coin was more than Lucky could ever earn in all his life, more dream than reality. With it, he could feed the Lost Ones for a month with real food—roasted chicken, fresh loaves, and more—not those moldy scraps they were used to… But as he looked back up at Fera’s face he wanted to drop the coin and run, for he knew that compassion was just a mask. Beneath it, he felt her eyes peering, looking hungrily into the depths of his soul for something… “No, little one. Tonight, it seems you are lucky. But in exchange for my coin, you will deliver a message… Tell your friend Shade something for me, will you? Tell him to see me—it’s very—” she leaned in closer, voice breathy “—very important.” She hit something suddenly. A stone in the ground. A strange purple sphere appeared in the air. “Now go.”

  “What… What is that?” he whispered.

  “Your freedom, little one. Take it quick.”

  Lucky didn’t question. He staggered to his feet, gripping the precious coin in his sweaty fist, and stumbled into the purple sphere.

  Marching towards Death

  AYVA STRODE DOWN THE DESERT STREET, watching Faye. The woman walked ahead of her and Darius, dark cloak wavering with deadly purpose.

  She looked like she had when Ayva had first met her, only a hundred times more fearsome. Ayva eyed those weapons again, nearly gawking. Maces dangled from a leather belt. A one-handed crossbow sat at one hip, while her long sword hung at the other. Throwing-daggers were strapped against her arms, and she saw more peeking from her heavy metal vambraces. A short blade was tucked into each of her knee-high boots. Again she knew those weapons were not just for show, though Ayva couldn’t help thinking Faye looked like a pincushion of bristling steel and plate armor.

  “Where are we headed?” Darius asked. “This place is… nice.”

  They moved through dry desert streets in the early dawn. A few men and women moved about, each dressed in rich, colorful silks. The buildings were tall—blocking the early morning sun and casting a cool shade on the wide roads. The streets were clean, not a beggar, hungry animal, or even a scrap of trash in sight. Mostly she saw tall inns or wide, squat buildings looking like palaces for nobility. Gardens were frequent, brightening their tan surroundings with water and greenery. The lushness seemed out of place in such a dry environment. Though it was beautiful, it rubbed her wrong. Why do men build such things when others go hungry?

  Darius occasionally shot her worried glances, but Ayva made sure her face showed confidence. Mostly the rogue shrugged his shoulders, as if feeling for the blade to reaffirm its presence. She could understand the feeling, especially where they were headed. The cold steel of her small dagger, tucked in her boot and pant leg, gave her equal comfort.

  Their surroundings continued to get even grander, almost absurd. Men and women walked amid the buildings and now paved streets, each moving with a full entourage of servants. Ayva passed more courtyards, gold-roofed buildings, huge water fountains, and lacy bridges. A cushioned seat with four poles whisked by Ayva, carrying a woman draped in silks. Four muscled men held it aloft. For a split moment, she admired their tan bodies, but then the thought went sour. She realized they were just more pieces of decadence like the silver and gold gilding on the seat’s exterior, or the jewelry in the woman’s hair.

  Ayva caught sight of a large reflection pool where children tossed fat coins towards large, brightly colored fish. She wanted to snatch the coins from their stubby fingers and give it to those she had seen in the drab, ramshackle part of Farbs, those with the hollow faces or stooped backs. Those who truly need it, she thought.

  But that was not why they were there.

  Zane’s sister first, she thought, then this backwards city second.

  “This isn’t the way to Shadow’s Corner,” Ayva called to Faye’s back. The woman ignored her. Gritting her teeth she strode up to walk beside Faye. “I thought we were headed to Darkeye. Where are you taking us?”

  Faye didn’t spare her a look, but her red lips twisted. “Who said The Lair of the Beast is in Shadow’s Corner?”

  “It’s not?” Darius said, scratching his head of unruly brown hair.

  “Where then?” Ayva asked, undaunted.

  Faye replied, “True darkness doesn’t just hide in the seedy pits. It is everywhere. It parades itself in fine silks, or sits at tables filled with food while others go hungry… It lurks even in a child’s eyes.” Faye said without a hint of amusement. “But most beguiling is that false glimmer on a king’s crown, that smudge of blood on a priest’s perfectly white robes. Look closer, dear Diaon, and you’ll find that true darkness is everywhere.”

  Ayva shivered. The woman had a chilling way with words sometimes… And a pretty awful outlook on the world. A noble woman with voluminous robes of blue and red silk passed her. Her brows were thin and painted on, and golden hoops hung in her ears. Powders and paints made her skin appear flawlessly smooth. Ayva had never seen anyone look so rich and dignified, and yet she was like a painted doll, eyes vacant and lacking substance. This whole place was missing something, like a shell—fine and beautiful on the outside, but hollow within. “You still didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Where is The Lair of the Beast?”

  At her words Faye came to a sudden stop.

  They stood before several huge buildings. Each building had seamless, tan walls that were four-stories high. Silver rod-iron balconies and crawling green vines adorned their outer walls. Between the gaps of each building were bright courtyards filled with lush trees in full bloom. Ayva heard the babble of running water. Arched bridges of fanciful silverwork connected each building at every story. More trailing foliage hung from them, creating a waterfall of emerald green that obscured the courtyards beyond.

  A shining silver sign read, “The Noble Beast.”

  Ayva’s heart dropped. “Is… this it?”

  “The greatest darkness is that which can survive and even thrive in the brightest light,” Faye said mysteriously, and pushed open the grand double doors, entering. Ayva steeled herself and followed, Darius mumbling a string of curses behind her.

  As she entered, she was shocked again. The inn was not an inn. Sure, it had several tables—only several—and a long bar where a gangly-looking man stood wearing a grimace. There were even casks piled high on the far side of the room, gathering dust. Otherwise, the room was barren, empty of people and furniture, as if it had been gutted and carved of its innards like a pumpkin for the
Harvest Festival. There were none of the normal signs of an inn, no stains or floorboards worn by feet—nothing. It was a strange feeling for Ayva. An inn to her was a place of comfort and familiarity, but this was just a sad, eerie copy.

  Darius shivered. “Dice, this place makes me more jumpy than that dark pit with Adorry and his cronies,” he muttered.

  “It’s a front,” Ayva breathed in realization. In fact, the only worn part of the inn was a path from the door to the bar, and the floorboards creaked as they walked, as if there was a huge cellar beneath. “What’s beneath us?” she asked.

  “The beast’s chambers,” Faye said with a predatory grin.

  Ayva suppressed her fear, unwilling to give Faye the satisfaction.

  They approached the innkeeper, another worn looking man with petulant eyes. Are all innkeepers in this land such dour folk? she wondered, proudly thinking of her father, who seemed to be growing larger than life in her head day by day. “What can I get for you? Perhaps a room? Or a plate of food? Our roast duck is the finest in all Farhaven,” the innkeeper slurred, polishing a mug Ayva knew had never been used. The way he said it sounded like a line he’d said a thousand times.

  “No duck,” Faye said. “The bloodshot eye sees all.”

  “Strength is life, weakness death,” the innkeeper droned in reply.

  Faye inclined her head. “Wise words.”

  The man sneered and pulled at a handle that was shaped like a bottle. Miraculously, the bottle-filled wall slid back as if on metal-rollers, unveiling a vaulted tunnel. Faye barely waited for it to open all the way, striding forward. Ayva followed closely. As she passed, the man gave her a lecherous grin. She tapped into her mind, reaching out, and the man yelped as if a fire had just been placed beneath his rear. She let the tiny burst of light fade, hiding a satisfied smile. Grumbling, the man shut the door behind the three with a thud.

  Ayva breathed out, unaware she’d been holding her breath.

  “Sure it’s smart to use your power here?” Darius asked.