The first half of HoT, because doing the entire thing in one go was 45+ pages long and that’s a bit much even for me. (After editing it’s come down to closer to 40 pages but still splitting it up is probably nice.)

I did not kill off Eir, because she’s too cool to kill off like that; she deserved better even in-game. Can’t believe she couldn’t fight back even a little. I’ve been getting further into LW3 and I realize this is going to change Braham’s storyline drastically, but I don’t see a real problem with that yet. I guess it gets labelled ‘canon-divergent’ at that point.

Another canon-divergent bit: Malyck. I was disappointed not to see him again. But if he does come back in future story updates, I can always edit!

Contents:
– 1: The Agony of Hope
– 2: What a Lark This Is!
– 3: Eir
– 4: The Golden City

Part 5: The Dragon’s Reach

 

Part 6: The Agony of Hope

1: The Agony of Hope

He was numb as he knelt helplessly on the clifftop; before him flickered an endless sea of leaves and flames. His sap was frozen within his veins, his breath choked off in his lungs, and there were tears in his eyes. All he could do was stare in disbelief and fear. The Glory of Tyria was impaled in three places, held aloft by vines of the same girth as the Pale Tree, her lovely dragonfly wings shattered. She was lying on her side, no sign of movement on her decks, and the fire still burning within suggested that there were no survivors on her now.

He found Damara’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “Hey. Hey. Caoilfhionn. Come on. We have to help. There’s survivors. I’m sure they know what happened to Trahearne and the others.”

Of course. No one would believe that Trahearne would be killed in the first attack… would he? And yet he couldn’t breathe until he knew for sure. And there was that pressure in his head, faint but insistent. Damara helped him to his feet, her jungle spider skittering behind her.

Wegaff was on his other side. “Come on, you’re the brave one. We’re a team, don’t forget.” He nodded.

“Stay sharp,” Annhilda was saying, cutting off everyone else’s shocked murmurs. “Mordremoth may have hit the Pact hard, but it’s up to us to pick up the pieces. Let’s go down- Braham!”

Braham was already running full tilt down the slope towards a small cluster of Pact soldiers huddled within a large ring-shaped piece of wreckage. “Hey! I’m Eir Stegalkin’s son. I want to know where she is.”

“Braham, you can’t just run off like that,” Annhilda warned him as they came up behind. “We’re in enemy territory.” And night was falling, rapidly, the sky covered in thick grey clouds past the black smoke.

“Commander!” cried Laranthir of the Wild, sitting strangely still in the centre of the ring as the other Pact soldiers watched him carefully. “You’re a welcome sight. The situation is grim.”

“You can say that again,” Annhilda said. “I’m glad you survived. Give me everything you know.”

“Trahearne and Destiny’s Edge were taken prisoner,” Laranthir said, and Caoilfhionn’s legs folded under him. Thank the Pale Tree, he was alive. He could be rescued. “They were alive, but now MIA. And the remaining soldiers no longer trust me.”

“And you’re surprised?” Marjory said. “Scarlet, Aerin, and now this. Mordremoth always uses Sylvari to do its dirtiest work.”

“Marjory?” Damara said, as surprised as Caoilfhionn at the sudden attack. “That’s not their fault.”

“Any word on Rhyoll and the other engineers?” Annhilda asked.

Laranthir shook his head. “I do not know. Their ship was much further down the line from the Glory. I know many ships continued the attack; we can only guess where they went after we went down.”

The Charr Priory Explorer in front of Laranthir glared at him, her hand on her gun. “First things first. We need to strengthen the defenses around here. Our priority has to be salvaging weapon parts from the crash site.”

“What about our comrades in the cavern?” asked Laranthir, gesturing carefully to the northwest. “The Pact does not abandon its own.”

“Look around, ‘sir‘,” said Explorer Metella. “There is no more Pact. And the prisoners you want to save are probably already dead.”

“Think it through, soldier,” Laranthir said, a touch of his Warmaster tone coming through. “We need greater numbers, or any salvage party we send will disappear like the others.”

“Those imprisoned soldiers are all Sylvari. They’re not worth the risk. Even if they’re still on our side, who says they’re alive and ready to fight?”

Braham had been fidgeting, and he flung up his hands now. “This isn’t helping. Just tell us where Destiny’s Edge is. Please.”

“All right, quiet, all of you,” Annhilda said. “Whatever else may be true right now, the Pact is not dead. I need to think. Damara, Phiadi, do you think we can do both of these?”

“Sure,” Damara said. “We’ll need a group to head out on a rescue, a group to head out for salvage, and a group to defend this position since we’ve got this lovely wall to keep the Mordrem out.”

“The above-ground ones, anyway,” Phiadi said. “I’ll agree with Damara. As long as these minions stay professional and obey orders without whinging, we can resurrect this.”

“All right, then,” Annhilda said. “Listen up, everyone! We’ve suffered a serious setback, but we’re far from beaten. Laranthir is still your commanding officer, and he has my full confidence. Clear?”

“Yes, Commander!” said an Asura Vigil Crusader. “Crusader Gatt, reporting for duty!”

“Laranthir, you and Damara are leading the search-and-rescue team. Phiadi, you’re with Metella leading the salvage team. I’m going to fortify this position.”

“It’s not worth risking more lives to save Sylvari prisoners,” said Metella. “They’re already gone. Sylvari belong to Mordremoth.”

“You’re a fool,” Canach retorted. “Only weak-willed Sylvari are vulnerable. The rest of us fight back.”

“All right. Damara, who do you want on your team?” Annhilda asked.

“I’d like to go,” said the Asura Crusader. “I believe in you, Warmaster.”

“Thank you, Gatt,” said Laranthir.

“Okay, then you, and Caoilfhionn, and Canach, and Rox and Braham,” Damara said. “Sound fair?”

“Sounds good to me,” Annhilda said. “Get going. Phiadi, who are you taking?”

“Good luck,” Wegaff said to Caoilfhionn.

Damara nodded to Laranthir, who stretched, shook himself, and gestured for them to follow him. He led them away from the camp to the base of a small cliff, where there was an ancient archway over a tunnel of stairs leading downwards. Caoilfhionn tried to control his breathing. Being on the move, having something to do, it helped. He wondered if it was the same for Braham.

There was a call from above and ahead. “Can anyone hear me? We’re up here!”

“Look, stairs,” Crusader Gatt said, pointing. Caoilfhionn stared at him a brief moment longer than necessary. His voice was… not important. He had to focus now.

They dashed up the stairs and into a camp of – oh no. There were Mordrem here, but not the ones they had seen before. These were no mindless husks and animalistic beasts. These were… people, plant people, like horrifying, monstrous cousins to Sylvari. Their eyes glowed red like the beast types, their faces near-skeletal, their bodies armoured in heavy bark. Nothing about them was beautiful, only purely functional.

And they spoke. “Welcome, fodder. So nice of you to come to us. Mordremoth has plans for you all.”

“Get us out of here!” cried one of the Pact Sylvari, in a vine cage.

“Get them!” yelled Damara. “Braham and Canach in front! Everyone else, shoot straight and keep your eyes on those rifles! Caoilfhionn, get those cages open! Murlie, hit that big guy for me, will you?” Her jungle spider chattered and skittered forward, tiny feet tapping on the rocky ground, spitting poison at the Mordrem.

Caoilfhionn flung himself at the nearest cage, ripping it apart with his daggers. The Sylvari inside grinned at him. “I knew someone would come for us. Thanks!”

“Ready to fight?” he asked her, adrenaline rushing through his own body.

“Yes, sir!”

Together they ran to the next cage. “Caoilfhionn!” said the Sylvari inside.

“Mabbran!” Caoilfhionn set him free. “You’re wounded!” He cast healing Water on him, on his brow where sap had run down, on his bleeding leg.

“I’m fine,” Mabbran said. “I’m ready to kill the enemy. All I need is my rifle and a clear line of sight.”

“Where is it?” Caoilfhionn said, looking about.

“Lost in the jungle, probably, sadly,” said the first Sylvari. “Let’s grab some of theirs.”

“I like this idea,” said Mabbran.

“Look out,” barked Rox, shoving them as one of the enemy fired one of those strange rifles. It burnt a line through the dark evening air next to them, light lingering ominously where it had been.

“There is no escape. You will all serve the Jungle Dragon,” said the tallest Mordrem, a hulking brute swinging his hammer at Canach, who dodged nimbly away. Caoilfhionn zapped himself to the sniper, stunning her and stabbing her – but her bark armour-skin was thick, and his blade glanced off. Before he could follow up with anything, she had recovered, swinging her rifle at his head and rolling away as he ducked.

Suddenly that distant pressure that still buzzed in his head grew stronger, and he heard a booming voice saying “This world is mine.”

Mabbran hissed. “Dammit, not again.”

“That’s going to get old quick,” said the other Sylvari. They were both behind him, weaponless, looking to help him corner the sniper and take her rifle. The sniper dodged again, then took aim at him, nearly at point-blank range. He hissed and flung himself out of the way as one of those beams lanced at him.

An arrow pierced her throat and she slumped, the rifle falling from her hands. “There you go!” Rox called.

Mabbran had blinked forward before the other Sylvari could, catching the rifle before it hit the ground. “Yours next, Heulwen.” Caoilfhionn had turned to the next cage. There were still too many cages about.

As he reached it, he stumbled as a rumble crashed through his mind like dark lightning. “I am the reason you exist. I am the purpose you serve. Obey me!”

“Ignore his voice!” Laranthir cried. “We are the children of the Pale Tree! We are members of the Pact! Mordremoth is our enemy!”

“Aye!” cheered the Pale Reavers around him, even the ones who were obviously struggling. Caoilfhionn lifted his head. He knew who he was. The whispers, the foreign urge to attack his friends, they could not confuse him. His purpose was to find Trahearne. He wrenched open the cage.

When all the Mordrem lay dead, they freed the last few Sylvari he’d not made it to. It was nearly completely dark under those clouded smokey skies, and it was difficult to return where they had been. Even with a couple lanterns, and Caoilfhionn’s magic to illuminate their steps, the jungle was confusing and unfamiliar, and the camp’s fire would not be visible through the wreckage that shielded it and the cliffs that separated them. Rox sniffed out the trail somehow, and they made their way wearily to the wreckage where the Pact forces were encamped. They were challenged by a scout, and made ready answer.

“You’re back,” Annhilda said, as they trooped into the firelight, Laranthir coming to attention before her, Damara copying him. “Good. Anyone who knows anything about turrets, come help over here. Everyone else, go rest. It’s a long time until daylight.”

“I don’t like this,” said Explorer Metella. “So many crazies. Keep those twigs away from me, or I’ll use them as kindling.”

Canach sneered at her. “Did you just condemn my entire race? It seems the Dragon brings out the worst in you, too.”

“Hey!” Annhilda said. “What did I just say!?”

“We met a Pact Sylvari on the way,” Kasmeer explained. “He… it was awful. The Dragon took his mind right in front of us. We had to kill him. We… made it quick.”

“How horrible,” Caoilfhionn murmured. Then winced as Mordremoth’s voice rumbled again.

“Kill them or cripple them. Then bring them to me.”

He got up and went to Annhilda. “He’s speaking again… I fear we may be attacked very soon.”

“Good to know,” Annhilda said, glancing at the others. Some of them were holding their heads, but most were trying to show no reaction. “Everyone, ready up! We’re-”

A beam of red light burned through the middle of camp, striking one of the Pale Reavers in the chest. She died with a pained gasp, her chest a smoking crater. Everyone sprang up, Damara already loosing an arrow in the direction of the beam. “Metella, get us some light!” Annhilda shouted, charging from the camp, shield forward. “Support each other, try not to get sniped!”

There was a loud click, and floodlights bathed the ground in front of the camp in brilliant white light, bright as noon, harsh shadows stretching behind everything in front of the lights. Caoilfhionn squinted, his sensitive eyes pained by the sudden light, but the Mordrem were taken even more off-guard, shielding their eyes with weapons and hands. “Let’s see them snipe us now!” Phiadi cried gleefully, and ordered her minions forward with a sweep of her scythe-like staff.

Blinking rapidly to try and recover, Caoilfhionn ran forward, though less recklessly than he normally would, sending fire raking across his enemies, dodging hideous thorny blades and misshapen bludgeoning instruments, his breath hot in his lungs. He was in a very bad mood, his head hurt, his heart hurt, and he did not have complete control of his power.

There was a flare of light off to the left, and Caoilfhionn looked in time to catch a portal opening and a strange-looking Charr bursting out of it. He drew a flaming sword – and then Caoilfhionn knew him for Rytlock, whom Rox had said vanished into the Mists. Two mounted Mordrem charged towards him, and he swung his sword. A dragon of light rose before him and slammed into the Mordrem, through them, and they fell dead before him.

Rytlock growled ferociously. “Sharpen your blades and guard your vitals – I’m back!”

“Rytlock!” Annhilda yelled. “Good to see you. Could use your help!”

Caoilfhionn had never seen magic like that before, and apparently neither had Wegaff, because he heard a long whistle from his friend, as Rytlock jumped into the fray, Sohothin slashing with strange spells. With that sort of advantage on the Pact’s side, the Mordrem soon broke off and retreated into the blackness of night. Rytlock growled at their backs and made his way across the battlefield to Annhilda. “Hope you don’t mind me joining in, Commander.”

“Greatly appreciated,” Annhilda said. “Welcome back.”

“Tribune?” Rox exclaimed. “You’re alive! But where have you been? And what’s that new magic you’re using?”

“Later, cub. All you need to know is that I’m back and I’m better than ever. Right now we’ve got comrades to rescue and dragon minions to kill.”

“Rytlock’s right,” Annhilda said. “We need to find Destiny’s Edge and hit Mordremoth where it lives.” She shook Rytlock’s hand. “Glad to have you back, Tribune. Time for us to kill another Elder Dragon.”

Laranthir approached, looking a lot less tense than he had at dusk. “Commander? I’m certain there are more Pale Reavers out there. I’d like to gather them together and take command. As a Sylvari-only unit, we can monitor and protect ourselves from threats both internal and external. If any of us show signs of… faltering, the others will do what needs to be done.”

“All right,” Annhilda said. “Request granted. Good luck, Laranthir.”

“Did anyone overhear anything that might be useful?” Rox said to the Pale Reavers. “Especially about Destiny’s Edge? We know they were taken prisoner.”

“I saw Mordrem force-marching high-value prisoners west, deeper into the jungle,” Mabbran said. “I can’t say for certain I saw Destiny’s Edge, but there was the Glory’s captain for one.”

Annhilda clicked her tongue, thinking. “We need to gather the Pact’s scattered forces before we’re all picked off. We need to learn the lay of the land and how to navigate these sharp elevation changes. We need lines of supply and communication. And we need to head west to rescue as many prisoners as we can.”

“Are we splitting up, then?” Braham said. “I want to scout ahead west.”

“Not yet,” Annhilda said. “We still have too few resources.”

“Well I have a solution to the elevation changes and chasms everywhere,” Phiadi said, and did a complicated summoning motion. A pair of boney wings crawled from the soil and to her shoulders, unfurling into a simple frame with spectral essence forming the webs. “We need to be able to just jump and glide from one place to another.”

“Okay, that’s great for you,” Rox said. “But what about the rest of us? We’re not necromancers, most of us, and that looks a bit flimsy for me.”

“All right,” Annhilda said. “Gliders. Great. We can make that happen. Just as soon as we find Rhyoll and the other smiths. So catch some rest, we’re going to head north tomorrow to look for other survivors near the other crashed ships. Laranthir, you’ll remain here to secure the area.”

“Thank you, Commander. I’ll head south, to the high ground. That’s where the Pale Reavers are trained to go.”

“What about the rest of us?” Metella demanded.

Annhilda shot her a glare. “If you’re so determined to skip out on this fight, you can be in charge of getting the wounded back to the Silverwastes. Amber Sandfall should be secure.”

Metella growled. “I’m not skipping out. I just don’t want to be left here with a bunch of-” Canach cleared his throat. “…Sylvari.”

“You’re going to have to get over that,” Annhilda said. “I can’t make you trust them, but making a dolyak out of yourself from paranoia isn’t going to help us beat Mordremoth either. Okay everyone! This jungle is just as deadly as we knew it was going to be, but the good news is that it can’t take us all out at once. Stay together, by Wolf, and I’ll get us all out of this. Now, who’s got pigeons? Anyone?”

---

Traversing the jungle was slow going. The paths of the Heart of Maguuma were twisted and confusing – it was easy to lose one’s direction following the trails that wound about, and often ended abruptly at a tall cliff, or a deep chasm. Giant vines, still holding aloft the burning wrecks of airships, were but another obstacle. The sun was often hidden behind clouds bringing thunderstorms, and even Canach’s experienced woodcraft was failing him here, in this new and vicious terrain. Luckily, Rox had a good compass.

But they’d found more Pact forces, many of them concentrated in a large camp northwest of the Pale Reavers’ outpost. The officers had managed to maintain order, though at the expense of all their Sylvari, who were fearfully segregated away from the other soldiers. Annhilda was enthusiastically welcomed, and the officers informed her of all they’d learned, which was not much – but Caithe had been spotted, at least. She, too, was here, for whatever reason, and Caoilfhionn knew he would have to find her soon.

Caoiflhionn’s siblings Eithne and Ruadhan had not been found, and as sick with worry as he was for Trahearne, he had yet more space to worry about them. They had joined to follow him, to help him, and he would feel wretched if they had died because of- no, not because of him. Because of Mordremoth. Their ship had not been found yet, so it was possible they had escaped harm. He had to hope for that, too.

There was another worry that had not occurred to him for years: Malyck. Malyck’s tree had been from this area. He had not looked like a Mordrem, but he’d had no knowledge of his parent tree, of his siblings, of the Dream of Dreams. Would he have any idea what was happening? Would he have been able to resist and retain his mind?

Annhilda was soon swimming in management and logistics issues for the troops, and left the search for missing soldiers, and Destiny’s Edge, to her guild. With Rox and Canach in the lead, they scouted in all directions where the burning airships could be seen. There were many survivors scattered throughout the jungle, holding on through tenacity, or sheer luck, and these were directed back to the main camp. Every time they returned, the camp was more crowded, with more people, more tents, until it actually started to look like an army.

During one of their scouting trips, they came across a local tribe of hylek called the Itzel. They were as much under assault from the Mordrem as a the pact, and immediately welcomed an alliance. In exchange for military aid, they shared their knowledge of the jungle: what was safe to eat, how to make simple gliders, and use the air currents, and most importantly: all the Mordrem troop movements their scouts had sighted, including a remarkable prisoner transport: a single Sylvari, Human, Asura and Norn were personally escorted westward by one of the Mordrem commanders.

Through every waking hour and slithering into every dream, Mordremoth’s voice hissed through the forest, constantly calling to the Sylvari, whispering when not booming, distracting them at best – Canach brushed it off as no more than a fly buzzing, but Caoilfhionn thought he was stretching the truth – and twisting them to mind-wiped foes at worst. Many Pact Sylvari gravitated towards the Pale Reavers even if they had not been part of that unit before, simply to get away from the prejudice of the non-Sylvari, to find solidarity with their siblings, to collectively shield each other against the Dragon’s call.

They were constantly harassed by the Mordrem Guard, whether skirmishes with scouting parties or pitched assaults on their camps. Their defense of the jungle was far more cunning and aggressive than the Risen had been of Orr, vicious and bloody, and the Pact had to adapt rapidly or die in those first few days and nights. Their main camp seemed so small amidst everything, small and vulnerable…

Caoilfhionn found himself unable to sleep much those nights even when they were not attacked. Though he knew Trahearne to be alive, and far too valuable to kill, his heart ached for him and what he must be enduring. Trahearne knew himself, and would not be easily overcome by the Dragon’s power even if Sylvari were the ones susceptible to Mordremoth’s call, but if the Dragon chose to bend all his power upon Trahearne alone… could he withstand it? For surely the Marshal of the Pact would be a great prize of a champion for Mordremoth to gain, for his knowledge of everything within the Pact, and for his immense power as a learned Firstborn.

Every nebulous fear he’d ever had about Trahearne had come true, and he felt angry that he had not paid more attention to them. So he lay awake at night, in a constant state of worry and weariness, unable to wander the edges of camp in case some Pact soldier took him to have gone crazy and tried to murder him.

Kasmeer came by one of those nights. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“I am.”

She sighed sympathetically and sat beside him. He didn’t mind her being there. She probably understood better than most of the others, being a bright, hopeful person whose love was a necromancer constantly in danger. “I’d tell you to try and sleep, but I know you know you ought to try and sleep. So… how are you?”

He shook his head. “I can’t stop. I can’t bear this waiting. I know we’re not ready to go further in and it chafes me, I…” All at once everything that simmered just under his surface came welling up and tears ran down. “I can’t bear this. I’d give anything – I’d give everything to have him back.” Was this what Tiachren had felt when Ysvelta had been taken from him?

One of Kasmeer’s warm arms wrapped about his shoulders; it was not Trahearne’s arm but it was comforting just the same. “Shh, shh. You’re not alone. Braham’s suffering too. And we’re all here for you both. But you have to keep it together until we find him. We need you so much.”

He leaned into her embrace. “I can’t. I can’t smile for you now.”

“Not now, then. I miss it, but I understand. But stay with us.”

“Of course. I’ll fight to the last of my strength, you can count upon that.”

She touched his leaves. “What’s this? You’ve got some yellow here.”

He’d known his leaves were getting dry around the edges, particularly the little ones closer to his scalp. “It’s just stress. I’ll live.”

“You’re drinking enough water, right?”

“Yes. It’s not that causing it.”

She was quiet a moment. “You know what I want to do while we’re here?” He didn’t answer, but she continued anyway. “I saw a huge tree not far from here, or the remains of one, anyway. It’s so big, I can’t even imagine what it was like when it was not just a stump. I want to climb it. I imagine the view would be amazing, I think it’s nearly as big as a Shiverpeak mountain. I wonder if I could see the Shiverpeaks from the top, even. Do you think such a big tree could be the ancestor of the Pale Tree?”

“Since Mordremoth made her seed, probably not,” Caoilfhionn said.

“He didn’t have to have made her seed out of thin air. Though it does seem to be a different type of tree… Anyway, I know we’re not here to look around. We’ve got a mission and we’re going to see it through. But this place is amazing, if you can spare the space to look.”

He sighed against her shoulder. “I do not. You will have to look for me. Please, look for me.”

“I’ll look at everything and remember it so that after this is all over, we can come back and look around properly.”

“It’ll still be dangerous, I’m sure.”

“As long as we don’t get lost. …Will you be able to try and rest now?”

“I’ll lie down,” Caoilfhionn said. “I don’t know if I can sleep.”

“Maybe you should try lavender tea. It helps me to sleep, at least.”

“If there are any in the supplies,” Caoilfhionn said. “Otherwise I will endure.”

She patted his shoulder as he lay down on his side. “Sleep well, Caoilfhionn. I’ll look into it.”

---

2: What a Lark This Is!

It took them a week to find the wreck of the Mellaggan’s Valour where the engineers had gone down, to find that they had managed to survive and stick together. They were actually doing quite well, and the quaggan Shashoo of all people had taken command. Caoilfhionn was proud of her, they had met years ago when he was still a sprout, still a junior Explorer with the Priory. He’d helped her then defend her village from Icebrood, and she had grown as much as he had in the intervening time.

Rhyoll was very happy to see them. “Annhilda! Damara! …Everybody! What’ve you been up to?”

Annhilda sighed. “Don’t ask.”

Rhyoll laughed jovially. “That bad, huh? Well, don’t worry about us. I still wish the jungle was suitable for tanks, but we’ve been holding our own.”

“Looks like it,” Damara said, looking in amazement at the plethora of turrets, small cannons, and traps that protected the camp beneath the hull of the airship. “I knew you’d be all right! I’m glad. What are the pyres for?” She pointed at the two large burnt patches filled with ashes, wood, and tiny bits of remains.

Rhyoll snuffled regretfully. “The Mordrem have been collecting bodies. We don’t know why, but it can’t be good, so we burn ’em. Like we did with the Risen.”

“I see,” Annhilda said. “We’re reassembling, slowly but surely, and we’re going to take it on foot after all – we don’t have a choice. We’ve got a big defensible camp to the south-east, and as soon as we’ve got everyone from this area, we’re going to push west and follow the path of the Fleet. Are you ready to pack up?”

“Not yet,” Rhyoll said. “I’ll let Chief Officer Shashoo explain.”

“There is a Blighting Tree to the north,” Shashoo said in her sing-song quaggan voice. “Many Mordrem come from there. We must destroy it before we leave Mellaggan’s Valour.”

“We’ve salvaged a fair number of explosives from the wreckage,” Beigarth the Norn smith said. “We’re going to pack as many as we can into the Blighting Tree’s trunk, set the detonators, and then run.” Occam, the Sylvari smith, shook his head and muttered something about madness.

“A sound strategy,” Annhilda said, and Occam sighed. “When were you planning to launch?”

“When you came,” Shashoo said. “We were going to go tomorrow if you did not. But you are here now, so we can move out immediately!”

“Excellent,” Annhilda said. “Let’s go blow up a tree!”

Caoilfhionn was not prepared for this tree. It was nothing like the Pale Tree; smaller, first off, with unnaturally dark bark, ghastly, jagged, twisted, like it had grown up sick, and it was festooned with sickly bright green pods full of green fluid that oozed down into the depths of the jungle. But it had the same purpose. Every one of those pods was filled with developing Mordrem Guard, and they emerged full-grown just like a Sylvari.

The raid was brutal and vicious, for the Mordrem Guard fought like demons to protect their base and the Pact had to fight just as fiercely to break through, giving cover to the engineers as they charged to the main pillars of the tree, armed with piles of explosives.

Caoilfhionn, of course, was in the forefront of the fighting, his task to seek out snipers and flank the heavy hitters. He was on the left side, weaving between tree stems, pursuing one Mordrem Guard who dodged before him with equal agility, when he froze, staring.

Malyck did not hesitate, his pistol aimed, firing, and Caoilfhionn reeled as he felt a blow in his right shoulder. “Malyck! Malyck, it’s me, Caoilfhionn! Stay your-” But Malyck’s eyes were a burning crimson, glaring with unchanging malevolence, and he spun, aiming to fire again. Caoilfhionn ducked, pressing his left dagger against his wound to channel his Glyph of Harmony, and felt power surge into him with the healing. “Rhyoll! Rhyoll, I need your help!” If anyone could help him now, it was Rhyoll.

“What’ya need?” Rhyoll said, bounding in his direction, rifle at the ready. “This guy giving you problems?”

“Help me capture him! Please!” Malyck spun again, shooting more aggressively now that Caoilfhionn had gone on the defensive. Rhyoll ducked with a grunt.

“What? Why?”

“He was my friend!” He conjured an Earth shield and held it before both of them.

Rhyoll grunted again, crouching to try to fit behind the shield. “He isn’t anymore.”

“Please, I have to try.”

“Of course you do. All right. Give me a clear shot.”

And the rest of the battle was still going on, all noise and confusion among the pillars of the tree, the shadows and the green ooze still falling around them… Caoilfhionn felt anxious that he was being so selfish, perhaps endangering his friends, but – but it was Malyck! Even if he had fallen to the Dragon, even if his eyes were red and he showed no sign of recognizing or caring about Caoilfhionn…

He threw fire at a Mordrem thrasher trying to get in his way, and charged towards Malyck recklessly; Malyck dodged away. He was no less nimble than Caoilfhionn was, threading his way between roots and branches, leading him on a chase through the corner of the tree that had become their personal battleground. Gunshots and Earth warred with each other, neither fast enough to seriously injure each other, although Caoilfhionn still could not use his right arm well for the pain in his shoulder.

“I can tell you do not wish to fight,” Malyck said, pausing in his assault for the barest moment. “Why resist, then? Join the Dragon and your struggle will be over.”

“I will not! Malyck, fight him! It is not futile!”

Malyck laughed with a flash of teeth. “You’re as foolish as you were when we met! There is no resisting the Dragon.”

So he did remember, but the Dragon made him not care. Caoiflhionn snarled and spun Earth energy about Malyck, twining vines about him that grabbed at his arms and legs. Malyck sheathed his pistols and drew his sword, slashing away the vines viciously and throwing himself at Caoilfhionn. Sword clashed on dagger, magical sparks flying. Now he could sense just how Malyck had changed physically; he could feel his weight and height had grown as Malyck leaned into him, pressing him back.

“This is the opposite of a clean shot, Caoilfhionn!” Rhyoll cried, trying to aim his netting grenade launcher.

“Sorry!”

But weight and height wouldn’t help Malyck here, as Caoilfhionn abruptly gave before the attacks like water, sliding backwards on the rough ground. That sword, flickering scarlet like autumn maple leaves, had reach on him, but he turned aside each strike, or simply wasn’t there. “Malyck… come back. Please. Please try.”

Malyck shook his head and laughed.

“We’ve done it!” Shashoo’s voice echoed through the inner tree in triumph. “Everyone, run! Run now!”

For an instant, he locked eyes with Malyck’s crimson glare. Would he be all right? “Come with us!”

Malyck laughed, looked at the fleeing Pact soldiers, and ran to the edge of the tree, jumping into the abyss beyond. Caoilfhionn cried out, but Rhyoll stomped up to him and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “Come on, twig! We’ve gotta get out of here before everything explodes! Your ex-friend is fine. You can fight him later or whatever.”

---

He traveled with the others back to the Central Pact Encampment, with a high head and dry eyes, but he still could not smile; his cares yet lay too thickly upon him. But he was heartened by Rhyoll’s return; they were looking to have a pretty decent chance at not dying just yet. Rhyoll was thrilled by the challenge of designing gliders for Norn and other Charr, and was knocking out prototypes already on the first evening back. “What do you think of these features?”

“It’s great, but I don’t need features,” Annhilda said. “I need it to fly.”

“Oh, it’ll do that. But you need fine draft control, and brakes, and a bombing harness-”

“No bombing harness,” Annhilda said. “Not yet. Just flight.”

“Oh, fine. Then it’s almost done.”

And when he saw Annhilda first leap into an abyss with Rhyoll’s first custom-designed glider, whooping and laughing, Caoilfhionn found his face lightening involuntarily. She could actually enjoy the sensation of flight, of the wind rushing past her, of the adrenaline of leaping across lethal heights effortlessly. Damara joined her, sharing in her delight with her own glider, her hawk soaring beside her, and he couldn’t help but reflect some of it back, despite everything.

There was still hope, after all.

---

Damara stared blankly at the camp that she found before her. There, on a flat, sunny plateau under a tall rock spire, were gaudy, brightly coloured tents everywhere, interspersed with small café tables and polished chairs, grandfather clocks, chests of drawers, brass candelabras – candelabrae? She wasn’t educated or fancy enough to know the right plural. What was all this? The gentle sound of pleasant music wafted through the air, filtering through cultured conversation and polite laughter. Human nobles, elegantly dressed in robes and gowns, sat about, eating tiny sandwiches and sipping wine and tea as servants waited on them and played for them. It had been nigh two weeks since the disaster, and the Pact had been moving further west, scouting out their next camp – but no one had expected this. Well… now that Damara saw it, she was hardly surprised, but really? Really?

She could feel Annhilda’s blood pressure rising beside her. “What the hells are these idiots doing here!?” the Norn growled under her breath, and then stomped forward into the middle of camp. “What the hells are you doing here!?” she repeated, her voice booming over everything else.

Everyone froze for a moment, some of the nobles glaring at the uncouth Norn who had the audacity to yell in the middle of their civilized party – or that was how Damara read it. The music trailed off stuttering into silence. A human with an eyepatch strode forward. “Good to see you, Commander,” he said, with a long-suffering tone. “I will explain everything.”

“Please do, Master Bongo,” Annhilda said, with very clipped words.

“These… nobles, and sundry, decided to follow the Pact Fleet to… ahem, ‘cheer us on’. They managed to seek us out at our crash site to the south, and I decided to relocate here since they at least have a more defensible position than we landed in. We’ve had the great fortune not to be attacked by anything worse than wyverns and treefrogs since we arrived.”

“You’re incredibly lucky,” Annhilda said. “We’ve been facing Mordrem attacks daily. How are we going to get these idiots out of here?”

“We have a few Charr copters left, and the quicker they’re out, the better,” Damara said, soothing her hawk on her shoulder. “It would take them at least four days on foot, and they’d need an escort…”

“But we need the copters, too, and we’re short enough on them as it is,” Annhilda said, and sighed irritably, staring around at all the trying-to-look-innocent Human faces surrounding her. They swarmed about her, hopefully, but she towered head and shoulders over them; she would not be persuaded by anything they had to offer or say, and they knew it.

One noblewoman, whom Damara vaguely knew as Baroness Jasmina, stepped forward towards Annhilda. “I won’t deny we acted foolishly, Commander, and we have no wish to inconvenience you more than necessary. But I’m afraid we must inconvenience you a little bit, as we cannot escape this jungle on our own – even with Faren’s help.”

“I knew he’d be here,” Annhilda muttered.

“Oh, yes, he’s been marvelous!” gushed another woman, Minister Merula. “He’s slain many wyverns to protect us!”

“It was also his bloody brilliant idea to come here with this lot,” growled Bongo.

“Did someone mention my name?” said a boisterous voice, and Faren strode into view. Unlike all the other nobles, he was not wearing court finery – in fact, he was wearing nothing but a loincloth, made of leather that looked artificially distressed. His rapier was sheathed through it, clashing immensely in style.

“Oh by Lyssa’s face, Faren,” Damara sighed under her breath in exasperation, but she couldn’t help staring. She had heard Annhilda complimenting his physique after seeing him at Southsun, but she hadn’t seen him then herself so this was her first exposure to… those abs. He really did work out when he wasn’t philandering, didn’t he? And a little bit of chest hair, too, nice.

She shook her head violently, saw Caoilfhionn glance at her in confusion. She despised him! He was a dumbass! A sweet, goodnatured… handsome dumbass…

Annhilda glared at him, and he shrank slightly, like a bug on a plate. “I’m sorry?”

“Sorry’s not good enough,” Annhilda said shortly. “Fine, Damara. We’ll bring up the copters. Get them all out of here and hope we don’t lose any more soldiers and equipment to vines and snipers.”

“Vines and snipers?” asked Merula anxiously.

“It’s either risk that, and be out of here in an afternoon, or go on foot, tying up even more Pact personnel, and even more vines and snipers, for four days,” Jasmina said to her. The minister blanched.

“I’m glad you have half a head on your shoulders,” Annhilda said. “Damara?”

“We’re under attack!” Canach cried from the bridge they had come from. “Mordrem Guard!”

“Mordrem Guard?” Annhilda snapped. “To arms! If you can’t fight, stay the hell back and out of sight! Everybody else, to me! Let’s put some of this trash to good use!”

“Wh-what do you mean?” wavered Merula, looking nervously at one of the piles of completely useless frippery, probably the one belonging to her. Jasmina grabbed her arm and dragged her back behind the cliff.

“I’ll fight with you!” Faren cried, drawing his rapier and stepping up beside the Pact soldiers as they took defensive positions around the end of the bridge.

“Just keep him away from me,” Bongo said, drawing his own sword.

“Put on some damn pants!” Damara took the opportunity to yell at him, while it could be excused as ‘heat of the moment’. She was scanning the undergrowth for snipers behind the Mordrem emerging from the jungle. She didn’t see any yet, and nocked an arrow, aiming at the lead Mordrem.

“Fear not, my lady! I learned the ways of the jungle in this attire! Conquered its dangers! And it’s quite refreshing. I think it’ll be the new thing in ol’ DR once I get back.”

“Shut your mouth and fight!” Annhilda cried, hurling a glass café table top like a discus into the oncoming Mordrem Guard. One of them caught it in the middle and fell back, not dead, but at least too injured to fight.

The nobles’ voices rose in a twittering outcry like a flock of frightened birds. “What are you doing? That’s valuable!”

Annhilda hucked the closest grandfather clock at a mounted Mordrem Guard, the clock shattering in a crash of thin wood and glass, a sproing of springs and the cry of a disgruntled artificial cuckoo. The Mordrem was buffeted to the edge of the bridge, where Caoilfhionn engulfed it in a blast of fire, knocking it into the abyss beneath. Damara was loosing arrow after arrow into the oncoming Mordrem, silently cursing their thick natural armour. It was like trying to shoot trees if you didn’t hit them in the head. Her hawk Lina was doing her best, making them cover their eyes from her beak, but that was more interfering with her arrows than helping. Her spider Murlie was more helpful, climbing off her back to throw poison into their midst, and they were not immune to that. Annhilda was still picking up pieces of noble paraphernalia and using them as improvised missiles, now grabbing large sturdy suitcases and hurling them forwards. She was so strong, Damara marveled; she could throw all this heavy stuff so far. Canach was joining in, sticking to lighter things like candelabras and chairs.

“No, my shoes!” wailed Minister Merula as one suitcase tumbled off the edge of the cliff.

“Damn your shoes!” Annhilda yelled. “How many shoes does one person need?”

“That was twenty-seven pairs! All gone…”

“It’s a good thing madam has another eighty-five pairs at home,” said Merula’s maid calmly.

“You’re not taking any of this garbage back with you, so it may as well go to use right here!” Annhilda said. “No complaining! You were the ones who decided to bring… clocks to a warzone!”

Bongo was chuckling dryly. Caoilfhionn was silent, but that was the new, depressing normal. Canach snorted and kept helping.

Bongo had spoken truly about the defensibility of their position, and while the Pact held the high ground and the only two approaches, the Mordrem were unable to dislodge them and pulled back. “Huzzah!” cried Faren, who had somehow made it through everything unscathed – though not for lack of trying. “We are victorious once again!” He turned to the cowering nobles. “It is safe, my dears! Fear not, I shall never fail to defend you!”

“Oh, thank the Six,” Merula fluttered. “You were truly heroic, Lord Faren!”

“Okay, Damara, you have a pigeon for me?” Annhilda said. “We need to call in those copters asap.”

Damara rummaged in her Backpack of Holding for the emergency pigeon cage. “All set.”

Annhilda took the cage, tucking it under one arm, and began scratching with some charcoal on a scrap of paper while the pigeon cooed anxiously. Faren, having received the accolades – or at least acknowledgements – of his female friends, came over to her. “Lady Damara! How nice to see you again. I should have expected to see you here. Did you like my fighting?”

“Lord Faren,” Damara said, and sighed. “Yes, you were fine.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t sigh like that,” Faren said. “It makes me feel awfully low when you look at me that way.”

“Look, my lord,” Damara said. “I know you want to help. You’re a good man – flightiness aside. But you really have to stop getting so excited and jumping in feet-first.”

“I’m sorry!” he said again. “I didn’t think there would be any harm in it. We weren’t in the front line. We just wanted to watch. I didn’t think we’d get attacked, and not in the way we did.” He brightened. “At least I’ve gotten a chance to complete my training as a swordmaster under dear Bongo!”

“Yes, you did seem quite confident,” Damara said, and couldn’t help a smile. “I bet I could beat you, though.” She wasn’t nearly as good with a sword as she was with her bow, but even though she didn’t have Faren’s grace, she could be effective with it when she needed to be. She was still alive, after all.

He beamed at her. “Is that a challenge, m’lady?”

“No, no. That’s a distraction I don’t need.” Especially with him not wearing… anything. “You should grab some clothes before the copters come.”

“I will not,” Faren said. “I like it like this.”

Damara resisted the urge to facepalm. “Well, it’s a bit chilly in Divinity’s Reach, this time of year…” Halloween had passed a couple weeks ago, and normally she’d be thinking about what to get her family for Wintersday already. This year her gift would have to be a dead dragon.

“Ah… Well… I suppose. Is there anything I can do for you when I get back?”

Kind of him to offer, even though it was a rather useless gesture… “Will you let Andrew and Petra at Salma’s Mug tavern know that I’m all right?”

“Oh, yes, of course! It would be a pleasure to reassure them. Well… er… best of luck to you! Wish I could stay, but someone must protect Jasmina and Merula!”

“Mmhmm,” Damara said. “Safe trip.” She watched him scurry away to find his actual clothes, even though she really shouldn’t have. But he did have a nice butt, too. She really wanted to slap it – but that wouldn’t be allowed even if she wasn’t a commoner.

Annhilda, having sent off the pigeon, whistled and gestured. “Everyone going back east, gather on the plateau! You may take one object that fits on your person and leaves both hands free! Master Bongo, the rest of the Pact forces will be arriving in two hours, strike these tents and dispose of the furniture!”

“Yes, ma’am! Over the edge it goes.” A couple nobles wailed, but they didn’t dare approach Annhilda with her face set and eyes flashing, and a splash of dark Mordrem blood drying on her face.

“Wait wait wait,” Damara said. “Maybe some of the others would like to see it. It’s funny, you know? Good for morale!” At last, Caoilfhionn reacted, some of the tension around his eyes easing. She wished she could do more for him.

“At least move it where it won’t be in the way,” Annhilda said. “We still have eight hundred soldiers coming in.”

Master Bongo shook his head. “Eight hundred… when we began this advance with two-and-a-half thousand.”

“I know. But we’re not out of this fight yet, and by Raven, we’re still going to win it!”

---

3: Eir

Rytlock and Braham had finally been let loose to hunt for the prisoners going west, venturing together into the vastness of the jungle. They were both big, and loud, and Itzel scouts were able to easily direct Annhilda and the rest of Hope’s Legacy – less Wegaff, who stayed with the army – to follow them. The rest of the army was making final preparations for their march south, for south was the only direction the Dragon could lie in now, and once they started marching, Annhilda had no intention of stopping until they were on the Dragon’s doorstep.

But Rytlock and Braham had been absent long enough to either have run into trouble, or found something significant, and Caoilfhionn was relieved to see them unharmed when they caught up the next day.

“What have you found?” Annhilda asked. “I see Mordrem Guard ahead, yes?”

Rytlock nodded “This seems to be a large-scale prisoner containment camp. The Mordrem Guard goes out, collects living and dead bodies, and brings them here. We’ve been watching them since dawn.”

Kasmeer shivered. “Then this is where they grow all the Mordrem we’ve been fighting? Part prison camp, part minion factory…”

“I think they grow them in those Blighting Trees, so this must be more for pre-processing,” Rhyoll said.

“Right,” Rytlock said. “There’s no easy access, but at least one member of Destiny’s Edge is here. I can… feel it.”

“Feelings, Tribune?” Annhilda asked with a raised eyebrow. “From a soldier like you?”

Rytlock snarled. “Cut me some slack. I’m still getting used to this new magic, and… how to describe it. Come on. We think there’s a back way in. Follow me.”

They were both surprisingly quiet as they crept up the cliffside – well, Braham had been a hunter in the Shiverpeaks, at least. Caoilfhionn could hear the Mordrem Guard talking to each other, giving orders, it sounded like. It surprised him. With all the pressure in his head, the whispers and roars, he had thought Mordremoth would micromanage its minions, not delegate tasks… but perhaps it didn’t actually care about strategy itself, only that its will be done, nevermind how.

They had to take a long, winding route through the jungle, up cliffs and through caverns, before they came across the outskirts of the camp on the opposite side, where they surprised a group of Mordrem Guard hauling corpses of Pact, Itzel, and Mordrem. Hope’s Legacy fell upon them swiftly, trying to prevent them from sounding the alarm. Yet even as they slew the monsters, Caoilfhionn felt a subtle change in the pressure in the back of his head. As the others spread out to check that all the bodies were really dead, he gripped his ring tightly and listened a little more carefully to the call, trying to discern what had changed.

It wasn’t actually that difficult, even picking through which parts were his Wyld Hunt twined in with it. Mordremoth was more subtle than Zhaitan, but it was still very loud, and though most of his will was still bent on keeping it out of his head, enough came through to be intelligible.

He looked at Canach, who nodded. “Mordremoth knows we’re here, but it doesn’t seem concerned,” Canach said. “It’s interested, but not… urgent.”

“Yes, I can feel it too,” Caoilfhionn said. “It’s hiding something… or it wants us to think that it is.” But would it tell the other Mordrem Guard to be on the lookout?

“Stay alert,” Annhilda said. “Keep your eyes open and move up to that clearing.”

They crouched in the undergrowth, looking out across a camp that bore a resemblance to the one they’d raided on their first night in the jungle, but far bigger and heavily guarded. It was a very good thing they had not come in the ‘front gate’.

“This is where they keep the live prisoners,” said Rytlock. “Whoever we’re looking for is somewhere nearby.”

“We’ll get you out of here, Mom,” Braham said under his breath. “I swear it.”

“You’re hearing the Dragon?” Damara asked. “Are you going to be okay?”

He nodded. “I’m actually not hearing the Dragon’s voice as strongly or as often as usual, but I know it’s here… It’s up to something.”

Canach huffed. “Mordremoth loves surprises… especially when it’s surprising Sylvari with the fact that its thoughts seem like our own.”

That it sought to take the darkness present in all of us, push it to the surface, and use that to usurp control entirely… “That’s what makes it so dangerous to us. And why we have to keep tabs on each other.”

Canach looked at him sardonically. “And here I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t,” Caoilfhionn said bluntly. “But I’ve… come to trust you as an ally. I don’t want you to lose yourself, and I trust you feel the same about me.”

“I suppose you’re not wrong,” Canach said, with a sigh.

“Everyone ready?” Annhilda said. “Melee in front, ranged behind. Forward!” At her shout, they surged into the open, Annhilda blinking forward in front of all of them, taking the Mordrem Guard entirely by surprise.

Perhaps too much by surprise. If Mordremoth knew they were there, why would it not warn its minions? Unless it wanted to make Hope’s Legacy feel like they were doing well before springing a trap about them…

It was getting to him. His mind and will were still strong but it didn’t have to control him directly to weaken him.

And yet… though the fighting was heated, they were winning, and there was no sign of any trap. He could not help but be distracted. Canach seemed to be fine. He would not be weaker than Canach…

When the Mordrem Guard in the area were slain, they could go about and open all the vine cages. They were more densely made than the ones he’d seen before, and he could not see within them before he cut them open. He found several Pact soldiers, weak and injured, but very happy to be freed.

“Commander, wait,” Canach said, and Caoilfhionn looked up as Canach slashed open a vine cage, releasing a Sylvari inside, but Canach did not lower his whipsword. “This one is Nightmare Court. Shall I kill it?”

“Wait!” cried the Courtier, stumbling away from Canach, holding out her hands peaceably. “I don’t want trouble, I just want to get out of here!”

“Prove it,” said Annhilda harshly. “Start running and don’t stop until you hit Dry Top. Move!” The Courtier fled.

“Weird,” Phiadi said. “Wouldn’t they want to join Mordremoth? They’re both evil, aren’t they?”

“Misguided, one could argue,” Canach said. “The Nightmare Court, for all they are traitorous, cruel, backstabbing bastards, they are still Sylvari. Still our brethren. Mordremoth…”

“The Nightmare Court may be monstrous, but Mordremoth is a far greater monster, and even they know it,” Caoilfhionn said.

“Mordremoth is an abusive dad,” Damara said. “Thank goodness your mom got away from him.”

“One way to put it,” Canach said sardonically.

“Well, that was the last one, and still no sign of our people,” Annhilda said. “Rytlock? Are you still feeling that feeling?”

Rytlock grunted. “Affirmative. And it’s even stronger here. They’re close… just beyond those vine walls.” He pointed with his sword.

“What are we waiting for?” Braham cried, running over to the vines. “Tribune, put your new magic to work and clear us a path. Please!”

As Rytlock approached the vines, drawing on that strange pale magic within him, blasting them down with sheer strength, Canach paced slowly. “I can feel the Dragon’s presence here. It’s palpable, but diffuse. I find it… distracting. Disconcerting.”

“I feel it too,” Caoilfhionn said. “Mordremoth seems focused on this area… indirectly, like it’s staring at us from the corner of its eye.” Why were the whispers so quiet? He did not like hearing them, and yet he did not trust not hearing them.

Canach’s voice got deeper and grimmer. “The deeper we go into this camp, the more it feels like a spider’s web… and we’re the flies.”

“By Grenth, will the two of you stop being creepy?” Damara cried, followed by agreement from Kasmeer, Marjory, and Rox.

“Sorry,” Caoilfhionn stammered. Canach shrugged.

There were a few more vine cages beyond the wall, and one of them shook on hearing their voices, and voices raised from within to catch their attention. “Hey! Over here!”

“Mom!” yelled Braham, running ahead again. “Mom, we’re here. We’ll bust you out of there in no time.”

Eir sighed with relief from inside the cage. “A rescue party… Then Wolf did hear me, in here. They’re starving us… no food or water for days.”

A sharper voice interrupted her. “That’s because Mordremoth doesn’t care if we’re alive or dead when it plugs us into a Blighting Tree. Release us. Now!”

Caoilfhionn’s hand faltered even as he drew his dagger. “Faolain? Why are so many of the Nightmare Court here in the Heart of Maguuma?” Canach moved past him, cutting faster with his longer sword.

Faolain snorted contemptuously. “You know nothing of the Court. We seek freedom, and Mordremoth’s yoke is even more onerous than the Pale Tree’s.”

“Forget her,” Eir cried. “Just get me out! The Mordrem already took Logan and Zojja and Trahearne deeper into the jungle and I don’t know why.”

“But they were alive, right?” Caoilfhionn said, leaning over Canach’s shoulder.

“Yes, though Zojja was in bad shape last I saw. Logan was trying to help her, but they weren’t making it easy for him. Trahearne was… struggling, I could see.”

“He’ll fight,” Caoilfhionn said fiercely. “He knows I’m coming for him.”

“Yes, he said as much before we were separated.”

They could catch a glimpse of those in the cage now, and Faolain’s bright eyes peered out at them. “Oh, it’s the second-class Secondborn. I thought you were in jail, little brother.”

Canach grinned toothily at her. “I negotiated my way out. Unlike you, I realized how pointless and destructive my chosen course was, so I changed it.”

Faolain smiled back, not at all bothered by the jab. “Ah, but you’re still a prisoner. And you will be until you stop trying to prove you’re nobler than you actually are.”

“Shut up, he’s fine,” Damara said.

“Pending evaluation,” Phiadi cautioned her.

There was a rending groan from the earth, but instead of falling away, the vines clenched tighter, swinging away and striking against another path across a ravine. It burst open along the cuts they’d made, and Eir and Faolain rolled out.

“Are you all right?” Braham called.

“I’m fine,” Eir called back, sounding a little shaken regardless. They were both bruised and scraped, though it was more obvious on Eir with her red blood and pale skin.

“We can meet up over there,” Rytlock called, pointing westward. Eir waved in acknowledgement and began to jog in that direction, then suddenly froze as a rattling growl rose from the undergrowth. Faolain did not waste time looking around, breaking into a full sprint instantly; Eir followed her. So did Hope’s Legacy.

The jungle was alive and hostile around them, leaves rustling and hissing. New thorny vines were bursting out of the ground, flailing at them, and the two ex-prisoners were defenseless! Damara drew her bow, but the range was too far, even for her, and she lowered it to follow the others. Whatever was growling out in the jungle was getting closer…

Faolain tripped and was brought down with a frightened shriek as vines closed about her. Eir seized the vines that bound her and tore them away. “Come on!”

But Faolain laughed, snapping off one of the thorns and stabbing it up into Eir’s side, scrambling to her feet and running as Eir reeled in pain. Not for long, for Eir wrenched the thorn free and flung it with a howl, and Faolain fell forward with a hideous gasp. She looked up as something burst from the undergrowth, impaling her and dragging her screaming into the bushes. A few moments later, her screams fell silent.

“Mom!” Braham yelled. “We’re almost there! Just hold on!”

Eir stood in the middle of the clearing, panting, holding her side, looking all about her. A huge quadrupedal form, like a dragon-sized hound, crept from the jungle behind her, growling; she turned to face it, her eyes weary but determined. Damara loosed an arrow, but it went wide.

“Get it!” Annhilda yelled. “Kick its ass!”

“She’s injured, she’s not kicking anything,” Rytlock said. “Move it!”

Eir had managed to grab a big stick, and ducked as the huge thing lunged at her; it was blindingly fast, and as Rytlock said, she was slowed by her wound, and weak from her imprisonment. She managed to beat away a snap of its jaws, and then – its tail stabbed forwards, impaling her against a tree with a sickening crunch. Eir made an agonized gasp and fell to the ground as it withdrew its tail.

“No!” Braham screamed, and charged up, just moments too late. “Mom!”

“Kill that thing!” Annhilda ordered. “Caoilfhionn, Rox, see to Eir!”

Caoilfhionn flung himself down by Eir’s facedown body, pouring healing power into her with all his strength. Rox was across from him, grabbing bandages, poultices, anything she had in her pack. Caoilfhionn flinched instinctively as the creature stomped about, making the ground shake, but the others had its attention fully now. He prayed that they’d be able to slay it without further injury – or death – and then focused everything on Eir’s horrible wound.

The sound of the battle was dreadful. The creature made strange, guttural screams, and it was fast, he could feel from the trembling of the ground. His shoulders were tense, expecting every moment to be stepped on or bitten or impaled, but if he moved, Eir would die. The others were shouting, Marjory, Annhilda, even Taimi, explosions and bowstrings and magic forming a chaotic backdrop to the mounting noise in his own head.

Water took that noise and made it calm, with the paradox of a waterfall, never still yet never moving. Behind the chaos was peace, and he bent to let out that peace into Eir, to draw together torn flesh, to slow draining lifeblood, to hold her soul from slipping away. She was so fragile under his touch, and he sank deeper into his trance, pouring his energy into her.

Behind him, the monster let out another warbling screech and crashed heavily; a few moments more of frantic action, and then all he could hear was hard breathing – and some groaning of pain. But he did not sense death, and he was glad of it.

“Mom! Mom!” Braham rushed over, abandoning his mace and shield to kneel beside her. “Is she alive? Is she okay?”

“She’s still breathing,” Rox said. “She’s hardy, you know. You can help me bind up these wounds, though Caoilfhionn’s been doing his level best to stem the bleeding.”

At that moment, Caoilfhionn fell back, breathing hard himself. “I can do no more for now. I have spent my strength.”

“I’ll help,” Marjory said, leaning down beside him.

“Mom!” Braham called again, and Eir grunted softly – so softly they almost missed it. “It’s me, Braham! You’re safe now, so just hold on.”

“B-Braham,” Eir mumbled, opening her eyes and trying to lift her head. Rox had turned her head enough to breathe, but she still lay on her front. She gathered her strength and began to push herself up – and they all saw her face change. “Braham.”

“I’m here, Mom. What is it?”

“I… I can’t.” Eir swallowed hard, her eyes wide. “I can’t feel my legs.”

An icy chill ran through Caoilfhionn. No magic could help with an injury that dire. At least, that was what his studies on healing at the Priory had told him.

“Are you sure?” Rytlock said, leaning down and poking her tattooed thigh. “Nothing?”

If Eir hadn’t been panicking, Caoilfhionn thought she might have swatted her guildmate. “Help… I… I don’t…”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Braham said. “I’ll help you. I’m right here.”

“Help me lift her so we can start bandaging,” Rox said. “Spinal injury or no, we have to get pressure on these wounds right away.”

“Yes… you’re right,” Eir said, and exerted herself with Braham’s aid to make it to a sitting position, with grunts and gasps of pain.

“You took out Faolain,” Rytlock said. “Good job. She died screaming like the coward she was.”

Rox swooped in with her poultices and bandages. “You don’t have to stand and stare,” she said to the others. “I’m not sure how we’re getting back to camp yet, but I’ll let you figure that out.”

“Rhyoll, ideas?” Annhilda said, and they turned away to let Rox work in peace. “Whether or not she recovers use of her legs, she’s absolutely not walking back today.”

“I can rig a harness stretcher, no problem,” Rhyoll said. “You and Braham would probably be best to carry her, so I’ll need to make it yea wide…” He started rummaging around for fallen wood, muttering calculations under his breath.

“What about Garm?” Kasmeer asked. “Is he around somewhere?”

“We’ll keep an eye out for him,” Rytlock said. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

Annhilda let out a long breath and smiled at them. “Well done, everyone. We did good today.”

“Just today?” Phiadi asked coyly.

“We’ve got a long way to go,” Marjory said. “But yes, we did good today.”

Damara patted Caoilfhionn’s shoulder. “We’ll save the others too. Be sure of it.”

He managed, for the first time in weeks, a little smile. “I am sure of it. Thank you.”

---

4: The Golden City

They made it back to the main Pact camp without being attacked, and within hours Braham, Eir, and Rox were getting airlifted by copter back to the Silverwastes. Eir was both very relieved to be alive, and terrified that she’d never walk again. Caoilfhionn feared it would be so, but he had to turn his attention forward again, where his Wyld Hunt and Mordremoth’s call and his own personal desires drew him.

Southwards, the jungle was growing lighter, less dense, with fewer yawning chasms and towering cliffs, and better weather. In fact, compared to the northern jungle, it was almost… gentle. Though certainly not for the dangers of flora and fauna, Mordrem or otherwise. They found more scattered Pact soldiers, and Caoilfhionn caught sight of Ceera of all people, but she hissed and glared when she saw him, so he turned abruptly and left her alone. He was almost surprised to see her still with the Pact after all this time.

But one of them, a Seraph soldier, had caught sight of Caithe heading east only a few hours before, so Annhilda rallied the guild, left the Pact to hold position, and set out in search of her. “You said there were some Priory in that area as well?”

“That’s right. Spotted some ancient-looking golden structures, and… well, you know us Priory folks and old shiny things. They started lighting up just now, right after she ran through.”

“Good to know,” Annhilda said. “We’ll keep an eye out.”

The sun warmed the humid air as they descended the incline to the east, glittering off broadleaved plants as it filtered through the canopy. They’d been walking some time when Damara caught sight of something shining that was not just a reflection, and pointed.

“Hello! Glowy person!” Taimi cried, and Scruffy waved. “Huh. It disappeared.”

“Teleported,” Rytlock grunted.

“Well, obviously,” Taimi said, like the snarky teen she was.

They pursued the figure through the forest; it never appeared for long before teleporting again. They passed the ruins the Priory had been talking about, tall angular golden arches surrounded by strange mirrors all with a magical glow about them. And there they saw the figure again, gliding through the forest, from the waist up like a Norn clad in strange golden armour, even to a strange, angular golden mask, and from the waist down simply a trail of white-gold energy.

“You there!” Annhilda cried. “Stop!” But the figure did not stop, though it also did not teleport this time.

Rytlock snarled and blinked forward, directly in front of the figure with his sword drawn. “End of the line, pal. Identify yourself.”

“I’m in the midst of an important mission,” said the glowing golden figure calmly. “I must follow the trail before it goes cold.”

“What is your mission?” Annhilda asked. “Who do you serve?”

“I am Ruka the Wanderer, of the Exalted,” said the figure. “We are charged with preserving life from the predations of Elder Dragons. Whom do you serve, Mordrem?” he asked, turning to Caoilfhionn and Canach.

Canach huffed, but Caoilfhionn stepped forward, a little defiantly. “We are Sylvari, not Mordrem. Our people have connections to the Dragon, but we are not its slaves. We are here to kill it.”

“I’ll vouch for Caoilfhionn and Canach,” Annhilda said. “I’m the Commander of the Pact, and I’m bringing an army through to wage war against Mordremoth. Any crashed airships you’ve seen belong to the Pact… hopefully… and we’re hoping to link up with them before making an assault on the Dragon itself.”

“I see,” Ruka said. “Good. As for my mission, I’m tracking an… object. These devices respond to Glint’s legacy, which means-”

“Caithe and the egg, it must be!” Caoilfhionn cried.

“Did you say egg?” Ruka exclaimed – or as much an exclamation as his calm, even, sonorous voice would allow. “After all these years… I must go, quickly. I might need help. You may accompany me, if you wish.”

“We sure do,” said Phiadi. “Can you track it?”

For answer, Ruka set off rapidly into the jungle, forcing the remainder of the party – Annhilda, Caoilfhionn, Damara, Rytlock, Phiadi, and Canach – to jog to keep up. The Exalted was silent as he traveled, and seemed to be concentrating, or so Caoilfhionn guessed from the feelings he felt from him. The mask revealed nothing to him.

Annhilda stiffened, catching movement in the jungle ahead, and pointed. Rytlock craned his neck. “It’s Caithe… and is that your egg she’s carrying?”

“Quick,” Ruka said, speeding up even more. “There is a darkness…”

Caithe was crossing a clearing, glancing around at the trees warily, heading for a cave on the other side. A voice echoed out of it. “You’ve done well, Caithe.”

Caithe gasped and stopped short, peering into the cave with shock and fear. “Faolain?”

“Bring the egg to me.” The voice was… not entirely like to Faolain’s voice, but… they had not actually seen her die. On the other hand, how did she know about the egg? Eir would not have told her…

Caithe turned half-away defensively. “What? The egg? The egg is my Wyld Hunt, and I can only trust myself with it.”

Something moved within the cave, something gigantic and angular – and a horrible massive creature like to a vinetooth crawled out, menace in its movements, and Faolain’s face terrifyingly oversized upon its head. “We can all trust Mordremoth.”

“Faolain? No!” Caithe screamed and turned to run, tripped, and the egg rolled from her backpack.

“Get in there!” Annhilda cried, jumping from cover, and the rest rushed after her.

“I need the egg,” the Faolain-monster hissed, and sprang.

“Get the egg and run!” Rytlock yelled, casting a great spell at the Faolain-monster, making it draw back momentarily.

Caoilfhionn was the fastest, with his Air dash; he skidded between the legs of the monster, scooping up the egg before it could reach for it. An incredible power surged through him and he nearly stumbled again with the warm, crystaline presence in his arms. “W-what’s-” But there was no time to exclaim about it, the creature was bearing down upon him, and he took to his heels.

“Follow me,” called Ruka. “I can lead you to safety.”

“I’m going with you!” Damara cried, tearing after him.

“Foolish creatures!” the Faolain-monster said, ignoring Caithe, who was still down, and Rytlock, who was belligerent, and it darted at Damara. Damara screamed and sprinted around a tree; the monster thundered on after Caoilfhionn. He’d lost track of Ruka, but all that mattered was getting away.

It gained on him with every step, and he was distracted by the feeling of bonding – but as if the egg could feel his rising desperation, he felt a sensation as if magical wings had sprouted from his back, and suddenly he launched forward as if he were Air dashing again, but for much longer. He was zooming along the top of a cliff, past little tumbling streams and startling flocks of brightly coloured birds, but the monster was still right behind him. And the cliff was ending-!

“Caoilfhionn!” Damara was at the foot of the cliff. “Jump!”

He had no time to pull his glider as he sprang from the edge; Faolain’s claws lashed at his back and he felt them whoosh through the air just as those crystaline wings caught the wind, delivering him to the ground heavily but without injury, when he’d been expecting to at least break a leg on impact. He handed the egg to Damara. “Go!” She fled after Ruka, her pets at her side, and he ran in another direction. Perhaps he could be a decoy – but no, the monster was scuttling down the cliffside in a horrible uncanny way, eyes fixed on Damara.

Annhilda’s glider whizzed overhead, and she kicked the monster in the face, giving Damara a few more seconds to scramble away; she, too, gained wings, springing high in the air, higher than any of them had ever jumped with a Zephyrite crystal. She landed safely and ran into a tunnel. Annhilda landed on a ledge nearby and ran in the same direction, and Caoilfhionn dashed after as the monster began to climb.

He caught up on the other side of the tunnel, as the monster skittered towards Damara; at the last moment Damara made a final burst of effort, throwing the egg to Annhilda. Ruka had reappeared, waving to them, and Annhilda dashed towards the Exalted, her long legs eating up the ground towards a tunnel too small for the monster to fit into easily. Faolain completely ignored Damara, bowling her over in her charge after Annhilda, pausing as she came to the tunnel and looking around for some other route through. Caoilfhionn ran after as swiftly as he could, gliding quickly over a pit in the ground, trying desperately to catch up even though surely his short legs were only falling behind.

But ahead, he could still see Annhilda running behind Ruka, heading for a cliff jutting out over a wide valley. She was preparing her glider as well as she could with one arm holding the egg-

The monster sprang upon her from the side, sending her rolling; she gave a cry of startled anger and grabbed at her sword. “No, you don’t!” But the monster paid her no heed, eyes fixed upon the egg.

Caoilfhionn Air-dashed once more, right in front of that dreadful, huge face, seizing the egg and launching himself from the cliff behind Ruka, this time with his glider ready. Faolain screeched in rage behind him, but he was safe while he was in the air. Unless vines came to attack him…

No vines came to attack him, and he landed safely in the boughs of a large tree. He looked back, but he could not see Faolain. “Where is she?” He gasped for air, tried to control his breathing. She would be hunting him, and he couldn’t give her any clues.

“She has retreated for now,” said Ruka next to him. “We are close to a pylon, a protected space. We are safe for now.”

He let himself relax a little, and felt the energy within the egg relax as well. He reached out to the leaves of the tree, calling his meagre Shaping skills to hand, and formed a new satchel to carry the egg in so he could have his hands free. He slung it on his back and hopped down from the tree, where Ruka waited for him. The Exalted turned and set off into the forest, and Caoilfhionn jogged to catch up.

“You could have tried to take the egg,” he said to Ruka. “Why didn’t you?”

Ruka turned to look down on him, gliding along easily as could be. “I don’t want to possess the egg. I want to protect it. It chose you as its bearer.”

“It chose me? How could it choose me?” Caoilfhionn stared incredulously, but the energy on his back gave a happy little lift.

“I can’t answer that question,” Ruka said. “It chose you – and your two friends who also bore it. I will support all of you.”

“I don’t understand,” Caoilfhionn said. “At least I can now fulfill my quest. …What happens now?”

“You must go south to Tarir, the city of the Forgotten. It’s a safe place, built to shield the egg as it hatches.”

Caoilfhionn gave him a skeptical look. “Why here?”

“Why not?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, but the egg was stolen from me, and I just got it back. I’m not taking any chances with it.”

“Do you still not trust me?”

“The egg is so important. I’m not sure I trust anyone anymore – besides my closest friends.”

“Trust yourself, then. Your instincts brought you here for a reason. But while you have the egg, every Mordrem alive will be after you. Get it to Tarir. And hurry.”

Caoilfhionn looked at him a brief moment more. This strange, otherworldly being… conveniently offering an entire city built to shield this specific egg? On the other branch… Mordremoth definitely knew of the egg’s location now, thanks to that Faolain-monster. And if anything, the Exalted did seem to oppose Mordremoth. And what he could sense from Ruka… it was strange, as if Ruka were not… truly… alive, and not… truly… artificially created. And yet, whatever passed for the being’s heart was true and earnest. “Very well. Show me the way.”

“Follow me,” Ruka said, but then there was a shout from behind, and Annhilda and Damara came running. “Good, they were also chosen.”

“Chosen?” Damara asked, panting, her spider clinging to her head like a very strange hat. “What’s going on, Caoilfhionn?”

“I am going with Ruka to take the egg to his city, Tarir. I believe the Exalted will protect it as they say. It seems the egg has bonded with us as we protected it… I think.”

“Aww, how sweet!” Damara said, patting the backpack on his back. “What a sweet little dragon baby.”

“If the egg will be safe, that’s one less thing to worry about,” Annhilda said. “But I’ll go with you just in case. I’ve lost track of the others, but they’ll be fine, the monster wasn’t after them.”

“You are most welcome to come,” Ruka said, and led them by gently sloping paths downwards, to a large double door in a low cliff. “Welcome… to Tarir.”

The door opened at Ruka’s touch, and all three of them gasped as they stepped forward. Everywhere they looked was gold, towers and tall buildings of gold, adorned with jade green plants. Before them in lines stood many more Exalted, and one at the back with a particularly fantastic helm. That one stepped forward and spoke with many voices, but primarily a woman’s voice. “Welcome, egg bearer…s. I am the Luminate. You are most honoured guests. We have waited so long for your arrival. Welcome to Tarir.”

“It’s an honour to be here,” Caoilfhionn said politely, feeling quite short among all these glowing giants.

“This city and we Exalted were created to protect the whole of Glint’s legacy, including the egg.”

“That is exactly what I have searched for,” Caoilfhionn said. “I must know the egg is completely secure before we fight Mordremoth. What is this place?”

“Come and see,” said the Luminate, gliding aside and holding out her hand to show the view. The three adventurers stepped forward and Caoilfhionn caught his breath.

The city was not tall above the trees; it sank deep into the ground, yet the gold that gleamed from every surface shown reflected light so that even the lowest part, as far below as the lowest levels of the Grove were from the highest, was bathed in golden beams. Large trees grew up through it, birds flew across it calling to each other, and everything seemed enveloped in peace and strength. “It’s so beautiful.” He couldn’t help a smile, even a little laugh, and when he could tear his eyes away and look to the others, they were also smiling, their eyes shining with wonder as he knew his own must be.

“It is beautiful,” Annhilda said, who rarely commented on such things. “This is the place from your vision, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Caoilfhionn said firmly. “This is where I was destined to go.”

“I love it,” Damara said. “I can’t wait for the others to see this.”

“I can’t wait to show Trahearne,” Caoilfhionn said, and for the first time since the disaster, his worry did not drown out his awe. His hope was high, with this glorious place of safety before him and the egg on his back. One of his worries was gone altogether, and that made the other two seem all the easier. Even Mordremoth’s whispers seemed dulled here, inaudible, insignificant.

“Centuries ago,” said Ruka behind them, “the Forgotten magically erected Tarir to hold and nurture the artifacts Glint would leave behind. They also sought out mortals to become Exalted – ageless, enhanced guardians of the city and its contents. We who volunteered and passed the necessary tests were converted into pure energy and encased in golden armour.”

“So you were mortals once,” Caoilfhionn said, looking up at him. “So that’s why you feel… the way you do.”

Ruka made a slight bow. “We were once related to those you call the Zephyrites. But when all the preparations were complete, we began to go dormant, waiting for our noble duty to begin. Glint… died. Soon after, Tarir began to sir… and we Exalted awoke, mourned, and took up our duty once more.”

“So this is all recent, sort of,” Damara said, waving cheerfully at the ranks of Exalted still watching them.

“We have not been long awake, no,” the Luminate said. “But come. Now you’re here, and so is the egg. Glint’s grand design can finally begin to unfold. A new portal appeared when the city became aware of the egg. Ruka will lead you to it.”

“A portal?” Caoilfhionn asked Ruka. “To where?”

“Even we do not know,” Ruka said. “But we believe to the safest place in the whole city. Please, follow me.”

They followed the Exalted, down stairs, through vaulted halls, through little green courtyards full of flowers, down more stairs, and more stairs. “They seem really focused on Glint,” Damara said in a low voice. “Glint, Glint, Glint. Do they never think about anything else?”

“I’m not sure they can,” Caoilfhionn whispered back. “I don’t quite understand them yet, but I think they’re incapable of deception.”

Annhilda shushed them. The ‘city’ seemed strangely small, and strangely empty. Perhaps at one time, large numbers of people had lived here, maybe the Forgotten, but all that lived here now were the Exalted, and they were not numerous, from what he could see.

They were still descending, stairs after stairs after stairs, until they had descended to the very bottom of the city, below the ground. “Here we are,” Ruka said, as they arrived in a small, rather rough-hewn cave, with golden pillars and pedestals nonetheless. “I don’t know what you’ll find, but if I know the Forgotten, you’ll be tested before you’re allowed to proceed. Don’t be offended, it’s nothing personal. They never give anyone what they want without making them earn it.”

“I’m offended,” Annhilda said, not entirely seriously. “We’re trying to give them what they want.”

“The egg has chosen you,” Ruka acknowledged. “But the Forgotten have their ways. According to the runes, this is as far as I go. Good fortune.”

He gestured to the small platform at the back of the cave. Caoilfhionn took a deep breath and stepped on it – and found himself teleported.

---

They passed through three trials, each more tedious than the last, though Annhilda boasted that she could do it with her eyes closed. “Would they really be trials if they weren’t annoying, though?” Damara said. He couldn’t say he could see her logic.

At the last of it, they were teleported to one more chamber, this one so tall that to look up he saw faint clouds beneath its roof, where in the centre of a raised golden island was a golden pedestal encircled with stained glass wings. It was utterly beautiful, as they climbed up to it, staring about them, and Caoilfhionn took the backpack from his shoulders, discarding the woven leaves and carrying the egg gently in his arms to place it upon the pedestal. There it sat in majesty, the pinnacle of the chamber’s beauty with its glittering, half-ethereal crystaline shape; a white-gold light pulsed out of it and towards the top of the chamber. He felt magic rise about them, wards settling into place, powered partly by the egg itself, and partly the ancient magic of the city surrounding the egg like a symbiotic cocoon. He breathed deeply, relieved at last of his burden.

Damara cooed. “Look at you, you’re all safe now! Yes, you are! In such a pretty place, too!” She talked that way to her pets sometimes, so he was not surprised she spoke that way to this unhatched dragonlet.

“Looks good to me,” Annhilda said, looking around at the chamber. “Decently defensible, with this cover and high platform, though if enemies can even get in through the magical wards about this place I’ll be very surprised.”

“I’m glad,” Caoilfhionn said. That was one weight taken from his shoulders. He reached out to touch the egg, one more time. “Be well.”

In an instant, he was plunged into a vision. A tiny seed pulsed with a heartbeat, like the still-beating heart of a stag. Branches and vines spread from it like poison through veins – was it the dragon’s heart? With a shimmer of crystaline prisms the vision changed, showing Zojja’s terrified face as she was swallowed by a giant plant, fading into darkness, surrounded by other, small, plant-made asuroid shapes – and then Logan came into view as if sleeping, bark creeping across his face and armour, spinning through space, separating and multiplying like oozes – his vision spun, faster and faster, disorienting him, and he was falling, falling, falling into the jungle-

Eyes. Screaming. Yellow eyes, hardly recognizable, wracked with agony as their bearer was torn in two – and in two – and in two – and Trahearne split and shattered, leaving only a stern-faced army of Mordrem Guard clones. Caoilfhionn fell past them all, towards the golden city, and Mordremoth’s jaws closed about it-

He was back in the egg chamber, but he was still and cold as ice. Tears started into his eyes, and he swallowed and began to tremble violently. “No-! Trahearne!”

“Oh no,” Damara said, and he felt her arms about him. “That was horrible! Breathe, Caoilfhionn, breathe. We’ll rescue them. We will.”

“You… saw it too?” he forced through a leaden mouth.

“I think that vision came from the egg,” Annhilda said grimly. “How it knows, I don’t know. But I think we’d better get back on track. I’ll head back and gather the Pact forces. And I’d like to know that the rest of Hope’s Legacy is all right.”

“By Dwayna, yes,” Damara said. “I hope that creature didn’t double back on them when it lost us.”

“You two stay here,” Annhilda said. “In the city, I mean. If the Exalted are willing, this would be a good place for the Pact to regroup. And then I’ll send out scouts to pick up the trail we were following earlier…” She dashed away, still talking through her to-do list to herself.

Caoilfhionn gave a sob and wrapped his arms around himself. What was he doing, enjoying himself while his beloved suffered so? “Trahearne…”

“Oh no you don’t,” Damara said. “I know that look. You can’t run off by yourself to rescue everyone. Wait for the army. Come on. Let’s get something to eat. You won’t be any good to Trahearne as a horror-stricken shell.”

He straightened. “No. I will not be a horror-stricken shell. Mordremoth will suffer before it dies. Everything it has inflicted upon Trahearne it will feel ten-fold.”

“Oh boy,” Damara whispered, and followed him from the chamber.

 

Part 7: Hearts and Minds