Edge of Destiny (10 page)

“I hope you fall off the city!”

But the band navigated the bridges safely on their march to the center of town, heading for a particular asura gate.

Eir and Garm strode through, feeling the membrane of magic snap around them. The sultry air of Rata Sum gave way to the biting cold of Hoelbrak.

Of course, the asura gate had not been constructed with twenty-foot golems in mind, so Big Snaff had to crouch and nearly crawl to get through. The air rippled around him as he passed. “I hope the Dragonspawn has a bigger door.”

“If he doesn’t, you can make one,” Zojja replied as she shuffled through behind him.

Then they were all in Hoelbrak, standing on a cobbled way between tents and rough-hewn lodges. The bodies of the Bigs pinged and crackled as the metal contracted from cold. Standing at their full height, the golems could peer over the thatched rooftops, past the defensive bridges that ringed the settlement, and out to snow-covered tundra and ice-choked mountains.

“Out there is where the Dragonspawn is,” Zojja said grimly.

“Not much longer,” Snaff assured.

As the group marched down the lane, walls shuddered, thatch shivered, and norn came running out in all states of undress, bellowing and bearing weapons.

“What’s happening?”

“Earthquake?”

“Invasion?”

“For the love of Wolf—!”

“We’re being attacked!”

“Stop!” shouted Eir, lifting her hands to the crowd. “You are not being attacked. These magnificent creatures are fashioned to battle the Dragonspawn.”

A susurrus of shock moved through the crowd, and someone shouted, “Golems can’t do the work of norn warriors!”

“
I
am a norn warrior,” Eir said, “and I am doing this work. But let me ask you this—what becomes of norn who go to battle the Dragonspawn?”

The crowd sighed in frustration, and a nearby woman said, “The men return . . . as frozen icebrood. The women return . . . not at all.”

“Exactly. But we are warded by powerstone magic that will block his aura.” She tapped the gray stones that shone from the epaulets of her armor. “And these warriors of steel and stone cannot be corrupted by the Dragonspawn’s power. With these provisions, Garm and I and our metal allies will reach the inner sanctum of the Dragonspawn.

“And we will tear him apart.”

DEEP PLACES

A
s Rytlock dived into the crevice, he thought,
Why am I following a pollen-brained sylvari?

A hyena nipped his heel.

Oh, yeah, that’s why.

Then there was no more time for thinking. Only plunging. And cursing.

Rytlock dropped through the narrow cleft and into a cavern. Below him, Logan and Caithe were tumbling into the darkness.

“Great idea!” Rytlock shouted. “Really flipping great!”

“I heard you the first time!” Caithe yelled.

Just then, there came a huge splash, and then a second, and then . . .

Ow! The water was hard. Rytlock smashed through the surface, and the flood closed over him. Bubbles chattered everywhere, but there wasn’t a gulp to breathe! He lashed his claws through the water—kicked and flailed (wasn’t this how humans swam?) but only sank.

Then the water above exploded again. Something else had just plunged into it, something that was now swimming toward the surface. Rytlock grabbed on to the thing and let it lift him. He reached the air and gasped.

The thing yipped and giggled. A hyena.

“A hyena,” Rytlock snarled. “Who knew they floated?”

“Rytlock!” Logan shouted.

“Yeah?”

“There’s hyenas in the water!” Logan warned. “Just killed one.”

“Got one of my own.”

“Snap its neck!”

“Do they float when they’re dead?”

There was silence. “How would I know?”

“You just killed one. Did it float?”

“I didn’t
hold on to it
!”

Just then, a thud and a splash told of another hyena’s arrival. In moments, it, too, was gasping at the surface. When it heard the struggles of its packmate, it swam toward Rytlock.

“Ah, good,” Rytlock said. “This one was getting tired. . . . Hello.”

The scavenger lunged for Rytlock, but he bashed it back, grasped it around the midsection, and hauled it beside him. The hyenas paddled desperately while Rytlock leaned back. “I’ve got two hyenas now.”

“Snap their necks!”

“Do they float?”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“You’re
both
ridiculous,” interrupted the sylvari.

“You survived?” Rytlock yelled. “Damn.”

“I just saved you from the ogres!” she shouted back indignantly.

“You just dropped us into a cesspool a hundred feet below the ground.”

“It’s not a cesspool. It’s an underground river,” Caithe responded. “Can’t you feel the current?”

Rytlock squeezed the hyenas into submission. “Yeah.”

“That’s why I led us down here,” Caithe said. “I can feel the ways of water and wind, the ways of nature. I’ll get us out of here. Follow my voice.”

“I’d have to
listen
to it.”

Logan stroked toward her and shot back over his shoulder, “How’re the hyenas holding out?”

The truth was, they seemed to be weakening. Rytlock whispered, “Follow the sylvari. She’s young and tasty.”

Whether or not the scavengers understood, they did paddle generally in Caithe’s direction, carrying the charr with them. The chant of the river changed, echoes coming more quickly ahead, and then there was water-smoothed stone underfoot.

Rytlock strode up it, feeling the waters recede. “Finally,” he said, dropping the hyenas into the water and kicking them sharply in the backsides. “Get off with you!” Yipping, they swam away.

“There’s a cave mouth up here,” Caithe called from ahead. “A slight breeze is pouring into the cave, so there must be an opening on the other side.”

“I’m following,” Logan said, feeling his way forward through the darkness. “Keep talking, Caithe.”

“Yeah. Keep talking.” Rytlock was in torment. Not the Realm of Torment, with its fire and severity. That place would’ve been homey. No, this was a uniquely charr torment—with churning water and buoyant hyenas and a pesky human and a starry-eyed sylvari leading a parade of fools.

They stumbled through the passage that Caithe had found, trading the terrors of an underground river for the annoyance of stalactites hitting their faces and stalagmites jamming their toes. And the cave wasn’t entirely dry. Something scuttled on the ground and squashed wetly underfoot with each step.

Ahead, Caithe staggered to a stop. “Oh. Well,
that’s
something. . . .”

The man and the charr came up behind her. “Whoa.”

They stood at the edge of a gigantic cavern, dimly lit by fading blue stones embedded along the walls. The light of the stones revealed a ruined underground city. Cobbled streets ran between rock-walled buildings, and a crumbling palace stood on a prominence on the far side. Many buildings were missing their roofs, and many windows were marked with soot where fires had burned. Cracked columns shored up the ceiling high above.

An eerie wind meandered past, like the brush of a ghost.

“What
is
this place?” Rytlock asked.

“It looks dwarven,” Logan said. “Who else would have a whole city that nobody knew about?”

“But what happened to them?”

“Destroyers,” Caithe broke in. “Creatures of living lava—the minions of the dragon Primordus. I’ve seen other villages destroyed this way.”

“Well, when you live in a hole in the ground, you’ve got to expect to run into things like that,” Rytlock said. “The question is whether they’re still here.” He stepped past the other two and marched down toward the city.

“We’re following her, not you,” Logan called.

“When I can see, I follow no one.” Rytlock paused, looking down at his foot and seeing the remains of albino frogs crushed between his claws. “I’m finding my own way out of here.”

As Rytlock marched away into the gloomy ruins, Logan shook his head. “Good riddance.”

“We shouldn’t split up,” Caithe said.

“Not much choice.” He turned to her. “Where to now?”

“It’s strange. I sense a presence here. Something magical.”

“Well, then, lead the way.”

Caithe stepped out ahead of him and strode down the slope. Logan hoisted his war hammer and went along.

The city was indeed built on a dwarven scale: Logan had to duck his head to look through windows. Markings on the walls had the deep-etched angularity of dwarven runes, and along the main way was a metalwork shop every hundred paces.

“Definitely dwarves,” Logan said. He peered into a burned-out building, with charred tables and chairs and a burst beer tun.

Caithe meanwhile stood at the corner of the building, peering down the cross-street. “Yes. Dwarves.”

Logan came to her, rounding the corner to see the undeniable proof—a dwarven skeleton in chain and plate armor lying on a pile of rubble.

Caithe crouched down to look more closely at the rubble pile. The broken stones seemed almost to fit together. “Here’s what killed him.”

“What?” Logan asked. “These stones killed him?”

“These stones are the remains of a destroyer—a monster of elemental magma. A whole hive must have erupted into this chamber and burned every living thing in it.”

“They conquered it only to vanish?”

Caithe nodded grimly. “Destroyers care only about killing. They are forged from the molten heart of their master—Primordus, first of the Elder Dragons to rise. The dwarves forestalled his coming, but at a terrible price. They are all but gone now, and Primordus is rising to destroy all races.”

Logan took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s try to keep things a little lighter, yeah? How about finding this presence of yours down here?”

Caithe lifted her head, listening, and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply and pointed. “This way.”

She set off down the street—a wide, cobbled way that grew wider as they went. Soon, the avenue split around medians, where stone sculptures depicted dwarves—working, fighting, drinking. One tableau showed dwarves in battle against destroyers.

“Just ahead,” Caithe said, hurrying forward.

Logan marched double time up the avenue, which bent around the massive wall of a dwarven palace. On the far side, the avenue entered a great arch against the stone wall. Logan scratched his head. “They must have been carving a new passage when the destroyers attacked.”

“No.” Caithe pointed toward the base of the arch, where a massive blue crystal hung loose from its facing. As a breeze wafted past, the stone swung toward the wall, which sparked slightly. “This is an asura gate. It’s probably from when Primordus was first put back to sleep. Watch.” She knelt beside the stone and pressed it into its housing.

Suddenly, the gate flashed with light.

Logan and Caithe shielded their faces. Only as their eyes adjusted could they see what strobed within the archway.

Visions. Beautiful visions . . . a grassy plain where wild horses ran . . . a deep lagoon encircled by leaning palms . . . a great glacier with snowcapped peaks in blue . . . a sere desert where crystalline statues stood . . .

“Ow!” Caithe said, letting go of the crystal. It was glowing red, and smoke rose from a chunk out of one side. “It’s damaged. Someone smashed it to close the gate.”

“Can we get it to work long enough to get out of here?” Logan asked, pushing the stone into place again.

. . . a deep rain forest . . . a hamlet in a hanging valley . . . a bustling harbor jammed with junks . . . a white city with gleaming spires . . .

“That was Divinity’s Reach!” Logan said, stepping toward the gate. Already, though, the scene had changed to a city-size white tree within a steaming jungle . . .

“And that was the Grove!” Caithe said.

Logan hissed, releasing the crystal and shaking his hand. “That thing’s overloading. We’ll have just one last chance at this before it blows completely. And if we jump through at the wrong time, who knows where we’ll end up.”

“Maybe I can call to the Grove. Maybe the tree can prolong the contact.”

She began to sing:

Oh, come to me, heart of the wyld.
Oh, hear this lost sylvari child,
Away from wood and glade and briar—
Entombed within a world of fire.

Rytlock was still hearing Caithe’s vibrant voice echoing through his head. It was almost as if she were just around the corner.

“That’s it,” Rytlock growled, sliding Sohothin upward. A feeble blue flame flickered around the twisted metal blades and then flared to life, roaring and crackling. “Ah! Light!”

The fire shone across the ruined street where he stood, revealing burned buildings and shattered walls, dwarven skeletons and dead destroyers. But it also revealed something else. Something worse.

Live
destroyers.

They hunkered in an alcove of the cavern wall, their lava figures barely flickering with fire. But the flaming sword seemed to awaken them. One destroyer shifted, its insectile head rotating toward him. Fire blazed from eye sockets and mandibles. The beast jolted up, joints liquefying to lava and arms rising.