Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2)

by Matthew Wolf

  “I don’t like the way you dealt with those emissaries from Covai earlier.”

  Covai was one of the Great Kingdoms. They had been pinning much on their allegiance with all the Great Kingdoms to win the war. But none of the responses had been what she’d hoped for so far.

  She touched the armrest, feeling the smoothness of the rare purple heartwood beneath her palms. Her whole throne was made of it. Surprisingly the Lando had been able to bring it here, all the way from the Relnas Forest, the only place where heartwood resided. Well, aside from the forbidden forest of Drymaus—home to the magical Dryads, beings made of wood, leaf, and moss, as well as the dragons—but not since the Lieon had any dared to cross those treacherous borders.

  The heartwood reminded Karil of her childhood, of her father, of Eldas and the spire. Of her home. She replied softly, “Sometimes liking is a luxury a queen cannot afford. Long ago, I learned to act out of necessity.”

  “I am aware of necessity,” Rydel replied. “They wanted to give their aid. We could use them.”

  “Did they?” she asked. “More accurately, it seems they wanted to know if I was worth supporting. They never promised to send recruits to aid our war, nor did they even question Dryan’s rule as legitimate or false.”

  Rydel’s jaw tightened, but he remained quiet.

  She hated it as much as he did. Yet Karil was queen now, she could not afford to deny such truths. With her father, King Gias, dead, and then her mother’s proclamation of the final prophecy that took her life—the very prophecy that foretold the Ronin’s return—Karil was in charge. Of course, she wished more than anything that her father was still alive to rule with his wisdom and his strong hand, or her mother to guide her with her loving, quiet serenity, but it was not so.

  Rydel moved, his grand hando cloak, denoting his high rank, flapped as he strode to the large window in the otherwise empty tent. He looked out as the camp moved with purpose.

  “You are restless, my friend,” she said. Summoning roots from the nearby tree, Karil brought the cup made of Seria porcelain to her lips, sipping on minty water. It had long gone cold, but it helped to soothe her stomach. Some elves would be displeased using nature for such a mundane task, but for Karil, embracing her spark, her ka, and using the element of leaf was a treasured act. Moreover, touching the leaf made her feel connected to the glorious forests she had left. And she needed that bond now.

  “Is it so obvious?” he said quietly without turning.

  “It is,” she answered with a sad smile. “I’ve rarely seen you like this. It seems lately I am even more elf than you.”

  He gave a hard breath, turning back. His clothes were black, but he’d taken to wearing upon his shoulders the dark green spaulders of the Lando in homage. His wide shoulders tapered to a narrow waist that held two swords—each of which were like second appendages to the blademaster elf. Dark hair fell from his chiseled face and bright blue eyes held a quiet intensity. His Elvin ears were longer than most, and his eyes more angled. Even standing still, he seemed to be moving subtly, always ready to strike. Even the formidable Tunmai and all other Lando feared Rydel like a black susa snake. He was in the highest rank of all Elvin warriors, the last of a dying race that had guarded royalty. Karil knew of no one more powerful and more passionate. He was her mentor, her guardian, and a beloved friend. But his mood of late troubled her even more than the reports.

  “Speak your mind, dear friend,” she told him.

  Looking out the window at the teeming makeshift city, he answered softly, “Whatever I say, you already know.”

  “Speak it anyway.”

  He looked back, his eyes orbs of fury. So strange to see so much emotion in an elf. “This is not a war that can be won, Karil. Not as we stand now. We have barely one legion of elves. Dryan has ten legions, and he is gathering more. Elves are joining him by the hour, flocking from the eastern woods of Relnas, and even the fringes of the Drymaus Forest. They see his rule as inevitable.”

  “Numbers are not everything,” Karil answered.

  “It is not just numbers, my queen,” Rydel replied sternly. “And this truth you must see yourself. Aside from a rare few, most of our so-called warriors are no more than half-trained younglings—this is the first time many have wielded a blade, and we expect them to be our frontlines against Dryan’s armies? Against the Terma?”

  The Terma’s allegiance with Dryan troubled her greatly. Terma were elite Elvin warriors—only one rank below Rydel, but there were hundreds of them under Dryan’s black fist. Somehow the dark elf had swayed her father’s once-loyal warriors, and now he commanded them like personal servants.

  I will find out how, she vowed. And soon…

  “You say they are untrained? Then train them,” she replied, undaunted. “My father always said, ‘Do not look to the fault in your weapon, but use its strength. If you pinpoint its only flaws, then that is all you will see.’”

  “I remember that well,” Rydel said. She knew Rydel had been like a son to the great elf.

  Thoughts of her father made her throat clench, but she swallowed. Her voice gained strength. “You are our greatest weapon, my dear friend. Teach them to fight.” She left unsaid that she was doing the same with him, by focusing on his strength. Rydel was her weapon.

  He nodded. “I will do my best.”

  Rydel’s tensed shoulders eased, but his strikingly handsome face, even for an elf, did not seem to relax too much. Karil rose, touching his arm. “Is that all that worries you?”

  “You know the rest as well. The Great Kingdoms. They will not fight for us.”

  Outside, Karil watched a stream of elves and men. One man pushed a heavy cartful of armor and weapons, sweating under the load, and two more joined him, helping press the cart forward. She smiled to herself, finding it a fitting metaphor. “That is not wholly true, my friend. Out of the nine Kingdoms, two of which were lost to the great war, we have heard back from only a small handful. Covai is a blow, and one I wish we did not have to suffer. But they, aside from Menalas, are the farthest from us. They believe this war will not affect them.”

  “Then they are fools,” Rydel said calmly.

  She shook her head. “I wish it were so simple. I believe Dryan has used his powers of deception. The world does not know a Great Kingdom has fallen, that Eldas is overrun. Covai simply see it as an exchange of power. In this, we underestimated Dryan and his connections.”

  “What are you saying?” Rydel asked.

  She had not voiced this, not to Rydel, not to her high-elf councilors, nor her trusted healer, Jirah Dawnbringer, not to anyone. But Rydel was not just anyone. Karil gave another heavy sigh. “I believe Dryan is not working alone. I fear a greater power and evil is at work, one moving Dryan like a puppet upon a grand board of yudai.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “I know not yet, but I will find out. But more importantly, we are not without our own plans. We are not as alone as you think we are, my friend.” He raised a dark eyebrow, but she merely smiled. “You shall see soon enough. Now come, let us quell your earlier fears.” Karil strode forward, convincing herself she was not tired.

  “Where are you going?” he asked as she reached the tent’s flap.

  “You said it would be better to let me see with my own eyes the chink in the armor of our forces,” she said, hiding a smile. “So? Show me.” Instead of giving the elf a chance to deny or argue, she pulled back the tent’s flap and entered the sunlit day, into a host of sights and smells.

  Letting the sounds of training swarm around her, Karil moved forward. Rydel was suddenly at her side, appearing like a phantom. He said nothing, and together they moved through the camps.

  Elves in masses dropped to one knee as she passed, armor clinking as they settled to the grass-trampled ground. She gave them nods in return. She knew it was not a thing all elves did for their king or queen, but they did it for her. At first, she’d feared this post, dreaded it even. Not until the boy had plunged the bla
de into the stone, and she had crossed back across Death’s Gate had she decided to take up the mantle of queen in full. Of course, she had the training that was required. But what was she compared to her father, the great King Gias? Still, that fear lingered in the back of her mind, but she shoved it and her half-elf inadequacies down. These were her people. The looks they gave her as she passed spoke of only one thing.

  Trust.

  And she would not betray that trust—not if it ran her to the bone, and not if it cost her life. Not for anything.

  They passed into the training ground, which was little more than a large field with hundreds of rings of men sparring in a furious clash of metal and wood. The most advanced of them held metal blades, but the freshest recruits were required to learn first with the wooden swords, halberds, dulled pikes, and staves. But just because they were wooden, did not mean they couldn’t do harm. Karil could still remember her countless bruises and bloody knuckles from Rydel’s training sword.

  More men bowed to them, refraining from falling to one knee while in the midst of training. Wooden fences surrounded the field, trailing into the distance.

  Karil passed a huge set of weapon racks filled to the brim: nusais, single-edge bolos, halberds, pikes, swords—broadswords, claymores, even massive zwinzals—quarterstaffs, full-staffs, katars, bows, crossbows, senduku, and more, each she had trained with at one time or another in her royal instruction. But could she remember her training she wondered, eyeing the assortment. Her favorite was the nusai, a sword with an oblong head, and a horned cross guard used to catch and break other swords.

  Sadly, most of their weapons were in shoddy shape. All metal now came from the joint mines of Menelas and Ester, and, with their civil unrest, their borders had been shut down tighter than a Landarian seal. Karil had attempted to force her way in, for they needed metal like a drowning man needed air. But her messengers had been sent away with the threat of violence. Her only other option was the Mountains of Soot and the infamous Deep Mines—those ancient, abandoned caves of metal beneath Yronia, the once Great Kingdom of Metal. She had debated sending men there. She was sure the Deep Mines were still full of ore—the stories said the mines were endless caverns of iron, copper, and tin. From there, her blacksmiths could smelt it down with ease, but Karil had delayed the order. She’d heard foul rumors of a strange darkness brewing in the giant forlorn halls of Yronia. She feared what those rumors meant.

  Karil turned her thoughts away, focusing on the men and women around her, elves and humans alike. They sparred, creating a cacophony of thwacks and ringing steel. To her right, a female elf moved like a serpent, evading the blows of five male humans.

  “So tell me again, how is our army deficient?”

  Rydel sighed. “Five untrained humans against an average female elf. It is nothing to brag over. A hundred of those humans or twenty of those elves could not take a single Terma. You can see—every one of these men or women are untrained, outside of battle and within. If they don’t fold from the Terma, Dryan’s legions will finish us off. We cannot siege Eldas like this.”

  “Then what would you have me do?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

  A hand gripped her arm, stopping and turning her. “Find another way,” he said, holding her gaze. “I believe in you. We all do. There must be another way, my queen.”

  She smiled, softly. “There is no other way.” Nearby, a group of men watched two men spar. “Besides,” she said, “the true strength of an army is not always so easy to see. Sometimes, it is what is beneath the surface that shines.”

  “Karil, you cannot honestly believe that this rabble can stand against Dryan…”

  She moved towards the group of sparring men. “I choose to believe that, given the chance, men and women, human or elf will rise to the occasion, that there is a hidden strength in all.” With that, she approached the circle.

  “What are you doing, Karil?” Rydel asked as he followed.

  Karil’s lips twisted. “It’s time to test the might of our armies.”

  Rydel growled, saying something, but she didn’t listen. As she approached, several men recognized her and immediately dropped to one knee. Others continued fighting for a few more strikes and then stopped, their wooden swords falling as they rushed to their knees.

  “My queen,” uttered a big elf—the instructor leading the group of humans.

  “Your name?” Karil asked.

  “Unmia,” he said dutifully.

  “This group. They are untrained, yes?”

  “Yes, my queen. These are the newest group of warriors.”

  Perfect, she thought. And she could recognize many of these men and women—boys barely old enough to shave more than once every few weeks, if that, and girls looking just beyond the stage of playing with dolls. Admittedly, as a princess, Karil had never had that phase, but she’d heard of it. “Great,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “Then I will spar with one of them.” She pointed to a boy roughly the age of Gray, and he reminded her of the young man as well—with intelligent green eyes, and a tousle of brown hair. He held his sword with confidence, despite the fear in his eyes. “I choose you,” she declared.

  The young boy swallowed, but strode forward to the center of the circle.

  “This is not a good idea,” Rydel said at her side, not sharply, just calmly. He’d regained his Elvin restraint.

  “Why not?”

  “Because a queen does not do battle with her own men.”

  She extended her hand to another girl her size. Face fearful, the girl understood, handing her weapon over to her queen. Karil realized it was a wooden nusai, with an oblong head. What luck! “What was it you said once?” she asked Rydel with a smirk. “I am not like any normal queen?”

  He growled and glowered at the green-eyed boy. “If you hurt the queen, you will pay for it, boy.”

  If the boy looked afraid before, now he looked petrified.

  Karil sighed. “If the boy holds back, how is that an indication of his limits, of his capacity? Besides, don’t you have faith in me, master?” She emphasized the word. The big elf Unmia looked completely aghast. Even some of the other boys and girls looked awestruck. Word of Rydel’s prowess had already wormed its way into nearly every ear.

  Rydel hid a grimace. “No offense intended, my queen, but it’s been a while since you’ve had my teachings, let alone held a sword. Your other duties have been more pressing, as they are now.”

  She ignored him, and strode to the center, meeting her opponent. Her fine cloth robes brushed the grassy ground, restraining her movements. Another hindrance she’d have to be wary of… The boy swallowed again, but his grip tightened. Good, he has strength of heart. “Don’t listen to him,” she commanded, noticing the boy cast Rydel nervous looks. “Simply do your best to land a blow.”

  “My queen?” he asked shakily.

  “Your name.”

  “Logan,” he replied.

  “Well, Logan, consider it an order. I, Karil yl’ Silvar, hereby order you to hit me,” she said in a hard voice, raising her nusai blade. With that, the boy nodded, and she attacked.

  The light blazed as she charged, hammering down from above. Logan was quick however, raising his blade just in time. She connected, swords thwacking. His blade sagged, and Logan grunted. He was obviously stronger and taller, but he didn’t expect her ferocity. Agilely, she flicked her blade, adding power from nothing. Logan was blown back. He grunted, looking up, readying his blade. But she was on top of him, instantly. Her knee hit his gut—hard—and he fell to both knees, gasping.

  Are you all right? she asked inwardly. But she would not voice it, nor would she go easy on him. Karil needed to prove to Rydel that even the weakest of them were strong, and even more importantly, prove it to them. Instead, she spoke. “Get up. The enemy will not stop when you are on your knees. When the time comes, they will finish you where you lay without mercy.”

  “But you are not my enemy,” the young man said—s
ounding more a boy than she’d hoped. Was this how Gray had sounded when she had met him? But now he was no longer just a boy, his adventures had forged his strength. She had to do the same with these young ones—whether she liked it or not—if she wanted them to live.

  “If you train with ease in practice and expect mercy or a simple fight when the time comes, then you are a fool or a dead man, or most likely both.”

  Luckily, a fire sparked in the young man’s face. Logan’s features twisted in anger, and he lifted his wooden sword, ready to lash out.

  “Calm, boy!” the elf captain barked, “Remember serenity over rage, for a calm mind conquers all!”

  Karil remembered these words well. Ironically, they had been hammered into her as well. She found that peace now. Similarly and surprisingly, Logan’s mask of rage contorted, his features smoothing with a breath—and he attacked.

  His moves were not the angry swipes of a young man now, but the tactical strikes of a swordsman. He struck at her left flank. Her nusai flickered, blocking. He hit her right. Again, she swung the nusai, flicking his sword away with a force called jang, not magic, but simply the skill of an advanced swordsman—a pop sounded as Logan’s sword was repelled forcefully. But unlike a novice, he used the extra force. The blade’s momentum swung to strike her head again. And she realized he was testing her.

  She smiled, impressed, as a thin sweat broke out on her face.

  In the corner of her vision, Karil realized the crowds were gathering to watch. Sweat stung her eyes as she worked the forms, but still she glimpsed men and women join the swelling group who watched their queen battle amidst them. She heard cheers distantly, but she did not waste time thinking on it.

  Logan roared, pressing harder, and she continued to block, parry, and redirect, flowing back smoothly.

  “Careful, boy—she’s baiting you!” The elf captain called.

  Rydel growled. “Whose side are you on?”

  Karil listened between the sounds of strikes. It was difficult—with the speed and fury of the young man’s strikes, her attention could not be spared as much as she had anticipated. Again, she saw the crowds swelling, hundreds watching.