Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (25 page)

Did he just call me an elf?
Darius thought, not sure whether to laugh or be offended. He cleared his throat, but Gray spoke instead, “No. We come from the south.”

“South?” Jurad questioned, suddenly wary. “There’s nothing south. Not since the Lieon and those cursed nine destroyed nearly all the lands. All that remains is a few patches of green amid an endless desert. That and the once Great Kingdom of Yronia—that heaping mass of steel is little more than scraps where only shadows skulk and rumors stir. Beyond that is Death’s Gates, and none but the elves venture beyond, into that false land, without magic.”

Darius’ heart beat faster, caught in their lie. Not that it mattered if the man discovered them, he supposed, but it was an old habit—that racing pulse. Seconds felt like hours as the man’s eyes gauged them, and Ayva spoke. “He means we’ve made a hard journey
to
the south. We’re from Cloudfell Town.”

Jurad mopped at his sweat with a kerchief and turned his scrutiny north, through the crowds. “You have the look of Cloud folk, hard-bitten people but somehow soft too. Sadly, they’ve no eye for good cloth.”

“Right,” Gray agreed, joining at last. “We’ve made a hard journey here from Cloudfell and just purchased new clothes. You look a bit travel worn yourself. How fairs Sevia?”

“You haven’t heard?” the man asked as the mass of bodies lurched forward.

The gates grew in size as they neared. It nearly took Darius’ breath away, looking up to the dizzying heights of those tan battlements. Spikes crested them, and guards moved about, watching the endless procession push through.

“Heard what?” Ayva asked him, moving closer.

“Sevia is… Well, it’s a mess. I’m not sure how you avoided it to be honest. The trade routes are nearly all shut off from here to the Frizzian coast. Bandits rove the countryside in droves, assaulting anything that moves and seeking coin and blood. Sure we had them before—Sevia isn’t as safe as other places. I mean it’s no Vaster, where there are laws just for stepping on a patch of grass. But now? It’s worse than ever! There’ve been more deaths in the past month than in years combined.”

Nearby, an older woman with a round, black bun on her head chimed in suddenly, having overheard. “It’s not just Sevia. My name is Semi. We live near the foothills of Narim, near the coast. A week ago, we’d gone to town to fetch some supplies, and when we came back…” She spoke with a shiver, and a man at her side—her husband, Darius figured—put an arm around her slender shoulders as he held her close, issuing soft words of comfort. She stood straighter, continuing. “Our home, our crops, all of it was burning. Everything gone, decades taken from us in a fiery flash.”

“Not even a fight,” the man at her side said. “If and when I find them, I’ll bleed them dry.”

“Who could do that?” Ayva asked softly.

“I know who,” Semi answered. “We never saw the ones who’d done it, but weeks before that we’d heard tales of strange men. Red-sailed ships, they said, assaulting the Frizzian coast, and rumors say they be in the habit of taking prisoners.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “As if the villains are amassing, planning a city of thieves or the like.”

Jurad grunted. “I’ve heard as much. Fearful rumors. And I thought Farbs was bad,” he added under his breath, eyeing the nearby people. Some had taken interest in their conversation, but most looked too huddled in their own tattered clothes and thoughts to contribute, gazes fixed ahead.

“But Farbs doesn’t allow outsiders. What are you planning to do?” Gray asked.

“Well I figured you all knew,” Jurad stated, looking confused. “The Patriarch has opened the gates of Farbs, lifting the ban. That’s why all these people are fleeing like there were a fox in a rehn’s coop. However, I’m not planning to stay long. I’m from the noble house of Carah, and we’ve come to petition for men to help make the trade routes safe again. Sevia is vital to the prosperity of all the lands. Farbs needs us. Now I only hope the Patriarch’s compassion is as notorious as they say.”

“We hope only to make enough coin using Targa’s skills as a blacksmith to go back home and rebuild,” Semi said. “They say Farbs is full of coin, if one knows where to look.”

Darius wished them the best of luck, and with the others at his side, they pressed forward, weaving through the walking masses.

“I can’t believe there’s this much sorrow and chaos,” Ayva said.

“Remember what Faye said about the Nodes?” Darius said. “Something about Farhaven and magic being attacked. That’s why the Nodes were appearing, acting as safe havens. Now Farbs is a sanctuary.”

“What if the Nodes were just the beginning?” Ayva whispered.

“I hope not, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Bandits, raiders, and bloodshed?” he shivered. “Dice, the world seems to be going crazy outside these walls.”

Gray made a grunt of agreement. “Farhaven is under attack.”

“But by whom? The Darkwalkers aren’t the root of it, are they?” Darius asked.

Two guards were helping a fallen man to his feet nearby. They grew silent for a moment until the guards passed.

“We’ll find out soon,” Gray said. He sounded afraid yet hopeful.

“Right, first Ezrah, then the darkness that is conquering the world,” Darius announced. He expected a laugh or perhaps a rise out of the two, but instead, they merely nodded.
Nodding?
Darius guffawed silently.
What have you gotten yourself into, Darius?

They reached the gates. Dozens of guards with red-cloth shrouds watched the crowds enter, helping order traffic as best they could. A few nearby guards eyed their cormacs, but luckily none said a word. As they moved beneath the tall sandstone archway, Darius couldn’t help but feel like he was willingly entering into the jaws of some enormous sand beast. He passed through and a chill sunk beneath his skin. He shivered and looked to Ayva and Gray.

“Did you feel that?”

Both nodded.

“Magic,” Ayva said, awe-struck.

“It was testing us,” Gray said. Darius waited for him to say more, but Gray froze, looking up to the sky.

“Gray? What is it?”

A screech pierced the air. Darius jumped, nearly vaulting from his cormac. In a searing flash, memories came of dragons and death upon the golden walkway. He twisted in his seat and was hit with a rush of air. He cursed, ducking.

When he looked back up, he saw the image of a beast, flying through the air with huge white wings. It twisted nimbly, disappearing around a corner.
Is there a man riding it?
He shook his head, wondering if he was dreaming again. He must be dreaming, for what in the seven hells kind of person would ride a flying beast?
A madman,
Darius concluded. He leaned over, nudging Ayva. “What in the world was that?”

“Gryphons,” Gray explained with a light in his eyes. Before Darius could ask more, they pressed past the gates and into the streets of Farbs proper, and Darius found himself slack-jawed again.

The large circle before them was nothing remarkable—well, nothing remarkable for Farhaven that was—but in its center was a bedazzling sight. Darius stared at an enormous sphere. It was twice as tall as any building he’d ever seen in Lakewood. And even
more
oddly, it hovered a foot above the ground, suspended by nothing but air. Its surface was glassy and translucent. He dismounted and found his feet moving on their own. In a daze, he reached the sphere and his fingers grazed the surface.

Water
.

A huge dome of water, like a bubble that hadn’t been popped. He pulled his hand back. The water reformed, seamless once more. “How is it not falling?” he whispered.

“It must be a spell,” Ayva replied, eyes wide.

“It is,” said Gray. Darius watched Gray glide his hand through the water in amazement. “Every Arbiter is known for their grand creations—this is one of his.” His last word was said fondly, with emphasis and a quirk to his lips.

“Whose?” Darius posed.

“Ezrah’s,” Gray answered.

“Really?” Ayva asked, breathless. “Your
grandfather
made this?”

“How do you know that?” Darius questioned, dubious.

“My past,” he retorted, smiling and inhaling a deep breath of the warm desert air as he gestured grandly. “These streets, the gryphons, the magic at the entrance… All of it is coming back to me.” Even Ayva looked rejoiced, and Darius’ felt their enthusiasm spreading to him. It was infectious. He shook his head, wiping the grin from his face and looking back to the sphere. Beneath the floating globe, a fountain of water spouted, constantly feeding it. All around, people gathered, citizens and newcomers alike. They dipped in their hands to wash their dirtied faces or fill their buckets, flasks, and even barrels.

“Well, if your grandfather created it, it must be safe,” Darius said, cupping his hands and drinking.

Ayva followed suit and made a sound of delight. “It’s delicious!”

Thirsty and his throat raw, Darius drank deeply. Energy and life flushed through him. The water was crisp and slightly sweet. It was the tastiest water he’d ever had, and he didn’t even know water
could
be tasty.

As he drank, he took in the square.

Beneath him were paved white stones flecked with red, but beyond that, he saw dirt streets. All around them, buildings sprung into the air, taller than anything in the Shining City. They were mostly clay but reinforced with wood. Between them sat dark alleys. Darius felt his dagger in the folds of his clothes and shifted his shoulders, reassuring himself with his new blade. As beautiful as this city was, those alleys were a testament that it was also destined to be equally as dangerous.

After rinsing the dirt from his face and hands and refilling the waterskins, Darius mounted. He gazed over the many heads, feeling reinvigorated from the strange water. “No use waiting here,” he announced.

Gray was at his side immediately, looking more alive than Darius had ever seen him before. Ayva brushed the last bit of dirt from her gold vest and mounted. “What’s the plan?”

“Simple,” Darius answered. “Let’s find ourselves a dirty hovel. If I remember correctly, Gray, you still owe me that beer from the Shining City.”

Gray laughed, scratching his head. “Is that so? Why don’t I remember that?”

“Mind like a steel trap,” Darius said, tapping his temple.

Ayva snorted. “Exactly. Nothing going in or out.”

Darius grumbled, hiding a smile, “Bah, just follow my lead.” He prodded Mirkal forward just as Gray spoke.

“Wrong way,” he announced.

Looking back, Gray was grinning like a man with a rigged set of dice, and Darius sighed. “I’m not sure if your returning memory is going to be annoying or a relief,” he replied.

“Both, probably,” Gray answered.

With that, they sifted through the dusty streets, and Darius took in the sights.

Inns and taverns littered the main thoroughfare. Their swinging signs held strange names like The Flute and Tarsk, Reaver’s Rest, Blind Marksman, Silveroot’s Sap, Caverns of Mendari
,
and a few he couldn’t even pronounce. He whisked down a narrow alley and found darker buildings. People still moved about, but fewer now, and they wore hooded expressions despite their bright attires. Darius heard the scurry of rats in some of the darker alleys between the buildings. He was getting closer.

Gray was silent, merely eyeing the shadows as they rode. Their white, silken haired cormacs seemed out of place in the murky alleys. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help here. It seems my memory is a bit fogged when it comes to the darker warrens of Farbs.”

“Is there one you’re looking for in particular?” Ayva asked him.

Darius replied, “A good inn is neither too nice, nor too dingy. Information lingers somewhere in the middle.” He nodded to a sign that read, The Blue Boar
.
It had a painted image of what he guessed was supposed to be a boar. Noise and laughter emanated from behind the closed door. He heard a splintering crash and the breaking of bottles from an erupting fight. “Well then…” Darius hiked up his belt and glanced to the others. “Let’s start here.”

A Ronin’s Luck

G
RAY WAS GROWING FRUSTRATED.
S
IX INNS
and two taverns later, they
still
had nothing. He wished he could help Darius more, but he was useless. This place was completely unfamiliar. Besides, he admitted, he wasn’t used to digging for information. He didn’t seem to have the skills for this sort of thing. He took it as a good sign, hoping it meant his previous self wasn’t of the nefarious ilk, but still… It didn’t explain Kirin’s maniacal laughter and the feeling of death clinging like residue upon his hands… Gray shook the thoughts free like a dog shaking off water.

More to the point, they were no closer to finding his grandfather.

Darius had done his best, but no one wanted to talk. As soon as the Citadel was mentioned, all grew predictably silent. True to Darius’ word, they were now in a dark hovel called The Drowned Rat. They had quickly realized that the deeper and darker they went into Farbs, the more they would find, but still no one was willing to talk.