Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (45 page)

Elves in masses dropped to one knee as she passed, armor clinking as they settled to the grass-trampled ground. She gave them nods in return. She knew it was not a thing all elves did for their king or queen, but they did it for her. At first, she’d feared this post, dreaded it even. Not until the boy had plunged the blade into the stone, and she had crossed back across Death’s Gate had she decided to take up the mantle of queen in full. Of course, she had the training that was required. But what was she compared to her father, the great King Gias? Still, that fear lingered in the back of her mind, but she shoved it and her half-elf inadequacies down. These were her people. The looks they gave her as she passed spoke of only one thing.

Trust.

And she would not betray that trust—not if it ran her to the bone, and not if it cost her life. Not for anything.

They passed into the training ground, which was little more than a large field with hundreds of rings of men sparring in a furious clash of metal and wood. The most advanced of them held metal blades, but the freshest recruits were required to learn first with the wooden swords, halberds, dulled pikes, and staves. But just because they were wooden, did not mean they couldn’t do harm. Karil could still remember her countless bruises and bloody knuckles from Rydel’s training sword.

More men bowed to them, refraining from falling to one knee while in the midst of training. Wooden fences surrounded the field, trailing into the distance.

Karil passed a huge set of weapon racks filled to the brim: nusais, single-edge bolos, halberds, pikes, swords—broadswords, claymores, even massive zwinzals—quarterstaffs, full-staffs, katars, bows, crossbows,
senduku
, and more, each she had trained with at one time or another in her royal instruction. But could she remember her training she wondered, eyeing the assortment. Her favorite was the nusai, a sword with an oblong head, and a horned cross guard used to catch and break other swords.

Sadly, most of their weapons were in shoddy shape. All metal now came from the joint mines of Menelas and Ester, and, with their civil unrest, their borders had been shut down tighter than a Landarian seal. Karil had attempted to force her way in, for they needed metal like a drowning man needed air. But her messengers had been sent away with the threat of violence. Her only other option was the Mountains of Soot and the infamous Deep Mines—those ancient, abandoned caves of metal beneath Yronia, the once Great Kingdom of Metal. She had debated sending men there. She was sure the Deep Mines were still full of ore—the stories said the mines were endless caverns of iron, copper, and tin. From there, her blacksmiths could smelt it down with ease, but Karil had delayed the order. She’d heard foul rumors of a strange darkness brewing in the giant forlorn halls of Yronia. She feared what those rumors meant.

Karil turned her thoughts away, focusing on the men and women around her, elves and humans alike. They sparred, creating a cacophony of
thwacks
and ringing steel. To her right, a female elf moved like a serpent, evading the blows of five male humans.

“So tell me again, how is our army deficient?”

Rydel sighed. “Five untrained humans against an average female elf. It is nothing to brag over. A hundred of those humans or twenty of those elves could not take a single Terma. You can see—every one of these men or women are untrained, outside of battle and within. If they don’t fold from the Terma, Dryan’s legions will finish us off. We cannot siege Eldas like this.”

“Then what would you have me do?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

A hand gripped her arm, stopping and turning her. “Find another way,” he said, holding her gaze. “I believe in you.
We
all do. There must be another way, my queen.”

She smiled, softly. “There is no other way.” Nearby, a group of men watched two men spar. “Besides,” she said, “the true strength of an army is not always so easy to see. Sometimes, it is what is beneath the surface that shines.”

“Karil, you cannot honestly believe that this rabble can stand against Dryan…”

She moved towards the group of sparring men. “I choose to believe that, given the chance, men and women, human or elf will rise to the occasion, that there is a hidden strength in all.” With that, she approached the circle.

“What are you doing, Karil?” Rydel asked as he followed.

Karil’s lips twisted. “It’s time to test the might of our armies.”

Rydel growled, saying something, but she didn’t listen. As she approached, several men recognized her and immediately dropped to one knee. Others continued fighting for a few more strikes and then stopped, their wooden swords falling as they rushed to their knees.

“My queen,” uttered a big elf—the instructor leading the group of humans.

“Your name?” Karil asked.

“Unmia,” he said dutifully.

“This group. They are untrained, yes?”

“Yes, my queen. These are the newest group of warriors.”

Perfect,
she thought. And she could recognize many of these men and women—boys barely old enough to shave more than once every few weeks, if that, and girls looking just beyond the stage of playing with dolls. Admittedly, as a princess, Karil had never had that phase, but she’d heard of it. “Great,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “Then I will spar with one of them.” She pointed to a boy roughly the age of Gray, and he reminded her of the young man as well—with intelligent green eyes, and a tousle of brown hair. He held his sword with confidence, despite the fear in his eyes. “I choose you,” she declared.

The young boy swallowed, but strode forward to the center of the circle.

“This is not a good idea,” Rydel said at her side, not sharply, just calmly. He’d regained his Elvin restraint.

“Why not?”

“Because a queen does not do battle with her own men.”

She extended her hand to another girl her size. Face fearful, the girl understood, handing her weapon over to her queen. Karil realized it was a wooden nusai, with an oblong head.
What luck!
“What was it you said once?” she asked Rydel with a smirk. “I am not like any normal queen?”

He growled and glowered at the green-eyed boy. “If you hurt the queen, you will pay for it, boy.”

If the boy looked afraid before, now he looked petrified.

Karil sighed. “If the boy holds back, how is that an indication of his limits, of his capacity? Besides, don’t you have faith in me,
master?”
She emphasized the word. The big elf Unmia looked completely aghast. Even some of the other boys and girls looked awestruck. Word of Rydel’s prowess had already wormed its way into nearly every ear.

Rydel hid a grimace. “No offense intended, my queen, but it’s been a while since you’ve had my teachings, let alone held a sword. Your other duties have been more pressing, as they are now.”

She ignored him, and strode to the center, meeting her opponent. Her fine cloth robes brushed the grassy ground, restraining her movements. Another hindrance she’d have to be wary of… The boy swallowed again, but his grip tightened.
Good, he has strength of heart.
“Don’t listen to him,” she commanded, noticing the boy cast Rydel nervous looks. “Simply do your best to land a blow.”

“My queen?” he asked shakily.

“Your name.”

“Logan,” he replied.

“Well, Logan, consider it an order. I,
Karil yl’ Silvar
, hereby order you to hit me,” she said in a hard voice, raising her nusai blade. With that, the boy nodded, and she attacked.

The light blazed as she charged, hammering down from above. Logan was quick however, raising his blade just in time. She connected, swords thwacking. His blade sagged, and Logan grunted. He was obviously stronger and taller, but he didn’t expect her ferocity. Agilely, she flicked her blade, adding power from nothing. Logan was blown back. He grunted, looking up, readying his blade. But she was on top of him, instantly. Her knee hit his gut—
hard
—and he fell to both knees, gasping.

Are you all right?
she asked inwardly. But she would not voice it, nor would she go easy on him. Karil needed to prove to Rydel that even the weakest of them were strong, and even more importantly, prove it to
them
. Instead, she spoke. “Get up. The enemy will not stop when you are on your knees. When the time comes, they will finish you where you lay without mercy.”

“But you are not my enemy,” the young man said—sounding more a boy than she’d hoped. Was this how Gray had sounded when she had met him? But now he was no longer just a boy, his adventures had forged his strength. She had to do the same with these young ones—whether she liked it or not—if she wanted them to live.

“If you train with ease in practice and expect mercy or a simple fight when the time comes, then you are a fool or a dead man, or most likely both.”

Luckily, a fire sparked in the young man’s face. Logan’s features twisted in anger, and he lifted his wooden sword, ready to lash out.

“Calm, boy!”
the elf captain barked, “Remember serenity over rage, for a calm mind conquers all!”

Karil remembered these words well. Ironically, they had been hammered into her as well. She found that peace now. Similarly and surprisingly, Logan’s mask of rage contorted, his features smoothing with a breath—and he attacked.

His moves were not the angry swipes of a young man now, but the tactical strikes of a swordsman. He struck at her left flank. Her nusai flickered, blocking. He hit her right. Again, she swung the nusai, flicking his sword away with a force called
jang,
not magic, but simply the skill of an advanced swordsman—a pop sounded as Logan’s sword was repelled forcefully. But unlike a novice, he
used
the extra force. The blade’s momentum swung to strike her head again. And she realized he was testing her.

She smiled, impressed, as a thin sweat broke out on her face.

In the corner of her vision, Karil realized the crowds were gathering to watch. Sweat stung her eyes as she worked the forms, but still she glimpsed men and women join the swelling group who watched their queen battle amidst them. She heard cheers distantly, but she did not waste time thinking on it.

Logan roared, pressing harder, and she continued to block, parry, and redirect, flowing back smoothly.

“Careful, boy—she’s baiting you!” The elf captain called.

Rydel growled. “Whose side are you on?”

Karil listened between the sounds of strikes. It was difficult—with the speed and fury of the young man’s strikes, her attention could not be spared as much as she had anticipated. Again, she saw the crowds swelling, hundreds watching.

“Apologies, Hidden,” the captain said, referencing Rydel’s rank with deference. “That’s my queen, but not now. For now, he’s
my
student, and she’s yours. You may do as you like, but I will see mine well-trained.”

Heart
, Karil thought happily. But the captain was right. As Logan rained a fury of blows, looking for an opening, Karil found her moment. Subtly, almost delicately, as if sidestepping his blade in slow motion, she spun, blade flashing. It landed near his neck.

But he was not there.

She tensed, feeling the wind part at her back. His blade. She dove, narrowly dodging the blade’s tip. She rose, lifting her blade, expecting a strike from above but it was a thrust. Narrowly, she dipped her head to one side. Logan’s sword knifed past her neck, skimming flesh. Karil growled. She knocked his blade away with her nusai, adding
jang
—an added power given to the blade when a last moment flick or twist was applied. But the blade didn’t shift… Logan somehow had added his own
jang
, and his sword rested near the nape of her neck, held back barely by her own blade.

“Almost,” she breathed through gritted teeth.

A tense moment hung, the crowds watched expectantly.

“Her feet!” the captain called suddenly.

Karil’s leg swung, sweeping Logan from his feet. He fell hard. She leapt upon him but he kicked frantically. She raised her blade, resting her palm against the flat of the blade to take the blow. It sent her back several feet. Logan leapt up. He charged with a cry, and his sword arced, fast and full of calculated fury. Her nusai caught it smoothly. She twisted her blade hard, snapping his wooden sword in her hooked crossguard. The wood shattered, half of his blade falling. But before Karil could rejoice in victory she felt wood touch her neck. Slowly, she twisted, eyeing a
second
blade—a short wood dagger—that Logan had hidden behind his back.

The young man panted, looking both confused and elated. He eyed his dagger as if almost unsure what he had done. His brown hair fell into his eyes, and he looked around, bewildered.

He had won.

Whispers of excitement sifted like a breeze through the amassed throng. Karil rose to her feet. Logan’s dagger dropped. He watched her with dread, as if preparing for his execution. Instead, Karil smiled widely. She grabbed his arm, and held it up.