Guild Wars: Ghosts of Ascalon (7 page)

“My point exactly,” said Dougal. This time the clerk smiled and nodded, but the Seraph only shrugged.

“Your name turned up in an incident involving the sunken Temple of the Ages.”

“Never been there,” Dougal lied.

“Several landlords are looking for you about rent owed,” continued the Seraph officer.

“A series of simple misunderstandings,” said Dougal.

“You’ve been to Ascalon City,” said the officer. “And came out alive.”

The accusation was sudden and unexpected, and left him breathless. It hung in the air a moment, and even the clerk looked up. Dougal just nodded.

“Yes,” he said at last. “That part is true.”

The Seraph shook his head. “With all your …
apparent abilities, I am surprised you have not made more of yourself.”

Dougal struggled for a moment, then said, “Such is the nature of our lives in these dragon-haunted times. Perhaps I have a problem with my work ethic.”

“Very well,” said the heavyset man. “I think we can provide you with a little work ethic. You’ll be joining a work crew on Lake Doric.”

“Don’t I get a trial?” asked Dougal.

“You get a hearing,” said the officer. “This was it. In the name of Queen Jennah, the city of Divinity’s Reach, the nation of Kryta, you are found guilty. Tomorrow morning you’ll be escorted to a work gang north of the city.”

Dougal started to protest, when the door opened and another Seraph entered the room.

If his original interrogator was ill-made to wear the uniform, this one seemed to have been born in the armor. Tall, with dark brown hair parted in the center, the long locks framing a stern face with noble, chiseled features.

Dougal inhaled sharply: this was Logan Thackeray, captain of the Seraph in Divinity’s Reach, champion of Her Majesty Queen Jennah, protector of Kryta. The man had been legendary even before he had joined the Seraph: he was a member of one of the most famous guilds in recent history, Destiny’s Edge. Although that guild was no more, Logan Thackeray’s legend had continued to grow.

The interrogating officer immediately stiffened and saluted, while the clerk laid down his pen and bowed in
respect. Even Dougal felt his spine stiffen and stood up straight in the captain’s presence.

“Lieutenant Groban,” said Logan sharply.

“Sir,” said Groban, dropping his salute with a snap. “I was about to assign the prisoner to a work gang.”

“Dougal Keane?” said Logan.

“Yes, sir!” said Groban, pleased that the captain was following his caseload. For his part, Dougal felt a little sick: when someone in power knew your name, it never boded well.

“He is to be released,” said Logan.

A confused look spread over Groban’s face, as if Logan had suddenly manifested a godly aura and levitated before him. “Released?” the lieutenant repeated.

“On orders of Her Majesty, he is to be released into the custody of the Vigil,” said Logan, and Dougal’s stomach felt like an abyssal hole. The queen? Why would the queen have anything to say in this?

Lieutenant Groban fumbled with his heavy set of keys and unlocked the cell door. Then, selecting a smaller key, he began working on Dougal’s manacles.

Dougal’s thoughts raced. Why was this Vigil interested in him? They were a group of would-be knights and heroes engaged in fighting the Elder Dragons and their minions. A fool’s errand if there ever was one.

Why did they want him? He checked his ongoing list of people he had offended, stole from, or owed money to. He came up empty.

“You are a lucky man,” said Logan, speaking to Dougal now. “You were specifically asked for by someone with enough influence to get you out of here.” From the tone of his voice, it was clear that Logan would prefer to see Dougal rebuilding a dock somewhere on Lake Doric under armed supervision. “Were I you, I would strongly recommend that you not disappoint her. I don’t want to see you back here again.” He failed to elucidate whether he was referring to this cell, Divinity’s Reach, or Kryta in general.

Dougal’s mind was spinning now. “ ‘Her’?” he managed.

Logan walked to the doorway. “Ma’am?” he said.

A slim woman in chain armor entered the room, and for a half-second Dougal’s heart stopped. She had tightly wound auburn curls that stopped just short of her shoulders, and her icy blue eyes had the cold look of a military professional.

“Riona,” said Dougal softly.

“Riona Grady of the Vigil,” she said, holding up a document sealed with purple wax to the captain. “Here to take charge and responsibility for the prisoner on behalf of my order.”

Dougal held up his bare wrists to Groban. “If it’s all the same to you, Lieutenant,” he said, “I think it’d be safer for me if you put the manacles back on and closed the cell door on your way out.”

Riona did not say more than three words as Dougal regained his few confiscated belongings and followed her out of the jail.

The city of Divinity’s Reach was laid out like a great six-spoked wheel, with each spoke being a great high road that arched from the outer walls of white stone to the uppermost reaches of the city. The upper city, with its palace and senate and domed gardens, was at the hub, and the lower reaches between the arched high roads were where most people lived. Over the years, the divided sectors took on a regional flavor. The original Krytans predominated in one sector of the city, while the descendants of the Ascalonians, their homelands blasted by the charr centuries earlier, gathered in another. Other spaces between the bridges were dominated by Elonian and Canthan immigrants, their distant homelands now unreachable, thanks to the rise of the Elder Dragons.

The southernmost of the two sectors were given over to an assemblage of inns, alehouses, general services for travelers and merchants, and the carnival. The last was a collection of ornate rides and vendors scattered through the area, funded by a powerful minister in the
Krytan bureaucracy. It gave the area a surprisingly festive appearance and a false feeling that everything was safe and secure in the last human kingdom.

Riona and Dougal wound their way among the hawkers, merchants, and revelers. Confetti drifted down from the sky, and in the distance the deep brass tones of a clockwork band drifted over the proceedings.

Riona stopped at a shadow show, and Dougal stopped with her. The shadow show was an opaque white sheet set up at the base of one of the High Road’s supports, lit from behind. About a dozen townspeople and a similar number of children gathered in the shade. Silhouetted puppets danced across the screen.

“Riona, I …” Dougal started to say.

“Hush,” said Riona, her eyes locked on the screen.

The shadow show told the tale of the kingdoms of Tyria. First was Ascalon, defended by its Great Northern Wall. The charr attacked the wall, their heavy-shouldered feline troops striding across the screen from the left. Human soldiers appeared on the wall, led by their heroic king, and drove them back in a cascade of arrows. The charr returned with great cauldrons, and out of the cauldrons sprung huge crystalline missiles that struck the walls and breached them. This was the Searing, when the charr broke through the wall and overran Ascalon.

The screen darkened and brightened again. Another city, this one with more ornate, delicate structures, twisted towers and great arches. This was Arah, the greatest city of Orr. Again the charr, with their mystic cauldrons, arrived from the left, and a man in robes
appeared in the tallest tower and summoned a great spell. The screen flashed and the charr were blown back, but the city itself was shattered. A wavy line representing the ocean rose up, and the pieces of the city settled to the bottom of the Sea of Sorrows. This was the Sinking of Orr.

The screen darkened again, and the scene shifted back to Ascalon, where the charr were besieging its greatest metropolis, Ascalon City. The feline assailants broke through the gates and were soon on the walls, fighting the human soldiers. On the tallest tower the human king, Adelbern, fought with a powerful charr. The two locked their blades and there was a great explosion. The charr were all blown away as if by a wind, and the humans all went pale: they had become ghosts. This was the Foefire.

After another flash, a large black blot ran from one edge of the screen to the other under the waves. Then the blot opened a great draconic eye. Now the ruined city of Arah rose from the waves, and at its tallest point a great winged form spread its wings and roared at the sky. This was the Rising of Orr, and with it the waking of the undead Elder Dragon known as Zhaitan.

The dragon roared again and flashed its wings, kicking up a great wave as it did so. The wave traveled to the right, the risen city retreating to the left, and now a new city appeared at the right hand side of the screen. This was Lion’s Arch. The wave struck it, and pieces of the city flew in all directions. When the dragon rose, the original Lion’s Arch was flooded and swept away into the sea.

The screen darkened one more time, and now the scene was of refugees entering from the left. They were dressed like Krytans and Ascalonians and Canthans and Elonians, and brought wagons with their belongings and great packs. Rising up before them came the walls of Divinity’s Reach, and with them the upper city, and atop the upper city the Queen’s Palace. Atop the tower the queen appeared, clearly modeled after Queen Jennah, welcoming the refugees to the city, and confetti drifted down from the sky as the happy travelers reached safety. The last of the refugees traveled into the city, the gates closed, and the banner of Divinity’s Reach was raised from the queen’s tallest tower.

The crowd politely applauded, and the puppeteer, a small, smiling Canthan woman, stepped from behind the screen to take her bows, her puppets mounted on slender sticks. Riona did not applaud but simply moved on, and Dougal followed. She passed the ale tent and took a pint of lager. Dougal took one as well, careful to let her pay. She sat down at one of the nearby tables. Dougal sat across from her, and they were silent for a moment. Riona looked at the rough, knife-carved tabletop.

“Riona, I …” Dougal started again.

“I want you to know …” she said, bitterness in her voice, then stopped. Dougal held his tongue, and in the distance the band shifted to a different tune, more of a waltz converted into steam and strained through brass fittings.

She continued. “I want you to know that, were it up to me, I would have left you there to rot. Like
you left me.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Dougal said.

“Like
you
left
me,
” repeated Riona, piercing him with her blue steel eyes.

“It was …” Dougal started, then realized that the words “not my idea” would not be well received, nor would they be true. “. . . a mistake. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have left you.”

“You didn’t just
leave
me,” Riona snapped. “You knocked me out and left me for the Ebon Vanguard to find. You left me to pay the price for your crimes.”

Now it was Dougal’s turn to look at the table. Five years ago, he and Riona and the others had all been in Ebonhawke, members of the Ebon Vanguard. They weren’t very good at soldiering, and all of them talked about various schemes to get them to Lion’s Arch, to Divinity’s Reach, to anywhere but within a city besieged by the hated charr.

Then Dak found the map—the map to the original Ascalon City. A map that showed the towers and streets of that ancient human city from the times before the Searing and the Foefire, before the devastation of the charr. A map that showed the royal castle of King Adelbern.

And, most of all, showed the royal treasure vault and inventoried its contents.

Dak had found a treasure map and Jervis suggested they go after it. Marga asked why they should wait, and Vala and Dougal agreed. Riona, alone among them, said it was a bad idea, that they would be put to hard labor if they were caught, or slain by the charr if not,
because Ascalon City was in the heart of the charr territories.

So Marga hit her over the back of the head one night when they were scheduled to go on patrol beyond the battlements. Marga and Dougal then loaded her into her bunk and told the commander she was ill and left her there. And they left Ebonhawke and never came back.

“When your patrol didn’t return, the Ebon Vanguard came for me,” Riona said, filling in the blanks on the table. “I didn’t tell them what was going on, and they didn’t believe me. I took the blame. They put me at hard labor in the quarries for two years before even considering reinstating my position. And they never let me patrol beyond the walls.”

“And you’re with the Vigil now,” said Dougal, looking away as the carnival swirled around them.

“I served my tour. I left. I looked for a purpose. I found one with the Vigil and I came here, to Divinity’s Reach. I’ve been here a year, and in all that time I never tried to hunt you”—she almost said “down” but brought herself up short—“out …” she finished.

“And the Vigil wants me. Why?” Dougal returned her glare. Her accusing eyes still hurt to look at, but it was clear he was going to have to learn to live with it.

“You survived Ascalon City. The others?”

“Dead. Dak, Jervis, Marga …” The locket felt heavy around his neck, like a stone. “And Vala. Dead in Ascalon City.”