Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (51 page)

The creed of the Hidden…

Rydel.

The Dimilioc Summit

M
EIRA LISTENED AS
F
INN SPOKE, EACH
in the room wearing different expressions.

Hutosh was a noble-looking man. She wondered perhaps if he wasn’t of royal lineage, but now, as a three-stripe Reaver, all heritage was stripped from him. His proud features were recognizable from a field away—strong jaw, cliff-like nose, and bushy brows, though his brown hair was thinning considerably. He listened to Finn with attentiveness and worry. Tugard was a Sevian man. As such he was darker of skin and wore the characteristic short pointed beard of Sevia, thick below his bottom lip, flowing down to his chin, and ending in a sharp point. Tugard was hardened by the constant warfare of the plains, and as such, his face was blank as always, but Meira saw through the stoic exterior and saw his brow crease, listening raptly. Her dear friend, Finn himself, spoke passionately, his frame nearly shaking with the fervor that she had perhaps placed inside him.

“We must save Ezrah,”
he said finally.

Finn’s voice settled, and the room returned to its previous quiet.

On the walls, the Yunais flickered. Yunais were silver globes with hundreds of mirrored facets that would reflect light. They illuminated the small room in hoary white, making all figures appear like the already deceased returned as phantoms. It was an omen of what was to come—one of two paths.

All four were gathered at last in the Room of Dimilioc, a room with gold-veined marbled floors. On a nearby dais, a pair of white robes with gold trim was draped carefully without so much as a wrinkle. A strange, ruby-throated scepter sat on one pedestal and on another a golden ring humming with spells. Though small, Dimilioc was a place of great magic. She had chosen it purposefully, for it was the place where Reavers became Arbiters.

Finn’s final word hung in the air—the cerabul in the room that no one wanted to see, or, in this case, hear.

Ezrah…

Hutosh spoke, voice panicky. “That name, you cannot say that name. It is—”

“—Enough,” Meira said, interrupting the three-stripe Reaver. “You’ve evaded your conscience for far too long. We all have. Now it is time to do what is right.” Ezrah’s words echoed in her head. “While Finn is right, he is only speaking my words, words that I know each of you are thinking even at this moment, and have been since the day we were assigned to this task, this
horror
. But now it is time. Now we must rise up. Now we must save Ezrah.”

Hutosh replied, “You would willingly sacrifice yourselves? For that is what this path is…”

“Yes,” she declared.

The other four looked shocked, even Finn.

“You do not mean that, do you?” Finn asked.

Please, stay at my side,
a part of Meira pleaded, noticing her friend’s surprise. “I mean every word,” she replied, “for, as we stand, we are already among the lifeless.”

“What do you mean?” Hutosh said, “We have our lives.”

“That is where you are wrong,” she answered. “We have bodies, and perhaps minds, but our souls and even our very wills are not our own.”

Hutosh’s brow crinkled, and he rubbed his jaw, striding back and forth anxiously. “Meira, do you know what you’re saying?” the noble man argued. “We are rebelling against the will of the Citadel. I despise what we do as much as you, but we are an ant fighting a giant.”

“It’s Sithel’s will, not the Citadel’s,” she countered.

“Still,” Tugan said, speaking finally. “If we are caught, Meira…”

“Then we will die,” she said. Silence reigned, and Meira felt her passion grow. “No more,” she breathed in a wrathful whisper, letting down that barrier she held on to so tightly, feeling hot tears that she hadn’t shed since she was a child. “No more will I let others control my life. No more will I let my own fear determine my path. No more will I torture and do what is wrong when I know what is right, even if it costs me my life, for I would rather die on my own terms than live a life like this.”

All were silent, but each looked affected by her words.

“Meira…” Finn said, looking pained.

“Tell me you each do not feel it, and I will leave you be,” she said angrily. “Tell me you do not feel the sorrow and the rage… the guilt…”

Tugan eyed his own hands as if they were covered in blood and replied with quiet angst, “I feel it.”

“By the gods, we all do!” Hutosh said, looking equally distraught by his own deeds. “What we are doing is not right. Light, that is an Arbiter down there! He is supposed to be our leader, and more than that, he is a human being. But what are we to do?”

Suddenly the silvery Yunais flickered and stone rumbled from the heavy marble door. “They’re here,” Finn exclaimed, turning.

No!
Meira thought in terror.
How did they find out?

Each summoned the spark, filling with power as the door slid open and a dark figure resolved itself. Reaver Dagon stood in the entry. He was tall, with wavy black hair and tan skin. His head tilted as if curious what he had stumbled upon. Yet above all, the four black stripes on his scarlet sleeves drew Meira’s eyes like a moth to a flame. She readied her power, fearfully. Behind him, however, was an empty hallway. He was alone? Silently, he entered and the door slammed shut.

“Greetings,” Dagon announced.

Meira debated throwing all her power at him, but he hadn’t made a move yet, and beyond that, she wasn’t sure of the limits of a four-stripe Reaver. Even attacking together, they might not be enough to take Dagon, she admitted. “What are you doing, and how did you get in here?” she questioned.

“You underestimate me,” Dagon said. “And a better question is what are you four doing?”

“I…” Finn stammered.

Hutosh spoke smoothly, interrupting. “We were discussing matters of the next High Rank. In fact—and uncomfortable as it is to admit—we were considering you,” he lied.

A noble man and politician indeed,
Meira thought in admiration, eyeing Hutosh. The
High Rank
was a title chosen by a majority of Reavers and given to the most favored brother or sister—usually the most experienced and well liked. The High Rank was the go-between to the Patriarch himself. It was a mark of prestige and honor, but none had been named for centuries.

Dagon raised a single brow.

And Meira joined in, latching onto the lie. “Indeed,” she added smoothly. “However, as such we needed someplace private to discuss it. In light, perhaps it would be wise if you were not a part of this discussion. If any other found out, they may think you had swayed or even coerced us into our decision.”

Dagon scratched his temple as if amused.
“Clever, both of you, but I am not here to expose you, so cut the falsehoods. I am here to join you to save Ezrah.”

Hutosh blinked and even Meira gawked.

“How did you…” Tugan managed.

Meira regained control. “I do not know how you found out, or why you think you are entitled to join us but…”

“Let me amend my previous statement,” Dagon said with utter calm. “I
will
join you. You have no choice. You four are powerful and skilled, but you are lacking in one area, and it will be your downfall.”

“And that would be?” Finn asked, looking skeptical but curious.

“Authority,”
Dagon replied, “someone who can make this absurd scheme become a reality.”

Meira hesitated. She opened her mouth but Tugan interrupted. “He’s right,” said Tugan then looked to her. “Look, I know you do not trust easily, Meira, but as I see it, this makes sense.”

“We need no one,” she said firmly.

“Be reasonable, Meira,” Hutosh said. “To have a four-stripe Reaver on our side in this fool’s errand would be a great boon.”

She looked to each, then to her dear friend. “Finn?”

Finn shrugged. “I don’t know, Meira…”

Something felt wrong… She wanted to speak, but as she eyed their faces and saw their expressions shift, she noticed they now looked hopeful. And she realized, guiltily, that Finn had only been doing it for her. She could not have that—she needed their
wills
as well, or she would be no better than Sithel.

Hutosh chimed in again. “Besides, who would question us with Dagon at our side? He can lead us.”

“I will lead,” she said stubbornly, anger seeping into her voice.

Dagon answered,
“And your plan?”

Meira sniffed.
“You think I trust you so soon?” she asked. “What’s to stop me from tying you up or burning you to a crisp right now? Who is to say you are truly on our side? Say what you will, but I find it hard to trust an entrance like that. What are you really after?” she asked Dagon.

“I came alone, did I not?”

She growled, unable to answer for that. “So? Perhaps only to root out more traitors against Sithel…”

“You want the truth?”

She met his gray gaze unwaveringly. “I do.”

“Then Compel me,” he said. “I saw your threads. Compel me and see the truth for yourself.”

Meira began to thread the ancient spell.

“Meira! Is this really necessary?” Tugan asked, grabbing her arm, but it was too late. The spell took form in the air, a complex tapestry of glowing threads of flesh and bits of Sun, so intricate and layered that the finely meshed lines seemed to blur into one thick cord. It floated and sunk into Dagon.

Dagon gasped and fell to his knees, words flowing forth as his body trembled: “Ezrah was so kind, so thoughtful. Always watching out for me when the other Neophytes would tease me relentlessly. They were jealous, I knew. But it didn’t help. I hated them. But then he came. Ezrah. An Arbiter. He, unlike lesser wielders of the spark, knew what power meant. And now I have betrayed him. I must seek justice. I must save him…. These fools… They must see reason… Perhaps… Compelling—it is the only way.” The four-stripe Reaver continued to shake, but no more words came, and Meira let the threads dissolve wordlessly. Dagon controlled his breathing and slowly rose, his expression turning resolute and grim. “As I said, I have nothing to hide. I will save Ezrah. But I cannot do it alone.”

It’s the truth…
“So be it,” Meira replied,
and reluctantly, she described her plan. They each nodded, though some slower than others.

“A simple but wise course to our destination, but what then?” Dagon asked.

“Bloodshed,” she answered.
There was no other answer now.
Each looked uncertain and conflicted, but not wholly opposed. To kill another Reaver was akin to killing one’s family, but it had to be done.

“Perhaps it may come to that,” Dagon said, “but if I can suggest another route? I will not join to kill those who resist Sithel’s cause. There
are
others like us, whether you believe it or not…” Meira didn’t like where this was going, but she nodded for him to continue. “If you have not forgotten, I am in charge of compiling the roster for the next shifts.”

“And what good will that do us?” Finn asked, shuffling closer to Meira.

Her eyes narrowed, seeing the plan churning in Dagon’s gray eyes, and she spoke, “You plan to fix the roster, don’t you? To make a full eight who are loyal to our cause and to Ezrah?”

Dagon nodded. “Like you, I do not trust many others, but together surely we can think of others who will aid our cause. We can do this without killing, Meira.”

“No,” she said adamantly. “Eight is far too many. I will not allow it.”

“Eight out of nearly three hundred Reavers? Do you truly think it’s gotten that bad?” he asked, almost saddened.

Meira didn’t waver. “Yes.”

“You must have more faith, Meira. Or have you forgotten that these are our brothers and sisters? Besides what use is saving one man if all of the Citadel is a lost cause as you seem to believe?”

“Because it is right,” she said simply. “And because he is more than just one man.”

“Dagon has a point, Meira, you must admit,” Finn said.

Meira clenched her eyes, seeking stillness, but it would not come. “You all seem to think the Citadel is worth saving, but you must see its darkness as well. It is everywhere. Who can we ask? It was like pulling teeth to gather
three
I could trust,” she said passionately. “One wrong person will spell our death.”

“Then let us play this out…” Dagon posed, “What are the odds that we can even
take
those in the room? I am four-stripe, but there are several other four-stripes in Sithel’s clutches. What if Guran is there? He is stronger than all of you combined. And even if we do succeed in slaughtering our brothers and sisters, what then? A clash like that will be felt by any nearby, and it will lead to our discovery and our demise. It’s the same with every ‘so called’ traitor. One use of their spark in resistance, and no matter the size of their power they are never heard of again. Sithel finds them and quells their rebellion.”