Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) by Matthew Wolf

Author:Matthew Wolf [Wolf, Matthew]
Language: swe
Format: epub, azw
Publisher: Matthew Wolf
Published: 2014-08-31T22:00:00+00:00

A Rising War

THE TIDE OF WAR WAS RISING. Karil felt it in her bones.

Outside the tent’s window, the camps churned with commotion, an array of sounds and sights—the clang of swords on swords, the twang of bows, and ring of blacksmiths’ hammers.

They were in the green fields of Belegrun, just outside the Forest of Aenor. It was several days’ ride from Eldas, the location chosen purposively, like a mother keeping watch on its child—if the child was a Great Kingdom, taken and being held hostage by an evil known as Dryan.

She took a deep breath, looking back.

Four elves stood at attention. Each of them was a high-ranking member of the Lando, elf warriors—the small, brilliant pieces of her father’s crown shining upon their elfin chainmail. Their pointed ears stuck out through their long, silken hair. She felt a special affection for the Lando, and an undeniable debt, for they had saved her life, whisking her out of Eldas when her father was assassinated. They had believed in her when few had.

Looking at them, she still felt strange being a half-elf in charge of an Elvin army, but she did not allow herself to question it for long. Questioning led to uncertainty and uncertainty led to failure. And she could not fail. Not when the lives of her people were at stake.

“What would you have us do?” asked Tunmai, the highest-ranking of the Lando.

“Send out more messengers,” Karil commanded at last. “All the Great Kingdoms must know. Eldas will not be taken without a fight.”

“The same message?” the elf asked.

“No,” she answered. “This time tell them Eldas is under siege. Mention nothing of Dryan or his rebels.”

“And if they still do not respond as you hope?” Rydel asked from behind her.

“Then we press on,” she pronounced with the true strength of a queen—her father would have been proud. “We will siege Eldas with or without their aid and free our people, taking back what is rightfully ours.”

“At your command, my queen,” Tunmai said.

The other elves clasped fists to their hearts, moving out of the enormous command tent.

The tent was tall, with a peaked canvas roof. A dozen tables were scattered about, holding maps, markers, scrolls, and other signs of an impending war, and her bed sat at the far side, still made. Sisala had made it two days ago. Karil had not slept since. She was beginning to feel fatigued to her bones, but there was too much to be done and seen to. She would sleep soon, she promised her tired limbs as she rubbed her brow, but not yet.

Beside her throne sat a cup of tea that had gone cold and a stack of letters, most of which she’d already read. It was a dismal litany of bad news: raids on the Frizzian Coast by strange red-sailed mercenaries, upheaval in Menelas and Ester—rumors that the two mining cities were at one another’s throats over the discovery of a strange new metal, not to mention that bandits were moving in

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