Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (33 page)

He prepared himself for blood.

An Unexpected Guest

D
ARIUS GRIPPED THE DAGGER IN HIS
fingers. It felt slick. The metal pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He felt another trickle of sweat run down his temple. He wiped it with his shoulder and focused on the target.

It wasn’t easy. The wood slab seemed to waver like a drunkard, zooming in and out.
Stop thinking that way!
He shouted inwardly, and gave an even breath. Again, his fingers flitted at his side nervously. In the corner of his vision, he saw Adorry. The fool watched him smugly. Gray and Ayva weren’t far—their eyes were even worse.
Hope and fear.
He pushed it all aside, remembering the lessons his pa had taught him so long ago.

Find the center
, he thought, repeating his father’s words.

The world pulsed.

Breathe.

It pulsed again, and he was lost in a memory.

“Breathe, boy!”

Darius was in a dark room. In the nearby forge, a bed of glowing red coals smoldered. It was the only light. The room smelled of metal, sulfur, oils, and sweat. His eyes watered from the stifling hot air. Why couldn’t they do this outside? he had asked. His father’s retort was simple: Because the world isn’t always fair. One day when you grow up, you’ll see that.

The world wasn’t fair, sure, he thought, eyeing the target before him. But it wasn’t all bad either… But he’d kept his mouth shut of course. Arguing with his father wasn’t worth it. Even if he wasn’t beaten for his “sharp tongue,” the man might stop teaching him. It wasn’t his dad’s fault really—Darius just didn’t see the same darkness as him. Perhaps he was simply less wise than his father.

In the end, he would never ruin it by talking back. His father was so focused on his duties as a blacksmith that to be taught daggers by him was a blessing Darius wouldn’t toss away.

His dad yelled again, something about breathing, but Darius was focused.

The metal can sat square in his vision. His eyes narrowed, holding the blade tighter. He reared his arm up like his father had told him—nice and slow and always even—and then loosed. The dagger flew, skimming the tin can. It clattered against the wall into an assortment of hanging tools—tongs, hammers, and chisels—and then fell into a water trough.

He looked to his father, feeling his failure to his bones.

“Did you breathe?” the man asked softly, fury in his eyes.

And Darius let out the breath he was holding, shaking his head.

Darius returned back to the moment.

Breathe!

And he released a pent up breath. His arm trembled, and the weight of eyes hit him from all around, but his father’s words hammered through him.
Breathe and ignore it all.
And like a blade being dunked into the quench tub to be tempered, the weight of the eyes and the heat of the moment evaporated. There was only him and the wood slab before him. That was all. With a last breath, he unleashed the dagger.

It soared, spinning end over end.

But it wasn’t going to hit. The blade’s trajectory carried it close, but with his covered eye, he had misjudged the center by a hair and that was enough to lose it all.

Darius had lost. Again fear and disappointment spiraled to his core as if he felt his father’s judging gaze upon him once again. At the same time, something pulsed. Pushing his childhood guilt and even his current dread aside, he saw something… something brilliant in the corner of his mind. He pushed further, trying to feel it, to
see
it. He pushed through a last barrier, like breaking through a last stand of trees and there it was.

The Leaf.

He gripped it. Abruptly, he felt a connection to the building around him—every piece of wood, every splintered chair or rough-hewn table. But it was distant and faint, like trying to cling to a wisp of smoke. He looked up.

The dagger was still flying.

Time seemed to have slowed to a snail’s pace, but it was still moving. The dagger was about to miss. Darius reached out, lifting a hand, but it moved too slowly. His mind was what moved—his mind was faster. He touched the slab of wood. It listened, if barely, like a limb that was not his own. He begged it, pressing it to move. But it was rooted by the thick nail.
No
, he thought in dread as the dagger made its last rotation.
Please!
he pleaded. The dagger flew. Darius pulled. The wood trembled, his mind shook and then—

There was a loud
thunk.
His heart beat like a steel drum in his chest, and sweat poured down his face. He twisted, looking around, and saw surprise on the rough faces of those nearby. Darius eyed his shot and breathed out—the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

The wood slab had split down the center. One half was on the ground—Adorry’s dagger was no longer inside the wood but had clattered uselessly to the side. The other half of the slab still hung. Darius dagger was in the dead center. It had pierced the wood all the way to the hilt, consuming the entire red circle.

“Is that center enough?” he asked.

Adorry’s jaw hung.

Another thief exclaimed, “The young fool has won!”

A sudden, gruff round of cheers went up from the nearest thugs, mugs clinking and tables rattling. Darius realized they didn’t seem to care who had won, just that someone had lost. Of course, those affiliated with Adorry weren’t cheering, they wore dark looks. The rest of the inn turned at the sound of cheering as well, casting peeved looks, distracted from their dark talk, but quickly returned to their business.

Ayva embraced Gray in triumph, and he squeezed back until he noticed various glances. They both cleared their throats, and he set her on the ground and turned back to the scene.

Darius looked to Adorry himself. “So… That information.”

The man’s hollow face twitched in fury. “You cheated,” he seethed. “No one else saw that? The blade was clearly off path and then something shifted the board!”

He shook his head, amused. “No,
you
cheated, and the whole way might I add, and I still won fair and square.” In a way, it was true—it was
his
power he’d used.

“You broke it in half! How does that mean you won over me?”

“Sounds like a win to me!” a thief at a nearby table exclaimed.

Another man, missing his teeth, chimed in, “Aye, but go easy on Adorry, fellas. It’s his first loss. He’s allowed to whine like a little girl.” Uproarious laughter and cheers sounded at that, louder than before, accompanied by more clinking of pints. A dagger whistled through the air, hitting the toothless man in the throat. The thief gurgled and fell over, lifeless.

Darius eyed Adorry who held two more daggers in his hand.

“The bet?” Darius asked, swallowing.

Adorry snorted. “The bet is off! You broke your end of it, and no one cheats Adorry Droverson. I don’t know how you did it, but you must be an Untamed or something else vile like that. You’ll be a fine catch for Darkeye when we take you back to The Lair of the Beast as a prize. He’ll decide what to do with you then. As for your friends, we have no use of them. You lot should never have wandered in here. It’s a crying shame about the cormacs, but I’ll have to assume you were lying about those too.” He gestured to Snaggle, Foulfoot, and Bones. “Grab the liar; I’ll handle the other two.” Adorry’s hands flashed, flinging two daggers towards Ayva and Gray.

Both moved, but they were too slow.

Darius delved inward, grasping the Leaf. It waited. He gripped something and flung it. A table hurtled through the air, catching both daggers, and then crashed against a pillar.

An awkward silence filled the air, all four men taken aback.

Darius shouted, “If any of you move, I’ll strike you all dead with my power!”
Lying again?
But fear and anger flowed through him. He almost felt it was true. The men hesitated, clearly fearful—but it only lasted so long.

Adorry’s sneer widened.
“Enough!
I’ll end your filthy lying if no one else will!” His hands and arms flew, flashing faster than Darius’ eye could follow, and a dozen daggers flew through the air, hurtling towards him like raining steel. Darius reached for his power, but as he gripped the Leaf, it slipped through his inexperienced fingers like water.
No!
he bellowed.

At the same time, the door to the inn burst, a silhouetted figure stood lit by the murky inn’s light. Sudden fire flew forth. The fiery bolt roared across the space between Adorry and Darius and crashed against the far wall, sending out sparks. Twisted hunks of glowing hot metal clattered to the inn’s floor.

All turned to the sudden stranger who was still moving, striding forward. He crossed the distance and came to a sudden halt.

He wore dark rags and a heavy wool cloak. Strangely, Darius saw his clothes dripped with water. He threw back his soggy hood to expose a hard, rugged face with dark scruff and ratted blond hair. He was muscled and broad, though not tall. He was, perhaps, a hand shorter than himself, but the way he held himself was like a man twice his height. But worst of all were those eyes…

The stranger’s gaze flowed over them all like a tempest, surveying quickly as if looking for something. Those fiery, copper-colored eyes looked at Darius, and he felt his blood heat from their sheer rage. But then they passed over him.
Who in the seven hells is this man?
He looked no older than Gray or him, but that pain and anger… It was enough to rival a hundred men. Finally, the man’s eyes caught on something.

The bloodshot badge Adorry wore held his gaze.

“You…” the stranger seethed.

The bubble of silence and confusion shattered. Adorry gripped a dagger and lunged at the man, but the stranger snatched Adorry’s arm and brought his knee hard against the man’s elbow. There was a loud crack of bone. Adorry cried out in agony. Swiftly, the stranger grabbed the man’s throat and raised him into the air. No one had time to move, not even Snaggle, and the other thieves still gripped their swords as if bewildered about whom to attack first.

The stranger spoke in a low burning voice, commanding all attention, “You’re going to help me now, or I will break every last bone in your body. And if any of you try to come after this man, this is what will happen: I will kill him first, and then I will kill you.”

Adorry quivered, grasping his shattered arm in pain and choking as the stranger held him aloft. “What… What do you want?”

“The Lair of the Beast. You will take me there.”

The thief-leader’s hollow eyes fanned wide, but they were nothing compared to the fury of the stranger. Darius was almost surprised Adorry hadn’t ignited in flames yet from that gaze.

Darius saw his friends. Gray gripped Morrowil, and Ayva at his side held a curious orange glow in one hand and her translucent-white dagger in the other. As for the rest of the inn, most had risen, clutching weapons, while some huddled in the shadows.

“Never,” Adorry jeered and then roared,
“KILL HIM! KILL THEM ALL!”

And the inn exploded in chaos.

The door crashed open, and men in dark rags wearing the same badges with a bloodshot eye upon their shoulders poured into the inn. At the same time, Snaggle sliced at Darius, who leapt back, but the man was quick. He rolled beneath another lunging strike and came up near his dagger. He yanked it from the red center, and threw it at Snaggle. The man parried the blade with ease, charging forward. Suddenly, the man gasped and keeled forward. Darius saw a dagger sprouting from Snaggle’s back. Darius looked around but had no idea where it had come from.

All around him, a battle raged as steel clanged and wood exploded. In the center, he saw the stranger holding Adorry aloft as he fended off a clutch of thieves—though most looked afraid to confront the stranger and his burning ire. Darius felt something hot on his back.
His sword.
He reached for the blade just as fire roared, racing through the air. It was coming straight at him. He ducked, barely missing it, and it seared through a wood pillar like hot iron through parchment. The inn groaned as if about to collapse,
floorboards shaking beneath his feet and then settling. Darius pivoted as a figure barreled into him, sending him tumbling back and crashing into the bar. His head smacked hard wood, and there was an explosion of pain. His senses blurred, his vision clouding. Something heavy rammed into his gut. He gasped, wind knocked from his lungs. Rage mounting, Darius pulled at his sword. Its ring filled the air.

Abruptly, the body upon him went limp. His vision cleared as he saw the man, Foulfoot, fall dead with another dagger to the back. Dazed, Darius looked up.

“Faye…” he whispered.

Faye sat on a nearby barstool, looking down on him. Calmly, she pulled back her hood, and ringlets of red hair spilled out, framing her tan face. Her dark, round eyes, however, watched him mysteriously. All in all, she looked bored.