Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (38 page)

As always, Gray couldn’t tell if the man was joking or not. His face was a bluff rock. He shrugged it off, eyeing Darius.
Stay safe,
he urged his friend inwardly. Darius looked to Gray and nodded.
You too
. Then the rogue shook his head, looking confused at what just happened.
Did I just…?
Gray questioned, as a memory flashed through him of the Ronin talking to one another without talking.

But before he could question the strange knot in the back of his mind where Darius’ voice had rang, the three said their goodbyes and Faye dragged them off towards The Lair of the Beast.

“You ready?” Zane asked, looking to Gray.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.

Gray felt peculiar. Less than an hour ago both these men were complete strangers. Now they were going to risk their lives together.
Fate,
he thought with a sour feeling. Would he ever have any control over his life?
And yet the rest of him felt at peace, as if Zane and the Devari’s presence were familiar and
right
, even.

“Stay close and follow me then,” Victasys said, leading them into the increasingly crowded desert streets. The Citadel loomed, waiting in the distance. Gray eyed the dark spires jutting high above the buildings like black gloved fingers on a huge hand.

Home,
Kirin voiced.

Lucky

W
HERE IS IT?
L
UCKY THOUGHT IN
rising terror.

He held back a whimper, feeling for his small dagger. With his hands bound behind his back, it wasn’t easy. He felt nothing. The rough rope chaffed at his small wrists.
It’s gone,
he realized. They took his blade.

He took a deep breath, trying to not let panic take over. He knew how easily such a thing could happen. When he was alone, in the dark, waiting for big men to grab him and kill him for stealing their coin or food, the panic was always heavy. He breathed in and out, slowly, just as he would back then. But still his heart was loud, pounding, slapping against his ribcage. It didn’t help that he heard the others’ fearful breaths.

He glanced right and left and saw boys his age, some younger, some older in a long row. Most were softly sniveling while tugging on their bindings. Some were openly crying. Lucky felt a flash of pride—he wasn’t crying. Not yet at least.

Lucky tried to calm himself by taking in his surroundings.

He was in a darkened courtyard. Grass cushioned his knees. Above his head, through a mesh of Silveroot branches, he made out a sliver of a moon.
A thief’s moon.
It was a pickpocket’s best friend. Normally, he felt comforted by the dark, but now the darkness felt different. Lucky was scared.

He felt something sharp in his pocket. He shifted upon his knees, but he almost fell to his face. He forgot his feet were bound too.
What is it?
he wondered, feeling the small, sharp object digging into his side.

The statue.

The one he’d stolen from Shade.

He looked up, eyeing the men who watched them— dark brutes with muscles that gleamed in the faint moonlight.

“What do they want of us?” a boy whispered to his left.

“I don’t know, but I’m scared,” said another, tears streaming down his dirty face.

“Where are we?” asked a third with a quivering voice.

“The Citadel,” Lucky answered in a low breath.

“How are we going to get out?”
asked a little girl, Vitsu, with a woven cap tugged to the brim of her eyes. Vitsu had been a Lost One he’d seen a lot. Shade favored her. She was nice, always helping others. Lucky grimaced in memory, feeling jealous still. But why was she here? Strange when all the others were boys.

Just then, at the glowing entry to the courtyard, a figure appeared. Lucky stiffened.
Help,
he thought, gaining a flicker of hope. Maybe it was a Reaver or a Devari. He’d avoided both like a disease in the streets of Farbs, but surely they would see a bunch of boys and save them from these men.

“Lucky?” Vitsu voiced, louder.

“Hush,” Lucky said, “someone’s coming.”

The figure walked down the keep’s steps, heading toward them.

As he approached, Lucky felt his fear spike.

The man strode forward, bearing a strange blue orb in his hand. It crackled, lighting the darkened courtyard a scary blue. With each step, grass died, burning and turning to ash.

As he neared, Lucky’s heart darkened. Something prickled along his skin. It hurt, like a flame drawing closer and closer. With the man’s next step, the other orphans began to whimper and cry. Lucky stuffed down his terror, breathing evenly.

The man came to a stop.

He towered over them. With a long black coat and dark boots, the man blended with the night, save for his face. His hair was dark, too, and greasy, appearing like wriggling snakes smeared in oil. Lucky cringed eyeing his pale skin that sucked in the moon’s light. The man stood, judging them, muscled thugs at his side. Suddenly, looking at the man, Lucky saw an image of blood.

He clenched his eyes against the recent memory.

Sanctuary… under attack…

Blood and cries of Lost Ones. Men, women and children. Fire and chaos.

Lucky returned to the dark courtyard, trembling.

The blood still stained his hands. He tried to hold back the tears. He’d seen Father die. Father had been kind to him. Lucky never fit in with the Lost Ones, not really at least, but Father had given him food, water, shelter, and clothing. Father had trusted him when almost no one else did. He’d thought Lucky could change, stop thieving and become better. He was wrong, but Lucky
had
tried. That was more than anyone else had done. Lucky felt his throat tighten, anger rising inside of him. No, Father didn’t deserve it.

“Master Sithel,” the biggest of the brutes said in a voice like gravel.

Sithel’s gaze scanned over the whimpering boys. “Where did you gather this wretched lot?”

“It seems someone attacked the Sanctuary. We found these boys wandering, lost.”

“And do any have families?” Sithel questioned.

“No, all orphans, master.”

“Excellent,” Sithel breathed.

“Please don’t kill us,” a little boy cried.

Sithel loomed over the little boy with a cruel smile. “I have no intention of killing you, little one. Not unless the prophecy demands it.” Lucky shivered. This man was death.

“Then what do you want of us?” Vitsu asked in her small voice.

“To discover a truth, child.”

“What truth?” another little boy asked.

“You shall see,” Sithel said and raised the blue sphere. It pulsed an eerie light. It was beautiful. But above all, Lucky knew—it was evil. Pain shot through his limbs like a hundred needles. He tried to breathe but it was difficult. It was as if someone had just walloped him in the stomach, hard.

Others at his side cried out in pain too.

“Please stop!” several cried.

Holding the orb out, Sithel approached the first boy in the line. The boy cried out loudly.
Please someone hear!
With tears in his eyes, Lucky watched in horror as a strange face appeared in the air like a spirit. His dread rose. It glowed orange, like a mask of the boy. The boy’s cry pitched as the face was sucked out of him and into the evil, blue orb. The orb drank it in like a sponge, as if craving more. The orange essence flowed into the orb until the boy’s skin grew ashen. At last, Sithel pulled away.

“Not him,” he declared.

The other orphans were now all sobbing.

“What was that?” one whimpered.

“The spark,” Lucky breathed. He had seen a Reaver die. The man had keeled over like any other, and then a strange orange essence had fled from his body, rising into the air. It was the spark.

Sithel approached the next boy.

“Please… no,” he cried.

But Sithel merely smiled as the blue orb ate, and the boy’s spark fled, racing into the evil sphere. “So sorry, child…” he said, but his eyes held no remorse.

“Let me go, please,” said the little boy, his voice hoarse.

Sithel pulled away, if only for a moment, and the boy gasped a breath. “You will each seek forgiveness, but know that I cannot give it to you. For you see, we are all cogs fulfilling our roles, mine more grand than yours. But the truth remains that the prophecy is more important than us all. In the end, feel grateful that you play such an important role.” With that, he pushed the terrible orb forward, draining the orange essence and the boy fell forward, lifeless.

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.