Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (77 page)

Jian’s eyes were cold and steely, silently watching.

“No?” Faye asked, looking amused. “As I suspected. There’s no way. We are doomed.” Ayva felt something, a coldness, like an absence or the wind withering. She turned, looking around for Darius.

“If they breach the walls of Farbs, there will be no hope of stopping them,” Jian said.

“Then we fight from behind our walls,” said another Reaver.

“Darkwalkers pay no heed to such edifices,” said Faye. “They will climb your walls like ants to an anthill.”

Silence settled, and Ayva’s palms sweated, watching the roiling darkness. It looked leagues closer, but she knew it was her imagination.

“We will meet them,” Gray announced. “It is time to face Sithel. If we can shatter the voidstone before he reaches Farbs, then perhaps we can break the command he has over the Darkwalkers.”

Ezrah took to Gray’s side, as if backing his grandson’s word.

“So be it,” Meira affirmed and looked to the others. “Give the command. Gather all who are able. We make for the gates to end Sithel’s reign once and for all.” The other Reavers and Devari gave solemn nods and turned away.

Ayva watched Jian stride towards Gray.

She felt her hand reach for the blade, but then it fell short as the man gripped Gray’s forearm. “Rekdala Forhas,” the man uttered, eyes gleaming with a fierce intensity. His hard features looked ready for blood, and yet there was a crease at the corners of his gaze like the beginning of a smile. The two might not have been friends, but it was clear a bond of sorts had been forged between them.

“Till honor and death,” Gray replied.

The Devari leader gave a thin smile.

Jian moved past her, his men at his side, and she shivered—the air was frozen around the man, as if he and his Devari carried a shroud of death. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Gray regarded her, calm and confident. Ezrah was at his side. Gray’s eyes had reverted back to their normal hue. The two looked related in that moment, both with their resolute gray-green gazes.

“Where’s Darius?” Gray asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered, worriedly, “He was just here.”

Ezrah replied calmly, looking up. “He’s gone to do what must be done.”

“And what is that?” Ayva asked.

“His fate,” Ezrah replied.

Puzzled, she opened her mouth to ask more when she felt the darkness wash over her. She turned to see the massing darkness only miles from their walls. She imagined she could hear the nightmare’s dark, inhumane sounds, claws and feet racing across the sandy stretch. “So close…” she breathed. “Do you really believe we can take them?”

“No,” a female voice announced firmly, and Gray’s eyes narrowed, looking over his shoulder as Faye approached, joining their circle. “They will crush us like an ant beneath their boot. Madness doesn’t begin to describe this path you all have carved for yourselves.”

“Then run,” Ayva snapped, “bury yourself in a hole or some dark hovel and leave us once and for all.”

“There is no place safe now,” Faye answered, shrugging. “Besides, I won’t see Darkeye taint the clan further.”

Ayva laughed. “You’re truly insane, aren’t you?”

“Ayva…” Gray began, but she waved him off.

“No, not this time, Gray,” she said, anger growing. “This woman deserves death. Can’t you see? She tried to sacrifice us to Darkeye, and now she claims to want to see him dead? She’s using us again—that’s who she is: a manipulator, a liar, and a
murderer
.”

“And yet you wish to see me killed right here?” Faye questioned.

“Don’t even try to switch this around,” Ayva replied, amused. “You left us to be killed by Darkeye. If anything, I simply have more guts than you to see the job done.”

Faye sighed, shrugging dismissively, “If you say so.”

“Tell us, why should we trust you?” Gray asked.

“It doesn’t matter if you trust me or not anymore, dear Gray,” Faye answered. “I am coming. Darkeye has tainted the clan, turning men and women into a mindless mob that simply regurgitate his ideals of strength and weakness—a sudden change I’ve yet to understand.” Then she sniffed. “But I’ve no need to explain my motives to any of you, especially not my
Diaon
. To put it simply, I will see him dead or upon a spit for doing this to the clan. I
am
coming. If you wish to stop me, you will have to kill me here and now.”

Ayva felt her anger reach a peak. “Gladly,” she answered and gripped her dagger, warmth blossoming inside her.

She felt a hand upon her own and saw Ezrah’s face, warm but firm.

“We need every sword possible,” said the man softly. “When it is over, I will ensure her punishment. I know what I ask is not easy, but I swear she will not avoid her fate.”
Her fate?
The way the man said it… At last Ayva breathed a thin, shaky sigh, letting go of her anger and her dagger.

“Never call me Diaon again,” Ayva spat at Faye.

Gray coughed, clearing the tension. “Well, if that’s settled…” He stood beside a block of stone that protruded from the rampart, a purple sphere expanding into the air. A transporter. “This should help us catch up with Jian and the others.”

“How’d you know that was there?” Ayva questioned.

“Memories,” he answered with a smirk.

Suddenly a loud screech split the air. No, Ayva realized. It wasn’t the sound of one cry, but thousands, intertwined in a cacophony of shrieks. They echoed in the morning light, shuddering through the city.

It was the sound of death.

And the Arbiter intoned powerfully, “Come. We make for the gates to finish this once and for all.”

A Rogue’s Task

D
ARIUS ITCHED IN HIS FANCY CLOTHES
as he maneuvered out of the courtyard, passing through those giant, jaw-dropping gates of black stone and into the city of Farbs. Here, it felt as if nothing had happened. He could scarcely believe it as he watched men and women in the bright early morning with smiling faces and purposeful strides, going about their day, unaware of the dark army at their doorstep.

He shivered, trying not to think about it, for he had another mission at hand.

He itched again, but it wasn’t his clothes that felt uncomfortable. Besides, he was growing used to the color green, even if it was so bright it hurt his eyes—he rather liked it.

A woman—pretty, if a tad matronly—caught his eye as if sensing his nerves. He smiled disarmingly. She merely lifted a brow, looking back and handing a thick coin over for a basket of bread. Darius shrugged it off, catching snippets of their bland conversation about the weather.

He had somewhere to go…

What in the dice am I doing?
he thought and shook his head, throwing his hood up as guards in glimmering plate rushed by him towards the Citadel, obviously joining the army. He laughed to himself.
Better not to question. Think on it too long and you’ll come to your senses, Darius
.
Better just to keep moving,
he decided.
But why didn’t I tell anyone?
Well, it didn’t seem right. They had their mission—to face that foul army.

His was elsewhere.

Suddenly, a gust of wind made him jump, and white wings flashed overhead. When he looked up, his gaze caught as the giant beast—a gryphon—flapped its way to the zenith of a distant tower. With a deep breath, he made his way, running as fast as he could, glad that he’d strapped his sword to his back for ease of movement. As he moved, he fingered something idly in his pocket, something sharp yet metallically smooth.

He reached the top quicker than he’d expected—as if his feet were guided by purpose, by
fate
. Darius scoffed, and absently felt for the object in his pocket, but it was gone. He crested the wide stone rampart, reaching the top short of breath. He saw a man dismount from the giant beast.

The tower’s summit was a stone platform, barely larger than Mistress Sophi’s common room. Beyond the crenulations was an empty expanse of blue sky, and he knew Farbs lay far below. But before even
that
, he saw a flock of the creatures, all in giant hay-filled baskets like oversized hens. He refrained from gasping. The rider who had just left the creature was speaking with another, a scrawny man in strange white-gold livery, obviously a trainer of the beasts. As the rider turned, he saw it was no man.

An elf.

Darius tried to duck back around the stone bend, but it was too late. Instead, he strode forward, owning his hair-brained idea. The trainer turned too, the man’s thin lips peeling to show mismatched teeth. “Greetings!” Darius bid, “I’ll be needing one of those… gryphons there, if you don’t mind. I’ve a long journey ahead of me, and very little time.”

The trainer eyed him, blue eyes gauging Darius. The elf, however, could have taught a stone emotion. He was
tall
—Darius wasn’t exactly tall, he admitted, but this man was huge. Taller than Gray or Ezrah and even broader than Zane, but his waist was narrow, his torso cut like a ‘V’. Blond hair fell all the way to his brown, leather belt. Otherwise, he wore a plain green tunic and white pants, both torn and dirty. But that face… It was filled with such strange impassivity, like most elves Darius had seen but even more so. Darius knew that look. It was the face of a man with a dark secret. When the elf’s eyes fell upon him, he felt sweat break out along his skin—the man was powerful, like a Devari, but
different
.

“Your badge!” the trainer demanded, shattering Darius’ trance. The man extended his bony hand. His other held the reins of the giant white and brown creature. It flapped its wings as if restless.

He hesitated, trying to construct a lie. “You see, funny story ’bout that, I…”

“Quickly,” the man barked, “Show me your badge or be on your way! No one leaves Farbs without proper consent, by order of the Citadel.”

Darius sighed.
Enough of this.
He grabbed his leaf-blade, unsheathing it in a ring. He raised it to the man’s scrawny throat. The green hue shone off the trainer’s pale skin. “I don’t like you, but I’m still sorry to do this. Move aside.”

“No,” the trainer retorted.

Darius gawked and thrust the sword closer, and the man gulped beneath the blade’s tip. “
Really?
I’ve a blade to your…” He waved the matter off with a hand. “
Look,
there’s a war coming, and well—
ah
, dicing hell, there’s no time to explain, man! Just give me the beast and we’ll call it even, all right?” He reached for his coin purse and threw it on the ground. “Take this too, just hand over those reins.”

Until now, the elf hadn’t flinched. Darius saw he held a blade as well. The elf’s gaze seemed strange… There was something unsettling about him. He eyed Darius’ blade hungrily. Was the elf mad?
Shaking his head as if waking, the elf questioned abruptly
,
“The war has reached your borders?”

“Reached our borders?” Darius scoffed and pointed with his leaf-blade in frustration. “See for yourself.” The elf looked to the horizon and saw the dark, roiling horde, eyes widening slightly.

“May the Eternal Spirit save us,” the elf whispered.

The trainer laughed mockingly, drawing Darius’ gaze. “So you’ve seen Sithel’s ultimate plan then, have you? Well, no matter. It’s too late for you and for Farbs.
He
is coming to lay waste to it all and reward his servants. You’re all doomed.” He grabbed a strange red instrument that dangled around his neck and blew. A shrill whistle split the air, stinging Darius’ ears. He raised his sword, but abruptly the skinny man crumpled to the ground. When Darius looked over, he saw the elf held his own blade in hand. Calmly, the elf sheathed his sword and proffered the reins of his beast.

“There’s no time to waste,” said the elf. “You best be quick, if I’m not mistaken, more like this one will be coming soon.”

“Why help me?”

“Do you truly think you have time to question my motives? Or do you want to save Farbs?”

Darius hesitated but only for a moment. The elf had a way of getting to the point. With a breath, he snatched the reins. Stuffing down his hesitancy, he threw a leg over the beast, settling into the worn leather saddle. The gryphon shuffled beneath him, sensing his urgency or perhaps the fear that pounded through Darius as his hands shook upon the reins—but his heart felt like steel, calm even. Distantly, that strange leaf pulsed. Darius ushered the beast forward, and like the cormacs, it understood. Moving to the edge of the stone, it flapped its elegant, snowy wings ready to take off.

He paused, looking back to the elf whose expression was a mystery. “I have to know,” Darius said. “Who are you?”

“A friend to those who aid the queen, the rightful ruler of Eldas,” said the elf, and he nodded to the small trinket upon Darius’ breast that he had almost forgotten was there—the small, golden lacework remnant of a crown. It was Karil’s parting gift to Darius what felt like ages ago. But it had been in his pocket, how did it…? He realized he must have placed it there without thinking as he had been walking.