Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (17 page)

The girl was trying to goad her. A juvenile attempt. She scoffed inwardly as it wasn’t working. Faye realized she was grinding her teeth. Well, maybe it was working a
little
. But the girl still had no idea what she was asking.

Algasi were weapons, born and bred. They trained from sunup to sundown, beneath the burning desert sun, to be stronger and faster than an average man and to endure immeasurable pain. She counted eight Algasi when she noticed several had a black-band upon their wooden spears—the mark of an elite warrior,
Mundasi
. She shivered in memory. Faye had seen a Mundasi fight two Devari and nearly win. In the end, by reading the Algasi’s moves, only one Devari had died, and the other had barely lived. A normal Algasi was only slightly less threatening.

“If I win,” Faye voiced, sounding more confident than she felt, “who’s to say I won’t just choose my own freedom and leave you all in the dust?”

Again, the girl looked impassive. It was growing infuriating. “If you let us die, you will be breaking your bond and your word. But the truth is there is no assurance. It is your call.
If
you win.”

Faye dismounted and strode forward. Dalic and the other warriors had watched the whole conversation quietly. Somehow she felt as if he had understood every word. Very slowly, she reached for her long, curved dagger and then her sword. The Algasi watched her, raising their own weapons, but before they could move she crossed the blades over her heart, dipping her head.

The formal challenge to an Honor Duel.

Dalic spoke. “Whom do you choose?”

“You speak the common tongue?” she asked in surprise.

“It is common for Hutäs, or
clan leaders
in your tongue, to learn,” he said confidently, if haltingly.

She snorted.
Algasi.
“Whom do you choose?” he repeated.

Ayva nodded to the one-armed man. Everything in Faye agreed. Her survival instincts were strong. Her street-sense had even picked up on the slight limp in another man, noticing their weaknesses and debating which was the least of a threat, like searching for the runt in a litter, though every runt here was deadly. Every fiber of her being and of her tireless tutelage pointed to the one-armed warrior.

She motioned to Dalic. “You,” she said.

Ayva drew near, speaking in a harsh whisper for only her ears. “What are you doing? That man… He is clearly the most dangerous of them all.”

“I know,” she said softly.

“Then what are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

Perhaps,
Faye thought, but remained silent. Though she could not see the man’s face, she felt him smile beneath that white-cloth shroud. Dalic bowed his head, slightly. He accepted.

A dozen paces away, Gray risked death to croak, “Faye…
No…”

She ignored him, stepping forward.

Dalic moved back, preparing. The man rolled his lithe shoulders, moving from side to side, warming up in the sun’s light. At last, he pulled down his white shroud. He grinned—showing a hard, angular face full of excitement. He was handsome, but raw like an uncut stone. Then his gaze focused, like the sun’s light through a thick looking glass, ready for battle. An Algasi handed him his spear, and Faye saw that it held
two
black bands. She had never heard of such a thing.

This man was not her equal in the slightest.

Today, after years of avoiding it, she would die.

Unintended Consequences

D
ARIUS’ SKULL THROBBED.

Dust filled his nostrils. Suddenly, he heard the ring of steel upon steel and the scuffle of feet. Someone was fighting. There was a cry—muted and feminine.
What the…?
He moved to sit up, but froze. A strange instinct warned him against it. Slowly, barely, he cracked open his eyelids. Light flooded his vision.

He saw a boot in the corner of his gaze, and the glimpse of a spear hovering before his face.
Captive
. He cursed inwardly.
Where are you, Gray and Ayva?
Surely they must be held captive too, but Darius couldn’t risk moving or his captors would notice. He took in the scene beyond.

Nearby, upon the dry desert, Faye faced a mountain of a man. He was not wide—not unless a blade could be considered wide—save for his broad shoulders, which would have brushed a door’s frame. Hunched, he looked like a large cat ready to pounce. In one hand he held a spear with a thick, steel head and two black bands upon the wooden haft. Dust colored fabric like his own previous rags draped the man’s huge frame. Casually, he rose to his full, impressive height and spoke a strange, jumbled mess of words. Darius wondered if the knock to his head was making his hearing fuzzy.

Faye was breathing hard, looking ragged and on the verge of defeat. Through the haze of his lashes, he saw blood. It dripped, staining the desert ground at her feet. The man, on the other hand, wasn’t breathing hard at all. All exhaustion seemed to flee as Faye cried out, launching at the man. She was a whirlwind of steel and anger, fluid like water, but then unpredictable like a pike amid the reeds. How had Gray stood up to such a woman? Her sword and dagger flashed, cutting and swiping, and between the gaps of each attack, she launched kicks, elbows and even knees. But that man…. Darius couldn’t believe it. He moved as if sloughing through water. Nothing she threw hit, as if he were smoke. No, he realized, he was just quick. Too quick. Worse, his rock-like face never changed. It was as if he were merely dancing, as if he were reading her moves before they happened. Dice! Darius had never seen anything like it. And he realized, suddenly, that the man was not attacking. Not once even. He simply backpedaled along the desert as Faye cried out in a rage of fury, exhausting herself.

Screaming at the top of her lungs, Faye cut at his neck wildly. Suddenly, the man stopped dodging. He halted, and Darius
felt
Faye’s surprise.
His opening,
Darius knew and choked. He had just been waiting, calmly biding his time. The man slipped an attack that would have taken his head by a hairsbreadth and stabbed. The spear lunged for her head, impossibly fast. She ducked. But the man was still moving. He thrust again and again, three, four, five times and more, faster than Darius’ eye could follow. Faye dipped, dodged, and weaved, evading one after another, her breath coming harder and harder. She was keeping pace!
Dice, she can do it!
he thought, watching in amazement. Suddenly, the man twisted. His long leg sliced, raising a fan of dirt. Faye, her eyes focused on the jabbing spear, didn’t see it coming. He swept her feet, and she hit the dirt like a sack of bricks, air pressed from her lungs. Darius swallowed, blinking. When he opened his eyes, the man stood over her. The spear’s head hovered above Faye’s heart, inches away. Still, the man wasn’t breathing hard, and looked as if he hadn’t broken a sweat.

Faye lowered her eyes, defeated. Her hand touched something at her side, but he knew it was a death sentence. The man’s muscles tensed.

Darius reached inside. The Leaf floated in his mind, lines golden and glowing. Fearfully, he gripped it. Immediately, he was opened to his surroundings even with his eyes closed. There were few trees out here, but he felt dead roots deep beneath the earth as if this place had once been full of life. Unsure of what he was doing, he reached for them.
So far…
But still he pulled, anger and pressure building in his mind.

He opened his eyes.

The man’s spear descended.

He cried out, feeling root and earth breaking beneath him.
Almost there!
A boot stomped hard onto his back, pushing him to the ground. Suddenly, the pressure was gone as cries erupted. Darius felt the air break. Without wasting a second thought, he rolled to one side. A spear’s tip dug a chunk of earth out where he had just been. He looked up. A one-armed man with brown skin and black hair even wilder than his own stood over him, attacking, spear flying again towards his face. But Darius was ready. He kicked, hitting the man square in the chest with both feet. The man took the blow, flying back. Rolling to his feet, Darius saw the chaos before him.

Ayva was running, sprinting for safety. Nearby, Gray knelt, surrounded by four different spears. Yet the men watched fearfully as turmoil exploded around them. Roots burst from the ground, hundreds of them. They grabbed some men, holding them in the air and lashing at others.

Closer still, Faye knelt, frozen. The tall man before her growled, but a thick, gnarled root held his spear, halting the killing blow. Confused, but only for a second, the man dropped his spear and looked around, watching the disorder. Sweat knit across Darius’ brow as he propelled the chaos, pushing the roots to grab and flay. Suddenly, the power was too much to hold and his concentration broke and the roots collapsed, lifeless once more. Darius sagged, exhausted.

The tall man bellowed, drawing all eyes. Darius saw that he gripped Faye’s throat, holding her above the ground. “No more tricks! You’ve broken the duel and have lost all honor. Now you all must die.” He nodded to the four men surrounding Gray. “Kill them all.”

Ayva shouted, “No!”

“Ayva, save Faye!” Darius ordered.

He saw her expression twist, but she nodded.

The four men around Gray raised their spears.

Darius concentrated. With the last bit of his failing power, he focused on a huge, ancient root deep beneath the sand. Slowly, it rumbled. Its presence and his became one. Darius’ eyes snapped open and he thrust his hand up, driving the root like a spike through the earth and into the center of Gray and his captors. Earth sprayed like water into the air, buying Gray a split second. He dove, rolling and reaching for his sword. But one of the warriors, unperturbed by the exploding ground, was quicker.

“Faye, shield your eyes! Now!” It was Ayva’s voice.

A light burst in the corner of his vision, blindingly bright. Darius was forced to shelter his gaze as well. When he opened his eyes, he saw the leader. The man groaned, stumbling and clutching his eyes as if temporarily blinded.

Faye rose, standing over the man who reached for Morrowil, “Go ahead.” The man grabbed Gray’s blade then screamed, falling to his knees. Faye nodded, as if satisfied, then kicked Morrowil towards Gray. Another warrior leapt at Gray from behind with a black-banded spear.

“Gray!” Darius cried out.

But Gray was too slow. He twisted and the spear flashed. Suddenly, Faye pushed him, taking his place as the black-banded spear found its mark, piercing her shoulder. She cried out but then kicked the man in the groin with all her might. The warrior merely flinched. It was all the time Darius needed. He lifted his hand, directing the ancient tuber. His body quaked, every muscle straining as he lifted the colossal root. It rose into the air and then fell, landing upon the warrior and pinning him to the ground.

Looking around, Darius saw the leader. Face dark as death, the Algasi leader snatched his two-banded spear and stalked forward.
Well, I guess his vision is back,
Darius realized. Glancing around, he swallowed. The other warriors had dealt with the remaining roots and now made a slow death-stalk towards Darius, weapons in hand.

Ayva, Gray and Faye fell in at his side, backing up slowly.

“Well, that
seemed
to be going well.”

“You fool, you shouldn’t have interrupted our duel. Now you’ve gotten us all killed.”

Darius shook his head, dumbfounded. “Are you serious? I saved you! You were about to die!”

“Better me than all of us,” she replied with a shrug.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gray stated, interrupting. “Got anything left in that bag of tricks of yours, Darius?”

Darius shook his head, eyeing their approaching death. “I wish.” It was true; his whole body felt as if he’d just run from the Lost Woods to Death’s Gate and back. He was drained. And even if he did have the energy, he had conjured those roots out of need. He had no idea what he’d just done. “Can you get us away, Gray? You know, use your power again?”

“I…” Gray faltered. He closed his eyes as if searching, and then shook his head, looking afraid and defeated. “Not this time.”

Ayva nervously gripped her dagger in her hand. “Then what do we do?”

The men stalked closer still, their dark faces with hard eyes ready for the kill, like hawks corralling a field mouse into a corner for the final blow.

Faye spoke. “We can’t fight this. It’s time to run.” She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled. Her horse suddenly whinnied, galloping towards them from the east. The cormacs, intuitive beasts, turned and followed Faye’s mare. The warriors twisted, but it was too late as the steeds galloped through their ranks. The leader pivoted, whole body twisting as he stabbed, his spear piercing its target. Faye’s horse cried out, falling, but the cormacs burst through. Faye shouted, but there was no time.

Leaping up on his mount, Darius grabbed a distraught Faye and pulled her up behind him. She winced, grabbing her wounded shoulder. Then, kicking his heels into Mirkal’s flanks, Darius charged, bursting away from the sand-colored warriors and into the desert beyond.