Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) Read online

  “Wolf has created a richly detailed, complex fantasy universe populated by intriguing characters who will continually surprise readers throughout the briskly paced tale… An impressive, page-turning adventure for fans of the series.”

  — KIRKUS REVIEW

  THE RONIN SAGA

  Book One: The Knife’s Edge

  Book Two: Citadel of Fire

  CITADEL OF FIRE

  Book Two of the Ronin Saga

  Matthew Wolf

  Copyright © 2014 by Matthew Wolf. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-62660-080-5

  eBook designed by MC Writing

  CITADEL OF FIRE

  Book Two of the Ronin Saga

  MATTHEW WOLF

  To Becci who believed;

  and to all my fans and friends who saw fire when it was only an ember.

  To view the map in greater detail, visit roninsaga.com

  The Tale of the Ronin

  LONG AGO, THE WORLD WAS IN chaos. Twelve kingdoms fought for wealth and power, creating an age of darkness. Kings were killed by their trusted subjects in the dead of night, and citizens were thieved from their homes by those sworn to protect them. Soon, men turned on brothers, fathers against sons, and nature against man, for the greed of the twelve kingdoms consumed all…

  The world turned dark, as rain ceaselessly soaked the lands, and crops withered, until death and misery replaced hope.

  Then one day, a robed figure changed the fate of history.

  Tales differ, some offering that he came across the ocean, others said he descended from the clouds in motes of shimmering light, while fewer still believe he simply was a man born of a different land. But all agree the nine were at his side. The Ronin. Warriors who wielded different powers of wind, water, fire, sun, moon, leaf, metal, flesh, and stone.

  The robed figure came with a contract. The war would end and the lands would know peace, but in exchange, he demanded The Three Rules, creating laws for the land and establishing the Great Kingdoms.

  However, if any ruler grew greedy again, the nine Ronin would unite, and with the might of their elemental powers they would siege the unruly kingdom. No army could stand before the Ronin as they cleaved a path to the throne, cut off the head of the greedy ruler, and ordained a new monarch, one that would ensure true peace or be replaced once more.

  For a thousand years, peace was known. The lands rejoiced as crops bloomed, and the people breathed sweet air without the stench of blood. They felt sunlight upon their skin and laughed freely. All was well… but nothing can stay good forever. One day, a blade of light was stolen, and the Ronin were blamed as the war returned. The people named this dark time Lieon, meaning “everlasting fight.” And the once-heroes became the villains of mankind.

  Rumors spread of the Ronin’s betrayal… tales that Kail, their leader, had turned mad, wandering the land and killing all until he disappeared into the forest, while the rest of the Ronin joined the side of darkness. In the end, evil was thwarted but not conquered, sinking back into the lands, seething and waiting to return.

  Time wore on and the lands began to grow again from the rubbles. Tales floated upon the winds as bards and minstrels spun accounts of the war and the evil sworn to return… An evil known as the Ronin.

  THE THREE RULES

  One

  Only nine of the twelve kingdoms will be chosen and deemed “The Great Kingdoms”, those who bear the eternal elements as their sigil: wind, sun, leaf, fire, moon, water, stone, flesh, and metal.

  Two

  The warriors known as the Ronin, with nine magical swords, will be bound to the kingdoms—each matched to their elemental power in turn. Baro will be the ambassador for the metal kingdom, Seth for fire, Hiron for water, Aundevoriä for stone, Aurelious for flesh, Dared for moon, Maris for leaf, Omni for sun, and lastly, their leader, Kail for wind. They will be the peacemakers of the land, the arbitrators of justice.

  Three

  A prophecy will be forever engraved upon the walls of each Great Kingdom, words to spell the future of the world.

  The land of Farhaven is full of Great Kingdoms, but only the city of fire sits at its heart—a hub of magic, might, and power, where the spark ignites the sky for all to see and wonder…

  EVISTOS THE SONGSEER, BARD TO THE PATRIARCH

  Farhaven broke the day the Ronin fell.

  Not from fire or brimstone, but from lack of unity.

  Without cause or master, we roved like wolves.

  What once was beautiful now turned to waste.

  The burnt trees, the fractured cities,

  The fissured land, and broken homes—

  All will be rebuilt, and we will find a home,

  Until even the seed of fear is washed and worn

  Like a river rock set in an old inn’s hearth.

  But what is truly thieved is our memory:

  We must remember. We must not let truth fall to ruin.

  Our birthright, our place in this world is tied to the elements,

  And the elements to them.

  We are bound to them and them to us—

  They are the home we have lost.

  They are the rightful guardians of the land.

  This truth will redeem the world.

  RENALD TRINADEN, THE FIRST LEADER OF THE DEVARI, TAKEN FROM HIS LOST JOURNAL ENTRIES 16 YEARS AFTER THE WAR ENDED, DURING THE EXILED TIME

  PROLOGUE

  —

  Golden Lies

  BEFORE THE PATRIARCH, ALL OF FARHAVEN lay.

  Standing high in the great keep, he could see the world beneath him, stretching out endlessly—waiting to be opened like a book beneath his hands. With his level of the spark, all of it was just beyond his fingertips.

  To the east, past the turquoise waters of Cloudfell Lake and a town cast in perpetual low-lying fog, lay the now desolate Great Kingdom of Stone—destroyed during the great war of the Lieon. To the west, he saw the shadowy Narim Foothills, the Great Kingdom of Moon. Beside it lay its unlikely neighbor, the Great Kingdom of Flesh, a land of man and beast toiling beneath the harsh sun and its religion of the Mortal Being. And lastly, to the south, many miles away, past the vineyards of Sevia and lands with roving brigands, sat the deserts of the Great Kingdom of Fire.

  But now the Patriarch sat in the Great Kingdom of Sun known as Vaster.

  The breathtaking green landscape stretched below him. Upon the rolling hills far below the grand keep and in between the bleak cliffs of stone, the land was painted verdant with hardy bushes and evergreens strong enough to withstand the bite of the harsh winter and a brilliant sun, which now filled the air with the presence of their faint aroma.

  Farhaven was a land of magic, of possibilities.

  A dying land, the Patriarch knew.

  A man cleared his throat, and the Patriarch turned to see a liveried servant. He was a stooped, gray-haired man with a face like a prune. He was old enough to look as if he’d survived the Lieon. But with no real spark, the Patriarch knew the old man’s age was infantile compared to his own. This high in the fortress of Vaster, he was obviously a high servant of Lord Nolan. Faint beads of sweat formed upon the man’s temple as he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  The Patriarch raised a brow in question. “Yes?”

 
The man bowed to his waist, his gaze falling to the polished floor. “The great Steward of Vaster, Lord Nolan, will see you now, your eminence,” the servant said, croaking out the words.

  The Patriarch dipped his head, and the servant led the way.

  Together they maneuvered through halls with richly woven gold rugs, passing large, elegant rooms filled with priceless vases and other pointless material extravagances. On the walls, mosaic windows let in colored light, showing the varying kingdoms’ symbols and their corresponding colors: leaf, stone, water, sun, moon, flesh, metal, and fire. All nine save for wind, of course, the banished element. As always, the familiar copper flame symbol of the Great Kingdom of Fire was a comforting sight for his weary gaze, reminding him what he was fighting for.

  In between the glass mosaics were ancient tapestries depicting battles from a millennium ago. The Lieon, the war that had nearly destroyed the world. Though over a thousand years ago, he remembered it still, like a dream within a dream.

  Nearby, guards in silver and gold armor stood like figurines at the mouth to every hall and room, each bearing the Sun Kingdom’s mark on their resplendent plate mail.

  At last, with the servant leading the way, they reached a grand double door of hammered gold. In its center was a huge insignia of the sun. Each door was the weight of twenty men and the worth of a city. The Patriarch sighed inwardly. Such needless things we mortals do to prove ourselves.

  The old servant stopped before the doors, looking nervous again.

  “Shall I introduce you, my lord?” he asked.

  The Patriarch touched the man’s arm, gently. “No need,” he said and wove a thread of flesh, intricate but subtle, and the tension in the old man’s body seemed to visibly evaporate, and he breathed a sigh. “Be at ease, old friend.” With that, the Patriarch drew upon his spark again, issuing a thread of metal. But before the magic could work, the huge doors glided open as if weightless. Hinges fused with magic—artifacts from the Lieon, the Patriarch knew.

  Inside, a man in brilliant plate and white silks stood staring out the window. Upon his entrance, the man turned swiftly. Nolan, Lord of the Sun Kingdom, was tall and broad shouldered, which made him nearly equal to the Patriarch’s imposing height. He had a youthful face, which now wore a deep look of concern. His hair was still brown and full, but parts were graying with age and the stress of his station no doubt.

  Despite being a lord in title, Lord Nolan was only the steward of Vaster—the Kingdom of Sun had not had a king since the great war of the Lieon had disposed its last ruler. However, he wore several pieces of armor made for a king over his white robes—robes less brilliant than the Patriarch’s of course. Upon his shoulders sat golden epaulets crafted to look like eagles in flight. His wrists were clasped with gilded bracers depicting a bursting sun, and a golden belt cinched his waist. But for all his grandeur and surroundings, the difference between the two men was as clear as the distinction between dawn and dusk. Still, Nolan was a proud and allegedly virtuous man, a man full of light—a trait all inhabitants of the Sun Kingdom were said to possess. But standing before the Patriarch, the most powerful wielder of the spark in all time, Nolan was just a man.

  “Forgive me, my liege,” Lord Nolan said sincerely, bowing almost as deeply as the old man had done. “As soon as I discovered it was you, I told my servants to bring you without hesitation. I assure you, your delay was completely unintended, though still inexcusable. It’s just… You must understand, no guest so prominent has ever arrived without an entourage in tow.” The sun lord scratched his graying temples and chuckled. “Honestly, I’ve had minor governors of my provinces arrive with a small fleet of guards, servants, and practically their whole house in tow, and you… a ruler of a great kingdom arrive alone, and unarmed.”

  “Unnecessary heraldry,” he replied calmly. “And as you know, I do not need an army.”

  “No, the Patriarch is an army unto himself, or so the stories say,” the man said, hiding a shiver and giving a sly smile. “Luckily, I am too young to remember a time when the world was not at peace.”

  The Patriarch glanced around at the furnishings. He stood upon a floor of snowy marble. A sun was embedded in its center. The ceiling was tall, constructed of hundreds of glass facets, letting the sun stream in and fill the chamber with golden luminescence. None of it mattered to him. He was searching for something else.

  He felt a presence lingering in the air.

  A woman.

  All other threads of the woman’s presence were masked. She’s powerful. Not nearly as much as him, but she’d had time to cover her tracks. My unintended delay, he reasoned, hiding a bemused smile. No matter. The petty perfidy of nobles and the squabbling of kingdoms were of no import to him.

  What mattered was the world, and it was dying.

  “Bring in the rest of the nobles,” the Patriarch declared, looking out the window. “I have ordered all of the Great Kingdoms here, if that is acceptable…” He spoke with the authority of his rank to make even the proud sun lord hesitate.

  “All of the great kingdoms?” Lord Nolan gawked.

  “My presence—” the Patriarch began, turning back. “I am here for a reason, Nolan. As we stand, the world is on the precipice of a new age, one balancing between light and darkness.”

  “You speak of the rumors…”

  “We would be blind to ignore the truth. Whispers spread of a darkness rising within the Deep Mines, the black caverns beneath Yronia.”

  Nolan shook his head. “Yronia, the Great Kingdom of Metal, was destroyed in the great war. It is dead,” he said in a flat tone. “Walls bashed in by the enemy. Nothing lives in those dark halls anymore.”

  “Nothing but death,” the Patriarch answered.

  Nolan’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Upon hearing the rumors of Yronia’s wakening, I sent some of my best Reavers to investigate alongside several dozen Devari two weeks ago. They have not returned, and they never will,” he said plainly.

  Nolan’s eyed widened. “You cannot mean…” His hand fluttered to his side, fingering his belt inlaid with scrolls of gold, as if seeking his sword that was not there.

  A missing sword. Ironic, he thought, for a man of sun. “Whatever there is in those halls, it’s nothing of light. The darkness has spread beyond Yronia. Nodes are appearing in great numbers, trying to hold the deserts north of the Gates together, but magical beings are dying,” he said. “Something is awakening…”

  “You mean the ancient evil, don’t you? But they…” Nolan hesitated, “those nine, they were destroyed in the Lieon, during the war—”

  “—No,” he interrupted smoothly, “that evil has been banished and put to rest, for now at least. This darkness is something else entirely.”

  “Something else?” Lord Nolan questioned.

  “It is a prophecy of death,” he answered. “An insidious disease that masquerades itself as strength, but it is not. Even as we speak, it seeps into every home and every Great Kingdom under the guise of truth and light, eating away at us from the inside out.” The Patriarch lifted a hand and a tiny flame of fire formed, swelling into a molten orb. It floated in the air, suspended, burning proudly when its surface changed. Black veins forked across the fiery orb’s surface like a spreading poison. “It is not an army, not yet at least, but a mantra that corrupts, led by a singular purpose: to turn the world to shadow.” He waved his hand and the orb was consumed in roiling darkness.

  Nolan swallowed and asked slowly, “How long do we have?”

  “Not long,” he replied. “It grows quickly… and it will not be contained by anything, not the well-guarded borders of the elves, the might of my Reavers, or even the high walls of Vaster. If we do not stand together, by the time we turn to face it, it will already be too late.”

  “Then what do you propose?”

  His hand made a fist and the black orb burst into flames, leaving only a strange smell in the air like fetid water and rotting flesh. “If
we wish to save Farhaven, the time to act is now.”

  At his words, a knock sounded.

  Puzzled, Nolan’s silver brows drew together, but he called out without turning. “Enter!”

  A woman servant entered, closing the door behind her as if she was being chased. Sweat poured down her face, dampening her livery. She caught her breath, trying to gather herself before the two powerful men.

  “My lord,” she said. “The kingdoms… they are here.”

  “How many?”

  “All of them.”

  The sun lord´s jaw clenched.

  The Patriarch turned grandly and reached out. With a flick of his finger, the huge double gold doors flung open, slamming against the walls and shaking the sun-lit chambers.

  A stream of monarchs entered with airs that could knock a lesser man over from a dozen paces away. Clad in rich silks, ceremonial armor, and thick pauldrons, they jostled for rank and position. It was a tributary of gold and silver, all polished to gleam. His gaze passed over a few of the most notable men and women, listing off their names and titles.

  King Darmin of Covai, the Great Kingdom of Flesh, had a soft face and ripe belly, his plump fingers laden with glittering rings—yet his eyes were deceivingly sharp. Dryan of Eldas, the new ruler of the Great Kingdom of Leaf, wore his lavish pale green armor, his Elvin features absent of all emotion as always. King Owen Garian of Median, the rebuilt Great Kingdom of Water, High Elder Fari of Menalas, and Havas of Ester, and so forth. Though none were more powerful than the sovereigns of the Great Kingdoms each were kings, queens, or ambassadors of their own right, hailing from all over Farhaven. Together, they comprised the rulers of the world.

  They cast sly looks to one another, and behind their gazes, the Patriarch saw plots of political maneuvering brewing, for each held feuds as old as the kingdoms themselves, steeped in blood. But today, they had promised to set their quarreling aside, if only for discussion.