Guild Wars: Ghosts of Ascalon (17 page)

“Nothing lasts forever,” Ember growled.

“She still sounds like an amazing woman,” said Killeen.

“The greatest ever,” Riona said. “She was the finest hero of her age. She was just a child at the time of the Searing, and she spent years as a charr slave before she escaped. She joined the Ebon Vanguard and climbed its ranks to become its leader. She turned Ebonhawke from an outpost into a fortress, which still remains as the last hope in the War of Ascalon Independence.”

Ember snarled at this. “You mean the Ascalon Insurrection.”

Dougal tried to bring the conversation back on track. “Gwen fought the charr. She hated them for what they’d done to her and her family, but she changed her mind about them after she worked with Pyre Fierceshot to help bring down the destroyers.”

“Some woman,” Ember growled.

“Did you know that Logan Thackeray is related to Gwen?” Dougal said to Killeen.

“That would make sense,” said the sylvari. “He struck me as being very dedicated to his queen and
country.”

“I’ve read Gwen’s journals,” said Dougal. “They’re kept in the Durmand Priory. She married a ranger in the Ebon Vanguard. His name was Kieran Thackeray. Logan is their direct descendant.”

“Heroism must run in his blood.”

“Oh, spare me,” Ember said, her voice barely a low sneer.

“Pardon me?” said Riona.

“I said spare me your human lies.” The charr’s voice was taut and tense. “Gwen the Goremonger killed scores of my people. She was no hero.”

“To us, she was,” Riona said. “Without her, the charr would have overrun Ascalon long ago. Where would we be then?”

“The distant memories you should be.” Ember’s fur bristled as she spoke. “Tyria belonged to the charr before you mice burrowed your way into our lands, and we will have it long after you’re all gone.”

Riona snorted. “You should think before your speak. Remember, we’re going to be your captors, kitty.”

Ember moved effortlessly and suddenly, bringing her elbow around hard. Her first swat knocked Riona off her feet. Ember followed her, weaponless, but with her claws extended from her paw. She raised her paw again, this time for a blow that would rip Riona’s armor off.

Before the charr could bring down her arm, though, Gullik’s hand snaked out and plucked the fur on the back of Ember’s neck. With a sharp yank, he hauled her back so hard that Dougal wondered if Ember’s head
might separate from her shoulders.

Snarling, Ember spun and launched herself at Gullik instead. He brought his free arm around and smacked her across her snout hard enough to knock her from her feet. Ember yowled at the norn. Dougal stepped between the two, his black blade in his hand, ready to put it to use if the charr came up swinging.

“Wait!” Riona said. “Don’t do it! We need her!”

Dougal glared down at the charr. Riona had provoked the attack but now was trying to undo the damage. Perhaps she didn’t want to go back to General Soulkeeper and explain what had happened. To Ember he said, “Are you done?”

Ember’s mouth twisted, and Dougal thought she might be preparing to bite off his face. Then the fight went out of her, and she nodded at him without speaking.

“It seems,” said the charr, measuring her words, “that I must make a habit of apologizing to you, Dougal Keane.” She touched the corner of her mouth, and her fur came away spattered with blood. To Riona she said, “But you had best remember that you have your stories, and we have ours, and the two differ greatly.”

Dougal sheathed his sword and stepped away from the charr. Gullik, his earlier violence forgotten, hauled Ember up and set her on her feet. “You are a ferocious warrior,” he told the charr. “I would enjoy fighting alongside you in battle someday. But put your claws away today.”

Dougal looked around: the alleyway was as empty as before. In Divinity’s Reach a half-dozen Seraph
would have been on top of them, and shutters would be slamming shut and secured up and down the street. Here it was just another morning brawl.

They moved through the back alleys to the covered merchant district. The banked braziers and forges of the bazaar lit the blue sailcloth from below, giving the area an otherworldly feeling. The few merchant guards watched them carefully until they left their particular areas, then returned to their bottles and warm blankets.

Within sight of the asura gates, Riona called a halt. At this point she produced the manacles from Gullik’s pack, which also held Ember’s armor and weapon. Ember flinched at the sight of them but then held up her hands, wrists together.

“Wolf’s teeth!” said Gullik, softly. “A charr allowing a human to put her in chains? I must still be dreaming.”

“I have my orders.” Ember growled out her words. “I follow them.”

“You are braver than I,” said Gullik.

“It’s the only way we can get her through Ebonhawke.” Riona fixed Gullik with a glare that insisted he say nothing more, but he showed no signs of understanding it.

The norn sighed. “Ah, Ebonhawke. I know it well! I haven’t been there since they threw me out of the city for destroying one of their pubs.”

Ignoring Riona’s protests, Ember turned and stood up right in the norn’s face. Gullik’s smile vanished. “That’s something you failed to mention before. That’s not going to present a problem for us, is it?” the charr
asked.

Gullik put up his hands to reassure her. “Of course not. That was years ago, and I’m sure they’ve rebuilt it by now.”

Ember turned back to Riona and let her finish attaching the chains. “If this fails to work, the Ebon Vanguard will hang me as a spy,” she said,. “But before I go, I’ll kill anyone responsible for causing that failure. This I promise.”

“She’s touchy,” Gullik said to Dougal. “But still as regal as a lioness. I think I like her!”

They emerged from the market near the half circle of asura gates, their stone and metal ovals flickering with stray, erratic flickers of eldritch power. At the Divinity’s Reach gate stood a trio of asura that Dougal had noticed coming in. They were practically vibrating with excitement, running from crystal to crystal and rune to rune, adjusting, modifying, and trying to tune the gate to the proper aetheric frequency.

“I’m not getting anything,” snapped one.

“Try the sympathetic diathuergic connection!” suggested the next.

“Hang on, I’m seeing the handshake invocation come through. Tuning in the test chord.”

“Got it!” said the first. “We are a go! Planar boring up and operating. Full chord registry. Amazing! We are live by five!”

“Kranxx, you are simply magnificent,” said the
second to herself with admiration, staring at the gate.

“You lot,” snapped the third at Dougal’s group, “get up there! We can’t hold this for more than ten heartbeats! After that, the hard-linked resonant dampers reset and who knows where you’d end up.”

Ember held up her chains and shook them, then nodded at Riona, who was holding the other end. Riona adjusted her helmet and nodded back. They ran up the ramp and stepped through the gate. Dougal followed them.

He felt his skin dry as he stepped through the gate. He had not felt damp in seaside Lion’s Arch, but now all the moisture evaporated from his flesh, and the dry night air, still warm, forced its way into his lungs. Ebonhawke was perched on the edge of the Crystal Desert, and even in the dead of night the residual heat pulled the sweat from exposed flesh.

The far side of the gate was similar to that of Divinity’s Reach: set atop a low mound, surrounded by a thick wall with a parapet pointed in toward the gate. In the event that something unpleasant pushed its way through from the other side, there would be a welcoming committee on this side.

Except that the guard posts were empty at this time of night. And at the base of the stone mound a single nervous, frustrated asura stood rubbing his short fingers through a tangled thatch of long hair.

Of course,
thought Dougal,
Soulkeeper’s “man” in Ebonhawke would have to be an asura.

The asura looked at the adventurers. “You all made it? Good. Let me reset the dampers.” He toggled a few
runes on the plinth, resetting the crystals to their original positions. The shimmering meniscus of the gate surface faded behind them. “We need to move quickly. And just so you know, this was Soulkeeper’s worst idea ever.”

“Hold!” came a voice from the gateway. A trio of Ebonhawke soldiers strode through the gates. Others, armed with rifles, appeared on the parapets surrounding the gate grounds.

“Put your hands up!” snarled the officer. “Reach for your weapons and you will be slain where you stand!”

They were trapped.

Have you lost your minds?” said the lead guardsman. “Where do you think you’re going with that charr?”

Dougal looked around him. Riona stood stock-still, her hands gripping the chain linked to Ember’s manacles. The charr was equally quiet, but Dougal saw that her leg muscles were bunched for sudden flight. Killeen, always accommodating, smiled and raised both arms. Gullik crossed his, scowled, but said nothing.

“Officers,” said Dougal, raising both hands in front of him as if to ward off an expected blow, “we have a good explanation for this.”

“Explanations later,” said the officer. “Hand over that prisoner—now! Hand it over!”

Dougal looked at Riona. She bit her lower lip, then offered him the charr’s chain. “Very well, then.”

Ember’s eyes went wide and white, and Dougal was sure the charr was going to try to bolt. She would not make it ten feet before the riflemen on the walls cut all of them down.

The asura running the gate stepped between Ember and the officer. “Just a moment, Lieutenant. What are
you doing with
my
property?”

“Your property, Master Kranxx?” said the officer, towering over the small asura but no longer reaching out for the chain. “Why are
you
smuggling a charr into Ebonhawke?”

“My studies, of course,” said Kranxx. “Your superiors keep pressing me for new and better ways to kill charr. I hired these”—he waved a small hand at Dougal’s group, searching for a word—“
individuals
to bring me a living, breathing representative of the race.”

“We could have brought you charr,” said the lieutenant. “We have more than enough of them outside our walls.”

“You didn’t hear me,” said Kranxx. “I need one alive and breathing. The ones you bring in are usually in poor condition.”

Dougal shot a look at Ember. She was no longer as panicked. She was, however, angry.

“Why would you bring a charr here in the middle of the night?” asked the lieutenant.

“Idiot of a human,” said Kranxx. “Can you imagine the riot that would ensue if I brought a live charr in with the regular supplies from Divinity’s Reach? I suggested it, of course, but your Commander Samuelsson would not hear of it.”

“Samuelsson knows about this?” said the guard.

“Of course,” lied the asura, without missing a beat. “You think I would do something like this without checking it up the line ? You humans care too much about chain of command for your own good, you know. Let’s go wake up your Commander Samuelsson in the
wee hours of the morning, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to send me on my way, and then have a nice long discussion with you about the perils of personal initiative.”

The guard’s face hardened. “What are your intentions with this charr?”

“Vivisection,” said Kranxx, and Ember jumped in surprise, almost pulling the chain out of Riona’s hands. Gullik put a heavy hand on the charr’s shoulder and let out a deep, throaty warning.

The lieutenant nodded and said, “And you’re going to keep it in your workshop?”

“I have a cage prepared for it,” said the asura. “If you want, I can make a rug out of its skin for you when I’m done.”

“Very well,” said the officer. “Olsen! Gregory! Escort Master Kranxx to his workshop and stand guard outside. I will send relief in the morning.”

“Excellent!” said the asura, and motioned to Dougal and Riona. “You lot: Bring the prisoner and follow along! I have much to do before sunrise!”

As they walked away under the watchful eyes of the heavily armed Ebon Vanguard on the walls, Dougal started to say, “That was very—”

“Silence!” snapped the asura, raising a hand to hush Dougal but not missing a step with the two guards. “Don’t talk: Watch the prisoner! I don’t want it to bolt now, before I get a chance to peel back its ribs!”

Dougal fell back alongside Riona, wondering if he was dealing with one of Clagg’s relatives.

They trod through the cobblestone streets of Ebonhawke, and even in the darkness Dougal felt a pang of
homesickness. The streets were empty and the night shutters of the upper stories bolted tight: curfew was still in force, as it had been in his youth. There was no one visible on the streets, but Dougal knew that the alleyways were alive with sneak thieves looking for targets and teenagers daring the wrath of the authorities. He had done both in his time.

The buildings and walls were mostly of gray stone, carved in the quarries behind the city and shaped to fit together like pieces of a puzzle. The upper floors were whitewashed but in daylight were a dingy gray from the regular dust storms that blew up from the south. In the wan moonlight, they were as pale as phantoms.