Guild Wars: Ghosts of Ascalon (33 page)

“What?”

“The commanding officer,” said Ember. “He is Tribune Rytlock Brimstone, hero of my people. If he chooses to take you off my hands, there is nothing I can do to stop him.”

The Blood Legion charr returned with Riona within the hour. She was battered and bruised, but the charr followed the tribune’s orders to the letter. She was whole and her eyes blazed with anger.

The charr brought her before Ember, and the two locked eyes for a moment, then Ember pulled back and lashed out with a wicked backhand slap. It caught Riona on her chin, and she collapsed to her knees from the force of the blow.

“Chain her up,” snarled Ember, pointing at Kranxx and Gullik, “and do it right this time, or I’ll stake you out for the ravens!”

The charr who had captured Riona nodded with approval and told Ember how they had found her, crouched in a shallow cave. She had no weapons and had surrendered.

Gullik and Kranxx reattached the chains.

“She had to do that, you know” said Gullik softly. “She cannot show weakness.”

Riona glowered. “That’s not what I’m mad about. I lost the charr I was chasing. He got away.”

“Wait for later to tell Ember that,” suggested Kranxx.

The company formed up, with Ember and her prisoners in the center. No one but Ember was allowed to take control of the prisoners, but there was no way they could escape. Burning their dead with the tents of the Flame Legion, the company moved north, Rytlock Brimstone at its head.

They moved at a double-march speed, such that Kranxx was scurrying to keep up. Behind them curled the smoke from the burning tents, and having advertised their presence, Rytlock had no intention of remaining in the area.

Dougal could feel the sweat of exertion and fear run down his back. They were surrounded by charr, and he felt like a mouse among cats. The urge to bolt, to flee, was strong, and he was afraid it would overmatch his better judgment.

He looked at Riona and saw that she was staring ahead, the welt from Ember’s strike still vivid on her face. She noticed Dougal looking at her and nodded. At the next rest break in the march, she leaned toward him.

“This commander is a slave driver,” she said.

“Ember said the commander is Rytlock Brimstone,” replied Dougal. “She’s afraid of him. I don’t blame her.”

“You know about this Rytlock?” said Riona.

“Big-time charr hero,” said Dougal, and one or two charr soldiers glanced toward them. He shut up until they looked away. “He was one of Destiny’s Edge. Legendary adventurers. Captain Logan Thackeray was one of that group, along with the asura Snaff, the sylvari Caithe, and the norn Eir.”

“Eir Stegalkin,” said Gullik sternly. “She was a great hero, once.” He stressed the word “was.”

“So the slave driver hung out with us mere humans? Pitiful,” said Riona, loud enough for a few charr heads to twist in her direction.

“The prisoner will be silent!” snapped Kranxx, and slapped Riona’s haunch with the lightning rod. Dougal admired that Riona didn’t strike out against the asura.

They marched through the heat of the day, reaching the base camp by the late afternoon. The beachside camp was on the shores of the lake dominating the Ascalon Basin, and was laid out with military precision, lines of tents arranged in grids. The troops were dismissed and returned to their assigned quarters, leaving Ember and her prisoners alone. The charr stood there, waiting, and within a few moments the black-furred tribune stormed up.

“Doomforge!” snapped Rytlock Brimstone.

“Sir, yes, sir!” said Ember, snapping to attention. Riona stifled a laugh and Dougal scowled at her.

“You are a mystery. I don’t like mysteries in my camp,” Brimstone snarled. “You will take the furthest tent, down by the shore.”

“Yes, sir!” Ember looked petrified.

Brimstone ignored her discomfort. “There is an empty supply skiff moored there. We are going to abandon it and report it scuttled. I want you out of here before tomorrow morning. We are heading east along the coast. Choose a different direction.”

“Understood, sir!”

“Understand this,” said Brimstone. “I don’t want to see your face again. Dismissed!”

Ember executed a crisp salute and said, “Yes sir!” She motioned to Gullik to pull the humans down toward the far end of the tents.

“And, Doomforge …” said Rytlock Brimstone.

“Yes, sir!”

“You have your grandmother’s eyes,” said the tribune, and managed what Dougal could only imagine was a smile.

“Thank you, sir!” said Ember, suddenly relaxing a fraction of an inch, and waving for the others to follow.

The selected tent had been newly erected a fair distance from the crisp lines and close to the abandoned skiff. Ember indicated to the others to step inside. “Get your rest, we’ll leave once night has settled.”

“He knows,” said Kranxx, pulling off his rumpled hat and running his fingers through his hair. “He knows what we’re doing.”

“No,” replied Ember. “That is, he knows I am up to something, and that Imperator Swordshadow is somehow involved. And that we are a mystery, and he hates mysteries. The sooner we sneak out, the sooner he will be relieved of thinking about what we’re up to.”

“And what did he mean about your grandmother’s eyes?” said Riona.

“I thought it was obvious,” said Ember, pausing at the entrance to the tent. “He knows my grandmother. You rest. You will need your energy.” And then she was gone, leaving the others to make themselves comfortable as they saw fit. Dougal did not remove his chains, and Riona did not request it. They rested until dark.

For an abandoned skiff scheduled for scuttling the boat proved to be well stocked. A pair of heavy oars were set in muffled locks near the stern, and a long steering pole was laid alongside a gunwale. Beneath the seats were a few tins of boiled meat.

The asura took the bow, the humans and Ember behind him. Gullik pushed off from shore and, nimbly for his size, settled in at the rowing bench. They rowed away from the camp on quiet oars. No one would admit to seeing them leave.

Once they were far enough from the shore that the charr campfires were hot red dots, Ember unlocked the manacles. Dougal wanted to throw them into the lake but instead handed them over to Gullik, who paused from his rowing long enough to stash them back in his satchel and return Riona’s and Dougal’s weapons to them.

The moon was already up when they left the camp, but the lake swallowed its light utterly. They rowed through the darkness, the horizon only obvious from where the stars ended and complete blackness began. Far to the north there was a faint glow, something throwing the moonlight back into the sky.

Riona and Dougal took turns at the bow of the boat with the pole, feeling in the darkness for the bottom and moving aside logs and lakeweed in their path. There was a splashing off the port side, but when Dougal turned, all he could see was a flash of silver scales diving.

There was another light up ahead, this one the color of flames. As they closed, it resolved into two, then
four, then a dozen different fires, all contained within great iron foundries.

“Irondock,” said Ember, identifying the place. “It is one of our weapons foundries. It runs all day and night. Hang to the far bank.”

Gullik proved to be a subtle and deft rower, and moved the shallow-drafted skiff to the left side of the lake and through a narrow passage. Now they could hear the clanging of anvils and the roar of forges across the water, combined with the snarling shouts of the overseers.

The lake narrowed and they could see the docks, metal-shod boats bobbing at the quay. Then Gullik passed them as well, and they were around a rock outcropping and turned back toward the north.

“You are making weapons,” said Riona quietly.

“Aye,” said Ember. “Even if there is peace with the humans and Ebonhawke, the legions have no end of enemies. Ghosts, Flame Legion, ogres, grawl …”

“And dragons,” added Dougal.

“And dragons,” agreed Ember, although in the darkness Dougal could not see the look on the charr’s face.

Now the glow to the north resolved itself more clearly. It was not a reflection of the racing moon but a brilliant radiance with its own source. As they cleared the channel and the terrain opened up to the north, Dougal could see it more fully and recognized it.

It was a single ray of brilliant white light reaching to the heavens, raised like a sword over the northern darkness. And like a blade it cut Dougal to the heart, for at its base was the center of the Foefire.

In its distant light, Dougal could see the faces of the others. Ember was familiar with the sight and was unimpressed, but Riona and Kranxx stared at the beacon on the horizon. Even Gullik, reliable rower that he had been, stopped his labors and stared at it, openmouthed, before recovering himself and resuming his regular strokes.

The lake was shallower now, and Dougal was touching bottom with his pole more often than not. Trees started to appear at the shores: long-limbed mangroves fluttering with bats and nightswallows. Finally the water became marsh, which became land solid enough to walk upon. Ember pointed to an outcropping on the northern shore, and Gullik pulled the boat up on the thick mud. Ember started up the bank, and the others followed, although Dougal now knew the land well.

The northern horizon had changed, limned by the power of the Foefire’s heart. It was now an irregular shadow, angular and blocky. The remains of Ascalon City itself.

At the top of the bank was a broad road, and after waiting a few moments the group skittered across it, avoiding any charr patrols. Only when they were on the northern side of the road did Ember react and make for one of the low hills overlooking the city in shadows. They climbed to the top, where they came upon the petrified remains of several great poles that had stood, undisturbed, for two centuries.

“The Viewing Hill,” said Dougal, knowing it from the tale. “This was where Fireburn watched the Foefire.”

“Yes,” said Ember, “and here I complete my task and my knowledge fails me. We’re going to need your knowledge of the city, come morning.”

“And until dawn?” asked Dougal.

“We wait,” said the charr.

They were close enough to the city now that there was little danger of charr patrols, but still beyond the city walls, and there was little risk of ghosts. Dougal could see the spires of the broken towers of the city, dimly lit by the brilliance of the Foefire. It looked like a ghost city, the perfect home for the dead. About an hour after they arrived, a bank of clouds moved in from the west, capturing the moon and overtaking the skyblade of the Foefire. The light from the heart of the curse splashed against the bottom of the clouds.

Now that they stood on the edge of the city, the group was uneasy. Rest would be good, but this close, none were in the mood. Ember prowled the perimeter, watchful for charr patrols. Kranxx fiddled with things in his pack. Gullik sat on the southern end of the hill, facing away from the city itself, looking out over the roads and lake to the south. Only Riona seemed willing to rest, but she was seated, her helmet and sword laid to one side, as if she were waiting for something.

As for Dougal, he tried to relax, looking up at the pattern the Foefire’s beacon made across the sky. But at last he had to give up, and sat up, looking at the city’s crumbling edifices.

Kranxx cleared his throat. “You still have that ambient thaumaturgic construct?” the asura asked.

“The Golem’s Eye?” Dougal nodded.

“Can I see it?” Kranxx said.

Dougal fished the stone from his pocket and gazed at it again. It was worth more than he might otherwise make in a year, but that did him little good at the moment. “Sure,” he said, dropping it into the asura’s hand. “Just make sure you take care of it.”

“Oh,” Kranxx said, “that I can promise you. I had to leave most of my tools back in Ebonhawke, but I brought a matrixulator. I could recalibrate it into a recharging device, given sufficient sympathetic energy.”

Dougal blinked at the asura, realizing for the first time what Kranxx had given up to come along. For most of the trip, he had thought the asura was concerned with his own skin. Now it was clear he had left behind his lab and his projects, which for an asura were as important as his life.

“Why don’t you hold on to it,” said Dougal, “and see if you can figure it out.”

The asura’s eyes opened wide and his long ears perked up. “Hang on!” he said, and ran back to his pack, rooted around in it a bit, then came back with one of his bottles, a red syrup oozing down its sides. “Here. Use this if you’re injured. It’s a good batch. I think.”

Dougal smiled and put the untested potion in his pocket. “And if we don’t find enough treasure in Ascalon City, that gem is yours. Buy yourself a new workshop.”

Kranxx made a choking, gurgling noise and pulled out a device that looked like the product of a union between a violin and a crossbow. “Yes. Yes! You see,
it is fully primed, but just needs some basic arcanic updates to handle the annual progression of the stars over the past two centuries!”

Dougal shook his head, understanding about one word in three. Which when dealing with the asura, was better than usual. He looked up and saw Gullik’s broad back, his legs hanging over the southern-facing cliff.