Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (5 page)

He followed the old man through the thicket of people like he was pressing through a field of wheat. The old man hobbled, using his gnarled staff to gently push the crowds out of their way. Most parted for them easily though, trying to glimpse the one who had been at the center of it all. As they moved, Zane couldn’t help thinking about Hannah, about that strange man, about the guilt of the Devari and his death, but strangely, most of all about that blue orb.

At last, they broke through the last stand of people as if parting the clouds. Zane breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how much he hated being around so many people.

He took in his surroundings.

The alley was bright but empty. They were in a nicer part of town, one closer to the Citadel. He could see those tall, black towers above the adobe walls that crowded them from either side.

He turned to his savior.

The old man appeared taller and less hunched. Zane shook his head. Was he seeing things? Suddenly, the air rippled like heat waves and he gawked. The old man faded as if just a mirage, and in his place was a tall, regal looking man with broad shoulders. He was still wizened in years, but his face was smoother, almost handsome. The drooping white brows became thick and dark. His eyes—those eyes… No longer were they dull and glazed with the film of age, but penetrating and brimming with great wisdom and mystery. This was no mere man, Zane knew. Authority and power resonated from him the way the sun radiated heat. He wanted to avert his gaze, but there was something kind and settling about the man’s face.

“That was closer than I intended. Far too close.” His voice too had changed, deeper and full of control—but still it bore the fearless undertone. “I had not thought this day would come so soon…”

Zane narrowed his gaze. “Who or
what
are you?”

The man smiled, giving a grandfatherly look. “You do not look like I was expecting. You’re taller, and blonde… but you have his eyes.” Zane shook his head.
Is the man mad? Is that the danger I sensed?
But he was curious too. The mysterious man spoke again, “We were lucky this time. In the future, you must avoid that man you just met and the one called Darkeye. Both are dangerous, more so than you could possibly imagine.”

Despite himself, Zane chuckled. “Is that so? I’m not sure if you know this, but I didn’t exactly intend on running into that man, and
everyone
knows to avoid Darkeye. I’m a fan of danger as much as any man, which is not at all.” As he said the words, they sounded like a lie.
Stealing from Darkeye? Is that how I avoid danger?

“It will not be easy. You will be pulled towards Darkeye like a string drawn by a loom.”

The younger man put a hand to his head. “How do you know this? And who are you?”

“Someone you can trust,” his savior answered.

“No offense,” Zane remarked, “but I only trust two people in this world, and you aren’t one of them.”

“Beware that sentiment,” the man said. “For a heart does not open easily once it is closed.” The man’s eyes flashed in pain and anger, but then the image was gone, as if never there.

Whatever this man is,
Zane realized,
above all,
he is dangerous.
He shifted his stance, reassuring himself with the dagger at his hip and said, “Listen, thank you for saving me. I owe you, and you should know that I always repay my debts. But… Whatever it is you’re offering, I don’t want any part of it.”

The man sighed, looking distant, lost in memory. “I remember a look much like that from a young man very close to your age. It is sad when such mantles of power and duty are placed upon those so young.”
What is he talking about?
“For now, Zane, I simply come with words of caution and a gift. Take this, and
don’t
lose it.” He pressed something cold and metallic into Zane’s palm—a silver figurine of a squat man, a sword resting across his lap. Zane held it, puzzled. “One last thing: when the time comes, you can trust the man who speaks with the winds.”

Speaks with the winds…?
The man talked in riddles. But before he could say anything, the mysterious old man turned and walked away. Beyond the alley, the flow of traffic returned to the city—the procession long passed. Zane called to him. “
Wait!
I don’t even know who you are! At the least, tell me your name…”

The man paused and looked over his shoulder. Backlit by the sun, Zane saw the wisp of a smile. “Ezrah,” he replied.

Dark Things

S
ILVER BUGS BOBBED IN THE NIGHT
air like dancing lanterns. Their potent glow seemed like orbs of frost, and Gray dared not disturb them but flowed between them.

Dragon Finds the Roost.

Morrowil spun above Gray’s head then plunged, diving for an unseen foe’s heart. It was almost unnecessarily extravagant, and he would never do it in battle for the time it took, but it was powerful. Gray didn’t stop.
With his eyes flashing open and closed, he moved through the forms—forms which he didn’t know until he began moving. They came to him like a dream, forming pictures in his mind.
Beetle Skims the Water.
He made short sprinting bursts, legs and arms straining with a series of fast thrusts.

Too open!
he told himself.

Fluidly, he backpedaled into
Crane Fans its Wings
—like wind, Morrowil cut, parrying his imagined enemies in a figure-eight motion. Sweat beaded on Gray’s brow, concentration intensifying.
I must go faster,
his mind pressed. But his muscles burned.
The mind is stronger than the body
—a quote that wasn’t his. Devari. He shut the thoughts out and lost himself to the forms.
Crane Fans its Wings
met
Darting Snake
, which flowed awkwardly into
Thief’s Reprisal
. Every move was aggressive, hard, and unrelenting.

Find balance!
his fighting side instructed.

He ignored it. He ducked, evading a pretend blade that would’ve taken his head and rolled smoothly across the ground. Mid roll, he grabbed a fistful of dirt. As he came to his feet, he flung the dirt in the imaginary opponent’s eyes and cut down. Morrowil sparked upon the bits of granite sand.
It would never work against a Devari.
Again, it was his own voice, his own doubt. Without slowing, he whipped the blade around his body, cutting down a charge, then dove, rolled and with a cry—

Too open!
Kirin yelled.

That voice… His concentration shattered like a brittle sword. Morrowil slipped from his sweaty grip. He opened his eyes. The sword lay upon the ground, pulsing a brilliant silver as always, beating back the night’s gloom.

“Kirin?” he voiced aloud.

Silence, save for his heavy breathing and the subtle hum of the bugs.

“I know you’re there…” he said, fearful and curious.

There was a rustle of movement behind him. “Gray?” a voice said.

Gray turned.

Ayva’s blue shawl was wrapped around her slender frame, staving off the cool night air. She was back to pleated riding skirts and brown boots. Despite the darkness, and not for the first time, he noticed her subtle curves. He looked back to her eyes, glad of the darkness as his cheeks heated. She wore a look of innocent confusion.

“What’s going on?” Ayva asked.

Suddenly, as if upon seeing her, life and reality seemed to settle around him again. Gray panted, taking ragged lungfuls of strangely sweet air, for Farhaven’s magic permeated all things, and he felt it with every breath. They were in the desert, and had been for the past week. Though the map Karil had given them didn’t show distances, they’d estimated the journey would take a full moon’s cycle to reach Farbs. But Gray found it hard to trust the simple piece of paper, for the desert seemed endless, broken only by odd patches of forest, meadow, or stream. Once, they’d even seen a waterfall. How did such a thing occur in this arid landscape? Farhaven was strange and extraordinaire indeed, and he had a feeling they’d only brushed the surface.

He shook his head and smiled, rubbing a hand through his disheveled hair and feeling sweat run down his arm. It reminded him that he needed to bathe
and
cut his hair—it nearly touched his shoulders now. “Just a little training,” he said, “nothing to worry about. What are you doing up? It’s still my watch, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she said, “but I can’t sleep…” She eyed the nearby darkness, then asked hesitantly, “A second ago, were you just talking to yourself?”

“Probably…” he admitted with a wince, feigning embarrassment to hide what he truly felt: pure and utter confusion. Kirin was supposed to be dead and gone… Killed when he thrust the sword into the stone. He was only Gray now, but it sounded too much like he was convincing himself. “It’s weird, I know, but I’ve done it for as long as I can remember.” He hated twisting the truth, but dealing with the idea of Kirin was something he didn’t know how to broach with her.
Are you there?
he thought again, probing his mind.

Ayva seemed to relax. “I talk to myself when I’m bored too, breaks the tedium of a long watch,” she admitted, her judging gaze turning away at last. Gray hid a shiver. Sometimes he felt as if they were waiting to see something inside of him.

They are looking to see Kail,
Kirin whispered, amused.

You’re back…

Ayva smiled and raised an amused brow. “What are you talking about? I never left, Gray.”

“What?” he asked instinctually.

She neared and touched his bare arm. “Darius and I are with you. You know that.”

Gray grimaced, he hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud, and she took it… He must have sounded vulnerable. “I know,” he said confidently. “I couldn’t do this without you two, nor would I want to.” He meant it but changed the topic. “Yet how much longer do you think we’ll have to travel this cursed desert?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “Judging by the map, we’re probably a few days away from a town called Tormen that butts against a large river—which, by the way, looks huge. If the map is any indication, we could fit a hundred Sils within this Umai River.” As always, her voice became entranced, and Gray imagined being here, in Farhaven, was like a dream come true for her. He wondered,
is that why she doesn’t sleep?
As if Ayva was already dreaming, and to sleep was to wake from this adventure. She continued, “Then beyond the river, it becomes real desert all the way until we reach Farbs.”

“
Real
desert,” he repeated with a snort, “Great.”

She chuckled, sitting down on a nearby rock. “You know, you’re beginning to sound a little like Darius. I think he’s rubbing off on you.”

“Oh, really? I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”

“Not at all,” she said with a smile.

“Well, that’s just dicing terrific!”

This time, Ayva laughed deeply. It was truly pleasant—sweet, pure and feminine—and it banished all the darkness from his mind. He was glad he could make her laugh. Darius always seemed the one for that. “Can I ask you something?” she said suddenly.

“You just did,” he said.

She gave him a level stare.

Well, perhaps his humor wasn’t
as
good as he thought. Cursing the sudden awkwardness, he sat next to her, staring off into the darkness, seeing glimmers of what lay upon the horizon. He almost thought he could see a stand of trees. The bugs danced in the air, their silver glow setting a serene ambiance to the moment. Behind him, over his shoulder, he saw the faint outline of Darius’ sleeping roll, and he thought he could hear the rogue’s raucous saw-like snores. “Go ahead,” he told her.

“Well… First, what’s worrying you? You seem annoyed by this desert, more so than any of us.”

“It’s going to sound silly, but I don’t like the quiet.”

“I think I know what you mean…”

He shook his head. “It’s more than the silence.”
I feel it in the air,
he thought, but instead said, “Nothing has happened since we started our journey.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I fear something is out there.”

They both grew silent, staring into the distance, into the night. “And it’s just what, watching?” she asked.

“Or waiting…” he said ominously.

Ayva shivered as a nearby glowing beetle floated closer. She reached out her hand, and it landed on her finger. Through the intense shine, Gray could make out furry feelers, large pincers, and a blue shell.
Frost bugs,
Ayva had called them. It and its brothers gave off a strange buzz, but rather than being annoying or incessant, the varying buzzes created a kind of harmony—a quiet song even.