Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (58 page)

The last one stood out to him.
Farbs.
The Great Kingdom of Fire…

The door behind Gray opened, and Zane entered.

“Is he awake?”

Gray shook his head. “Not yet.”

The man nodded softly. “He will be soon. Meira said he is merely unconscious now that Sithel has stolen his spark.”
Stolen the spark…
The words, though mostly a mystery to Gray, still seemed like a curse, lancing through him. He eyed the sleeping Arbiter, the man’s gray hair with white streaks strewn across his face—a face more weathered than when he had first seen it in his dreams. He knew the white hair and age had been a part of his torture—a dark price, but a small one in Gray’s mind.

Zane moved to his side. The fiery man’s presence was strangely comforting. The room was quiet with only a several-handed instrument upon the wall ticking quietly.
A clock,
Zane had called it, though he seemed more or less unfamiliar with it as well.

“What’s that?” Zane asked, eyeing the book in Gray’s hand.

“A present from long ago,” he said, feeling the worn cover.

“No,” Zane said, “this.” He reached out and picked up the fragment of dark cloth with two crossed swords emblazoned in white upon the back. It still had a splotch of blood. “Kill a Devari, did you?”

As soon as he said the words, Gray felt a sting to his gut.

Victasys.

Zane realized his words, and his eyes clenched, trying to recover. With a shaky sigh he added, “I mean… Where’d you get it?”

“A friend,” Gray said mysteriously.

“Why does it look different?”

“Because it is. It’s the cloak of the leader of the Devari.”

“How in the… This… Is this
Ren’s
cloak?”

“Ren?” Gray asked, confused.

Zane ran a hand through his blond hair. In the light of the setting sun, Gray saw it had a flame-red tint. Everything about the man seemed fiery. Even his clothes had been burned in the chaos, though he had been unharmed, and he had taken to wearing a deep red vest. It suited him. Again, it seemed too familiar, too
fated
, but Gray didn’t let his mind wander in that direction as Zane answered, “You don’t know who Ren is?”

Gray shook his head, something stirring inside him.

“Ren was the last leader of the Devari. Some say he was one of the strongest blademasters ever to live.”

Live…
Kirin breathed.

You’re back,
Gray thought, oddly missing the voice in his head. But then Kirin was silent once more. Shrugging it off, he looked back to Zane. “You make it sound like he died. What happened to him?”

“He did die.”

Kirin wailed.
What was that?
“How?” Gray asked.

Unsheathing a rusted dagger from his belt, Zane spun it on the nearby table, catching it each time before it fell, creating a small notch in the wood as he answered, “Honestly, no one knows for certain. At this point it’s mostly just stories and rumors.”

“Tell me,” Gray pressed.

Zane arced a brow. “Curious about this, aren’t you?”

“More or less,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Anything better to talk about?”

“I guess not,” Zane said. “Well, they say he was found with a hole in his stomach the size of a fist. The room he was found in was filled with other dead guards and Devari, full of severed limbs, blood everywhere, as if a gateway to hell had opened and unleashed all its dark fury upon those poor souls…” Zane shook his head. “Least that’s what some say. To me, sounds like the work of Reavers, but the whispers said he was betrayed by his own kind, by a brother, a Devari. Though I’m not sure how any Devari could have killed a man like that. He was the strongest of them all.”

“And then?” Gray wasn’t even aware he spoke, his mind lost in Zane’s story.

“It wasn’t long before news of Ren’s death spread like fire to a thatch roof. It’s not often that a Reaver or Devari is found dead—or at least, it wasn’t back then—least of all the
leader
of the Devari. More than that, the man was well respected, even outside the Citadel. A huge ceremonial pyre was erected for him in the center of Farbs, and thousands attended. After that, the hunt was on…” Zane said. “You should have seen the look in a Devari’s eye, or lucky that you didn’t. For months, thieves and others of the less than reputable sort walked on eggshells when a Devari appeared. They roamed the streets, as if searching for the one that killed their beloved leader.”

Gray was riveted. He felt a distant thrumming of fear, but a burning curiosity overrode it. The whole story sounded so familiar. He heard a sound, and he realized that, oddly, his heart was hammering in his chest. He unfurled his palms and saw they were drenched in sweat.
What is going on?

Zane spoke again, his voice snapping him out of his thoughts. The room seemed to flash back into focus, Gray’s world returned. “Sometimes I forget how much, or how little you know,” the fiery man said. “One day you’ll have to fill me in on your past.”

Gray put a hand to his head.
“And you on yours…” he replied absently.

Zane swallowed, seeming suddenly pained, as if seeing demons.

“Did I say something wrong?” Gray asked.

“No,” Zane said, yet his voice grew dark and resigned. “It’s just… my past… I—”

Gray held up a hand, interrupting him, after seeing the man’s obvious reluctance, as if he was pulling Zane’s nails off with hot pincers. “It’s all right. You’ve risked your life for me, and to save a man you barely know
.
You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Zane’s body slacked, muscles uncoiling. “Thanks,” he said with a heavy breath, looking grateful.

He smiled. “Anytime.” Gray knew what it was like to have someone who simply trusted you, who didn’t ask questions when there was a darkness nipping at your heels—specifically a darkness that was one’s past. That was Ayva and Darius for him. Thoughts of the two made his heart twist, and he prayed they were all right with Faye.

Gray looked back to Ezrah.

“We did it, Gray,” Zane stated. “You should be proud.”

Gray nodded.
Proud…
He wasn’t sure if he was proud, but he was glad, happy even. The man was alive and in the flesh before him. It was hard to believe.

Even in sleep Ezrah seemed powerful, yet oddly vulnerable at the same time. It was somehow endearing, as if Gray was the only thing protecting one of the most powerful men in the entire world.

Ezrah suddenly stirred.

Gray’s fingers froze upon the page.

“I’ll leave you,” the fiery man whispered. “Good luck.”

Good luck?
Gray thought, gulping. But then again, perhaps he would need it.

The Arbiter’s eyes opened, revealing gray-green irises.

Just like mine…

Gray tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as the man’s ancient gaze took in the serene surroundings—a small, cozy room made of earthen brick with simple wood furniture, white sheets, a stone fireplace, several chairs, and a long window that overlooked the busy streets below—and then finally his gaze settled on Gray. A thousand different emotions flashed across Ezrah’s face, all utterly unreadable. Before he realized what he was doing, Gray reached out with the ki in an attempt to read his grandfather.

He touched the man’s mind and gasped.

He was met with a wall unlike anything he had ever felt before. It glowed golden and bright, like the living wind he could thread, but brighter still—blinding even. He looked away, but it did nothing. The light beamed forth, radiating power and strength. Hesitantly, he touched it and—

“The ki
,
is it?”

Gray snapped out of the moment, opening his eyes.

Ezrah’s voice rang deep and powerful, “Quite a powerful one too.” The man was now sitting upright in his bed, his simple, white sheets falling around his torso, which was wrapped in thick bandages that hid his wounds. The Arbiter eyed him, and a long moment passed. Gray’s heart thundered in his chest. At last, Ezrah’s face softened. “Gray,” the man said. That simple name. As if he was saying a thousand things in a single word.

“Grandfather…”

Ezrah smiled. “Welcome home, my boy.”

Gray found tears in his eyes that he didn’t know were there. He blinked them away, and before he knew what he was doing, he embraced the Arbiter in a deep hug. The man gripped back, surprisingly strong.

After a long moment, both released. Ezrah’s face turned suddenly stern once more. It was like staring into the gray-green gaze of a storm. “However, we’ll have to have a little talk about that ki business. I’m awake for only moments and you seek to infiltrate my mind?”

“I… I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I just—”

Ezrah held up a weathered hand. “I am only teasing. But you do not need to use the ki—not with me. However, I am curious… Is the ki familiar to you once more? And your memories, have they returned?”

Gray waited for Kirin to burst into his mind, but there was a strange silence. He shook his head at last, “Not yet… Just bits and pieces. But the ki, on the other hand, feels oddly familiar. It comes easily now. Just then I wanted to know what you were thinking, and it kind of happened before I realized it.”

The Arbiter rubbed his chin with a thoughtful sound. “Be wary, my boy. My knowledge of a Devari’s powers is relatively sparse… But what I
have
learned over my many years is that any power, the ki included, can be dangerous. Until there is someone who can guide you in the ki’s proper usage, I’d caution temperance. Use it sparingly.”

Gray nodded in understanding.

A moment passed, and Gray had a thousand questions flood through him in a rush, thoughts racing like a whirlwind in his mind. Before he could speak, though, Ezrah reached out and touched Gray’s arm. His hand was warm, and the skin soft.

“I see…” the man declared mysteriously. “You’ve learned your power, then.”

“I have, but it is fractured, like…” he began and fell short.

Ezrah lifted a brow streaked with white, reminding Gray of a bolt of lightning. “Like mine?”

“Meira told me about what they did to you. It sounds… horrible.” The voidstone. The woman had briefly mentioned its powers. The power to steal the spark, draining one of all their power…
And to drain an Arbiter
. Meira made the act sound worse than death. As if they had already killed Ezrah. He didn’t truly understand but knew nonetheless that, whatever Ezrah was feeling, he couldn’t begin to fathom. Still, he was just glad the man was alive.

“It is horrible,” Ezrah said. “But I will survive.”

“And your power…?”

Ezrah’s eyes crinkled, as if knowing a secret. “Hand me that candle.”

Gray faltered, noticing a thick wax candle on the bedside stand. Meira said she had tried to remove anything in the room that would make the Arbiter “thread” unconsciously, triggering the dark reminder that he was without his power. Yet there sat a candle. Gray handed it over.

The Arbiter took a deep breath, turning the candle in his hand. “Many believe to be drained of the spark is a fate much like death. And in a way, they are right. The spark is life. It feeds the land, the rivers, the forests, and all creatures. It is in the very air we breathe.” Ezrah looked out the window, over the streets of Farbs, eyes glazing, his gaze growing distant. “Yet as we sit here, my boy, the spark is dying in the world. The creatures of Farhaven depend on it, and magical beings like Sprites and Dryads are fading from this realm. Even mortals grow weaker as it fades. Soon we will be much like Daerval in every way.”

“What are you saying?” Gray asked, reading between the lines. “Farhaven has magic, but what is the difference between a man from Daerval or one from Farhaven?”

“You have noticed it, have you not? In Farhaven you can run longer, fight harder, jump higher, and sleep less, among other things. This world is different. It gives you strength. Without magic, humans will be simply humans—or what you have come to know in Daerval as human. And elves? Well, many believe those with a strong connection to the spark and to this world simply cannot live without the essence of magic.”

“Then elves and other magical beings… they will die when the spark dies?”

Ezrah sighed, holding the candle up to the light of the window. “I wish I knew, but even the wise cannot know all things. However, as for your question, the spark
is
life, but true power resides deeper, my boy. True power lives within.”
Within?
he thought, confused. Just then, Ezrah’s fingers snapped and the candle’s long wick sparked to life—a small flame, but deep and red and burning brightly.

Gray gasped.
“You still have your power! But how?”