Guild Wars: Ghosts of Ascalon (15 page)

A servant swept in with a roast suckling pig on a platter and placed it before the charr. Doomforge eyed
it for a long moment, then set to picking at it with a single talon, slicing the flesh from the bones like a master butcher. “By that,” the charr said, “I mean that I already have a ‘family’ or ‘guild’ or ‘warband’ or whatever you wish to call it. I have no need for another.”

“You can always use another family,” said Killeen.

Having dismembered the pig, Doomforge stuffed it into her mouth. Piece by piece, its pink flesh disappeared into her maw. The way Doomforge’s jaws and teeth worked in concert to annihilate the pig fascinated Dougal. He could not look away, no matter how much Doomforge glared at him over the bones she picked clean.

“All right,” said Killeen. “Not a family. We can at least be a team.”

Doomforge scowled as she reached for a goblet of ale a servant had brought her while she consumed her meal. “You forget that I am to enter Ebonhawke not as a friend but as a prisoner.”

The charr looked as though she wished she could hack up that last word, spit it on the floor, and grind it under her boot. “This is not a wandering adventure. It is not a battle in some arena, for the sake of glory and recognition. It is a mission. I neither want nor need friends nor a family nor a team. I need only to follow my orders, and this I will do.”

“I see,” said Dougal. “And have you spent enough time with us to have fulfilled your orders?”

“No,” said the charr, and for a moment Dougal swore Doomforge’s features softened for a moment. “There is another matter. I came to apologize as well.
To you, Dougal Keane.”

Dougal’s eyebrows rose but the charr just took a deep breath and pressed on.

Doomforge stared at the table as she spoke. “I acted rashly in the general’s presence, and I am to convey to you my apologies for doing so. As long as you do not provoke me, it will not happen again.

“Further”—Doomforge’s brows furrowed—“to allow a norn—even one as notorious as Gullik Oddsson—to slip past our guards is inexcusable. He apparently scaled the building and broke in through a window in broad daylight. Were he more competent, or less inebriated, he would have succeeded, and our mission would have become doubly impossible. I have spoken with the guards and it will not happen again. Oddsson has been sobered up, and I understand that he is facing General Soulkeeper’s wrath as we speak.”

Dougal waved off her apology. They were not going to be here long enough for any security changes to matter. “All I care about, Doomforge, is getting on our way before something like this happens again.”

Doomforge reached for her glass but did not pick it up. “Ember.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call me Ember.”

“Seriously?” said Dougal, trying not to smile at the uncomfortable charr. He tried to remember when he had ever been on a first-name basis with a charr, and came up empty.

“The general suggested I request it.”

“Are we supposed to be friends, then?”

“Not at all,” she said, and Dougal was certain that the charr smiled as she said it.

Dougal nodded. “Then call me Dougal.”

“I only have my one name,” Killeen put in with a helpful smile.

Riona scowled. “Call me Crusader, charr, and I will call you the same, out of respect for our order. But it is good to see you kids playing nice.”

“Just as long as we make it through Ebonhawke,” said Dougal. To Ember Doomforge he said, “I have been trying to come up with a better plan but, short of a potion of invisibility, I am at a loss.”

Killeen put a hand on Ember’s free paw. “Are you going to be all right about wearing the chains?”

Ember bared her teeth for a moment before she spoke. “I hate it. I hate the very idea of it. But the general is correct that there is no other way, so I will do it.”

“It’s just a ruse,” said Killeen. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“If you believe that,” Ember snarled, “then you know nothing of the charr.”

Dougal tossed back another gulp of the liquor. “It’s about Scorchrazor, isn’t it?”

Ember started at the mention of the name. She cast Dougal an angry look, then nodded.

“Scorchrazor?” asked Killeen.

“Kalla Scorchrazor,” said Dougal. “Even the humans in Ebonhawke know about her. One of the most famous charr since the time of the Searing. Back in the day, when the shamans of the Flame Legion commanded the charr armies, female charr didn’t have
much status among their people. They never went to war and were relegated to subordinate positions. Many of them served in chains. Scorchrazor changed all that. She destroyed the charr shamans and nearly took down an entire legion of them.”

“How typically human,” Ember said, “blathering on about things you know very little about. Your race has just enough knowledge to be dangerous.”

“All right,” Dougal said, his own curiosity rising. “Enlighten us.”

Ember pulled a tuft of fur from her arm and held it over a candle flickering in the center of the table. The hair ignited, and Ember dropped it into her glass. The liquor in it burst into a bluish flame.

Lit by the flame in her glass, Ember spoke, her voice no longer carrying its usual menace. “In the days when humans still presented a challenge for the charr, we did something terribly foolish that we have long since sworn never to do again: we worshipped gods.

“Before humans came to Tyria, we had no gods. We knew about creatures with power we could barely comprehend, but we thought of them as foes to be defeated, not gods to be placated. When we suffered our first defeats at the hairless hands of humans, though, many charr blamed this on the fact that they could plead to their gods for help while we fought alone, relying only on ourselves.

“A warband from the Flame Legion came to the rest of the charr one day and announced that they had found gods for us to worship. These were creatures later called titans, but they were powerful enough
that such labels mattered little. The shamans who led their worship used braziers of fire as icons of their newfound gods. The other legions hesitated to follow their lead, but the Flame Legion had so much success at converting others—often by force—that many assumed that they must have gods on their side. It was the titans that gave us the cauldrons that allowed us to breach the Great Northern Wall.

“One famous charr stood against them: Bathea Havocbringer of the Blood Legion. She sniffed out the foul plans of the Flame Legion and their new shamans, who directed the worship of their gods in ways that brought themselves power and profit. She said, ‘I will bow before no one and nothing, be it mortal or god,’ and she persuaded many other charr to follow her lead.

“Because of this, the shamans gathered in the night to plot against her. They captured her and made a blood sacrifice of her to their new gods. They declared her a traitor and accused her of using her sexuality to tempt the males from the true path of the gods. To prevent any more such treachery, they marked all females with the same brand of deceit and banned them from serving in the legions, where they would mix with the males.

“Many females objected to this, as did some males. Several shared Havocbringer’s fate, and eventually the others saw no choice but to submit themselves to their new gods’ will. We lived like this for centuries, long enough that most of us could not remember there ever having been another way.”

Ember put her paw over her glass of lit liquor. The flames had burned low, and her paw sealing off the
glass from the surrounding air soon snuffed them out entirely. If the heat from the fire hurt her, she did not show it.

“After the Searing, some charr realized that the shamans of the Flame Legion—who had long abused their powers—had tricked us. A warrior named Pyre Fierceshot helped spur the rest of us to stand up to the Flame Legion, but we did not triumph until his granddaughter, Kalla Scorchrazor, led a rebellion that restored female charr to their rightful place.”

“How did she manage that?” asked Killeen.

Ember chuckled at this. “Males who think females are beneath them are poor at keeping secrets from them. The females watched the shamans and learned that they were cheating the charr of their right to chart their own destiny. Armed with that knowledge, they spread it far and wide throughout the charr lands, until most charr females—and many of their chosen males—sided with Scorchrazor.

“Before Scorchrazor entered the rebellion, plenty of other charr had already lined up to be counted against the shamans of the Flame Legion, following in the tracks of Pyre Fierceshot. As their numbers grew, so did the ferocity with which the shamans tried to keep them down. With Scorchrazor’s help, though, the rebels finally had a chance at winning.

“Scorchrazor pointed out that the shamans of the Flame Legion lacked one thing the rebels had: open minds. If the rebels could see their way fit to allowing the females to fight beside them, they could effectively double their numbers overnight. This would give them
the soldiers they needed to be able to overwhelm the shamans and their magic. And, eventually, the human kingdoms as well.

“Having grown up with their females in servitude to them for centuries, though, many of the male charr were reluctant to go against this ‘tradition.’ They argued that the females had stayed at home for too long and were no longer suited for the battlefield—if they had ever been.

“To counter this argument, Scorchrazor threw down a challenge before her detractors. The most important of these was Forge Ironstrike, imperator of the Iron Legion, and he agreed to meet her in single combat. If she could defeat him, he would acknowledge that female charr were just as qualified to become soldiers as the males. Otherwise, he would kill her as an example to the other females who were confused about their places.

“The battle took place in the ruins of Rin, the old human capital of Ascalon, which we have now restored as the Black Citadel. The imperators of the Blood and Ash Legions stood as seconds. Blood backed its daughter Scorchrazor, while Ash sided with Iron. Scores of others watched, from the highest tribune all the way down to the lowliest gladium.”

Ember knocked back a bit more of her drink, thought for a moment, and then spoke. She was warming to both the spirits and to her tale. “Scores of charr came to watch the battle in the ruined arena in Rin. The two warriors were well matched. As a male of our race, Ironstrike was the larger and stronger of the two, but
Scorchrazor was by far the faster and more skilled.

“Time after time Ironstrike charged, his claws stretching for Scorchrazor’s throat, but each time she dodged him and sliced him with her own claws as he passed her by. Eventually, the frustration and the loss of blood took its toll, and Ironstrike grew tired. Then Scorchrazor switched to the attack.

“She drove the battered Ironstrike back until he ran out of room to retreat. He summoned the last of his strength for one last charge, but she dodged that, too, and knocked him flat. She pounced on him as he sprawled on the arena’s dusty floor and forced his surrender from him.

“Released, Ironstrike honored the terms of their deal. He acknowledged her right to battle alongside him, and he welcomed the rest of the female charr to join their rebellion. Even the shamans from the Iron, Blood, and Ash Legions rallied to their cause.

“The forces of the Flame Legion and its shamans met those arrayed against them in final battle on the Plains of Golghein. Because the Flame Legion had told their females to ‘stay home where they belonged,’ they were so outnumbered that they surrendered rather than be slaughtered.

“To her credit, Scorchrazor accepted the surrender, but only so that the charr would not be stripped of the power of the Flame Legion, which had more shamans than all of the other legions combined. Even without gods behind it—perhaps especially—magic has its uses.

“The imperator of the Flame Legion was so shamed
by his surrender that when he finally met Scorchrazor, he stabbed her with a poisoned dagger. Charr may do anything to win a battle, but only the worst cowards would violate a surrender so. His treachery cost Scorchrazor her life, but her last words were ‘At least I die knowing my sisters are free.’ ”

“Which is why you had such a strong reaction against wearing chains,” said Riona.

Ember pressed her lips together so hard, they paled. Then she polished off the rest of the liquor in her glass in a single swallow.

“What happened to the assassin?” asked Killeen, her hand still covering her mouth in disbelief. “Did he get away with it?”

Ember shook her head. “Imperator Ironstrike himself throated the coward on the spot. The Flame Legion imperator went to his reward before Scorchrazor did.”

“And tomorrow,” said Dougal, “we’re off to find the weapon that an early Flame Legion imperator dropped during the Foefire, years before that.”

Ember nodded. “We seek the Claw to bring peace between your people and mine. For the sake of my people, I will wear your chains—but I will think of Kalla Scorchrazor every moment they restrain me.”

She rallied for a moment, and her face grew sharp and feral once more. “My orders are to complete this mission by any means necessary, and I will do just that. Know, however, that if any of you get in my way—if
you become more of a hindrance than a help—I will not hesitate to strike you down on the spot and leave you to die.”

With that, she spun on her heel and left.

Riona rolled her eyes, then slumped in her chair with a hand on her forehead. Dougal reached again for the wine. Killeen smiled with delight as the servants brought in a chilled custard for their dessert.

The sylvari raised her glass of wine. “An inspirational beginning. We may not be a guild, or a warband, or a krewe, or even a family. But we are a company, adventurers gathered together to a single purpose. For the moment, that is enough. I drink to our success!”