The rest of HoT up to the final battle, but not the final moment. I’m writing two endings, a ‘bad end’ because I don’t want to miss out on the delicious drama that comes with it, and a ‘good end’ where Caoilfhionn overcomes even the final obstacle preventing him from being able to earn a happy ending. Schrödinger’s Trahearne, if you will. : P
Soundtrack for the Mordremoth fight is Between Heaven and Earth, both Rain and Thunder (although I think it’s actually the Storm track, not Thunder as it says in the video), though the only YouTube source I can find that has both also has Blue Skies and a Battle mixed in because they’re variants of each other. It’s all good!
Contents:
– 1: Farewell to Ruadhan
– 2: The Final March
– 3: Hearts and Minds
Part 7: Hearts and Minds
1: Farewell to Ruadhan
The Exalted allowed the Pact to rest at their city, and the army came in gratefully, eager to catch a bit of rest and a couple good nights of unstressed sleep after more than three weeks of constant fighting. The quartermasters and cooks got together to prepare a veritable feast, and morale was as high as it had been since they left Camp Resolve. The Priory members, naturally, rambled the city, asking questions of every Exalted they came across, and Annhilda had to caution them not to be annoying.
Hope’s Legacy was not there. Taimi had passed on a message through a Whispers scout, saying they were heading south to keep on the trail of the prisoner caravan, and that they had not had any injuries. Caoilfhionn had reflected, and the terrible vision he had seen – that must be a premonition of the future, of course, because Logan, Zojja, and Trahearne were still being taken to the Dragon. The Mordrem had not stopped to put them in a Blighting Tree, not yet. So if they were fast, he could still save them from such anguish. Still, the horror of the vision stayed with him, and once more he found himself numb to the glories of the city and the surrounding jungle. His leaves were getting dryer by the day, and more and more of them were fading to yellow and brown.
Braham, and Rox, however, returned, in the Charr copter that had taken Eir to safety. “They’re taking Mom straight home. I’m still worried for her, but I have a job to finish here. And if Faolain is truly still alive… after a fashion… then I’ve got two jobs to do.”
It was the second day the Pact rested there, and they were beginning to repack everything in preparation for leaving at the next sunrise, when the ground shook. Caoilfhionn looked around in alarm. The wards about the city were faltering, fading, and the sky seemed to be darkening with unnatural swiftness. Mordremoth’s voice grumbled in the back of his head.
“That can’t be good,” Laranthir said, kneeling to feel the ground. “I wonder…”
Huge vines burst from the ground, belching poison as they came, enveloping the central square of the city and blocking it off from the outside. More vines sprang up through the north courtyard where Caoilfhionn and Annhilda stood with Laranthir.
“Dammit,” Annhilda grumbled. “Mordremoth really doesn’t want us to have a moment’s rest.” She raised her voice. “Pact, to arms! Defend the city! Laranthir, go east, I need a commander in each quadrant! Damara, get south as quick as you can! Master Bongo, you’re west!”
“T’would be nice if the Mordrem were not already in the city,” Laranthir said, waving at the Pale Reavers and running to the eastern courtyard.
The Luminate appeared beside Annhilda with a number of Exalted, larger in stature than Caoilfhionn had seen before. “We have protected Tarir since its beginning,” cried the Luminate, and her voice echoed from every surface until it could be heard throughout the entire city. “It will not fall this day. We have the power to repel Mordremoth, and we will reject its Mordrem from Tarir. We would rather die than surrender Tarir to Mordremoth. This is the sacrifice we are all willing to make.”
“Hope it doesn’t come to that,” Annhilda said. “Look out! Mordrem hylek!”
With the Vigil’s courage, the Priory’s cleverness, and Whispers’ cunning, they felled the Mordrem blocking their path – Mordrem Guard, Mordrem hylek, Mordrem arrowheads, hardy and deadly opponents all. Still their enemies came, but once they had a clear path to the vines seething about the courtyard… they discovered they were too tough for normal weapons. Each of the commanders hastily improvised, each seeking their own way to weaken the vines, rushing to destroy them before they could demolish and corrupt the centre of Tarir – or force the Exalted to some unnecessary sacrifice. As the Pact regained control of the outer courtyards, runners were sent between all the commanders, trying to coordinate to defeat the plant from all sides simultaneously. As each quadrant was retaken, the Pact cheered with greater determination than they’d had since the launch of the fleet.
As the last vine shredded under heavy Vigil axes, a light pulsed from the ground, washing over the city. The sky grew lighter, the menace retreated from his mind, and Tarir sighed peacefully.
Annhilda met with each of her commanders in the central courtyard. “Well done, everyone! Mordremoth will think twice about attacking this place again!”
“That’s probably more from the magic I just saw go up, though, isn’t it,” Master Bongo said.
The Luminate appeared before them. “Yes. The wards that defend this place were not properly set against Mordremoth’s strength. It will not happen again.”
“It better not,” Annhilda said. “We need this place.” She traded a look with Damara and Caoilfhionn.
“It will not,” the Luminate said firmly. “You may rest easy for Tarir when you leave.”
“All right,” Damara said. “Then let’s sleep early tonight and get all the rest we can. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow!”
“We don’t know that,” Caoilfhionn said. “We don’t know what Hope’s Legacy has discovered yet, chasing the prisoners.”
“We’d have gotten a pigeon if they had caught up, or were in trouble, or found the Dragon,” Damara said. “So I don’t think we’ve missed anything yet. But I want to hurry anyway.”
“Me too,” Annhilda said. “Extra rations tonight, too; once we set out again we won’t have that luxury anymore.”
“Very good, ma’am,” Master Bongo said.
The Pact was in good spirits when it set out again on the next morning, taking the fight to Mordremoth, carrying replenished hope of victory. Southwards – for so Hope’s Legacy’s trail led them – the jungle began to be more treacherous again, narrower ravines between low cliffs among which lurked hostile Itzel, and Mordrem Guard, pocket raptors, and rolling devils.
Caoilfhionn was in the forefront of the prisoner caravan pursuit, of course, which meant he was the first to hear sounds of combat from the south a few days later. Damara took a squad of Pact soldiers and followed him down a winding side trail until they came across yet another airship wreck, a small one, with some very raggedy-looking Pact soldiers defending behind improvised barricades against a large Mordrem force of cavaliers, punishers, and the hated snipers. Caoilfhionn charged forward with flame into the fray. “Take heart! The Pact has come to your aid!”
A yellow face crowned with green leaves popped out from behind cover. “Caoilfhionn!”
“Eithne!” His siblings were all right! “Watch for snipers!” He writhed in the centre of his own ring of fire, slashing at anything that dared approach the barricades, and the Pact’s flanking assault surged around him, taking the enemy off guard. Within minutes, they had slain one of the saurian riders and half the foot troops, and the rest broke off and retreated into the jungle.
Caoilfhionn vaulted the barricade and hugged Eithne tightly, and she hugged him back – too tightly. There was pain and grief in her soul, and he pulled back to look up at her with the beginnings of heartbreak in his own soul. “Did Ruadhan…”
“He’s dead,” she said, and her voice broke. She leaned forward onto him and began to weep. “He died when we crashed nearly a month ago. I couldn’t hold on to him… he fell.”
Grief tore into him like a blade, and he held her close. “I… I was so afraid for you both. I…” What could he say? His brother had been gone, gone nearly a month, and he hadn’t known. Cathaoir and Blathnat still did not know. There wasn’t anything he could have done about it.
And Eithne was leaning on him, her own emotional wounds torn open again from having to tell him. She had seen far less death in her life than he had, and he was the elder by several hours… “And I’ve been hearing voices, and someone else on the ship, Camdin, went mad and tried to kill us.”
“It’s the voice of Mordremoth. I’ll explain everything later. You must resist the voice as much as you can.” As if in answer, Mordremoth pulled, and he sucked in a breath – and so did Eithne.
“I will,” she said, though not with as much conviction as he would have liked. But she was no soldier – no knight. This was not her life. “It is so difficult… but I do not like what it says.”
“Stay with me, or the other Sylvari,” he said. “They’ll remind you who you are. Stay strong, Eithne. Mother loves you, and I love you, and Ruadhan who lives on in the Dream loves you.”
She sniffled and squeezed him, her cheek against his yellowing leaves. “You’re withering. You must be under so much weight, and yet I cannot…”
“It’s all right. I’m here to support you until you can.” He looked up again. “Did you burn Ruadhan’s body?”
“No… he is buried beneath the ship with the other dead. Why?”
“We must burn the bodies before we leave. The Mordrem will take them, even though they’re buried, and use them to replenish their ranks else.”
She recoiled. “That’s horrible! Mordremoth would not only take our minds, but our bodies as well?”
“This is why we must slay him as swiftly as possible. Will you keep fighting with us?” If she wanted to leave, he could send her to Tarir to await the end, for good or ill – though she probably would not make it farther back to civilization on her own. She was not strong enough to use the waypoints. And she had no Wyld Hunt as he did to push him onwards, as if he even needed his.
Her eyes, normally so large and green and curious, had a new look in them he’d never seen before. “I will fight. I have lost my brother once, to death. I will not lose him again to be Mordremoth’s puppet. I will not lose any more of our brothers and sisters to this evil.”
“Well said,” he said. “We must be swift, though. Trahearne is a prisoner, and we’re trying to rescue him before they take him to the Dragon itself.”
“Trahearne’s a prisoner? Oh, no! No wonder you’re withering!” She squared her shoulders and nodded. “I will help you save him. Maybe I can’t fight beside you, but I will fight alongside the Pact. What little I can offer is yours.”
“Thank you, my sister. I am in your debt.”
“And I think we’ll all be in yours when this is over.”
They finally caught up to Hope’s Legacy and Rytlock on the next day. “Fancy meeting you here,” Phiadi said, as Annhilda approached them. “How’d it go?”
“Took a little doing, but the egg is secure,” Annhilda said. “Faolain?”
Marjory shook her head. “Still out there, unfortunately. She disappeared before we could take her down… if we could take her down, that is. I’m not sure how that fight would have ended up with the three of you gone.”
“Yeah, just when I thought Faolain couldn’t get any worse,” Annhilda said.
“What about Caithe?” Caoilfhionn asked.
“In typical Caithe fashion, she slipped away during the fight,” Rytlock said.
Kasmeer looked at Caoilfhionn with concern. “You look worse than ever. Still having a hard time?”
“My brother’s dead,” he said shortly. “My sister is still alive, at least, and she fights on.”
“I’m sorry,” Marjory said – and she would know. “If it’s any consolation, we think we’re catching up to the Mordrem prisoners. If we keep on at this pace for a couple more days, we may catch them.”
Did he dare let hope wax bright in his heart? He’d been ill rewarded by it so far… But he could not help it. To see Trahearne so soon, to ensure his safety, and then to strike down the Dragon at his side… he wanted that!
“That’s great,” Annhilda said. “Where’s Taimi?”
“She wandered off as we took a short rest,” Marjory said. “We were just about to go looking for her.”
“We’d better do that now,” Annhilda said. “The Pact is catching up, and having you out in front scouting has worked well so far.”
“It’s all thanks to Canach,” Kasmeer said.
Canach shrugged. “Despite this being their favoured terrain, they have not been subtle. They have been going too quickly to cover their tracks.”
“Okay, everyone split into pairs and look for Taimi,” Annhilda said. “Marjory, Kasmeer, hold this point in case she comes back while we’re gone.”
Damara looked at Caoilfhionn. “Partners?” He nodded, and set off into the undergrowth away from the others.
They stopped to listen, periodically, and a few minutes later, Damara stopped and pointed. He listened carefully; there was something, but he couldn’t tell if it was Taimi, and if Damara were not speaking, she didn’t know if it was her either. And it was dangerous to draw attention out here.
They followed the slight sounds, the suspicious rustling, until Caoilfhionn was pretty certain that whatever it was was not Taimi and that they were being baited. But who would bait them…?
Apparently Damara was having similar thoughts, because she slowed, then stopped, and he stopped with her. There was no point in getting drawn into an ambush here.
And just as they turned around, someone stepped out of the bushes before them. “Hello, Caoilfhionn.”
“Malyck!” Caoilfhionn cried, forestalling Damara’s arrows and her spider’s poison. “How are you?”
Malyck shook his head, laughing to himself. “If you would but join the Dragon, you would no longer ask such pointless questions. I am well. I am always well now, with Mordremoth. And look at you! Withered, worn, carrying grief and pain and hope that will only be crushed. A beautiful cycle for enemies of the Dragon – but you need not be.”
“Yeah, because Caoilfhionn would give up his free will out of vanity,” Damara said sarcastically. “Don’t you miss free will?”
Caoilfhionn reeled, the pressure building in his head, but he rallied. “He would not be able to say, but in his heart, he must. I will never join the Dragon, Malyck. I am strong enough to resist to the end.”
“I thought you would say that,” Malyck said. “But if your mind will not be swayed, we can still use your body!” He drew his pistols and aimed, but Caoilfhionn had in the same instant drawn his daggers, sprinting forward with Fire and enveloping them both in a ring of flame. Both Malyck’s shots missed and then he was forced to dodge back, sheathing his pistols again and drawing his sword. Sword clashed upon dagger, the sounds ringing from the trees. Damara was aiming, he sensed rather than saw for all his attention was on Malyck, but she did not dare shoot into their melee.
Fire, Air, Malyck was unmoved by them both. Water would not help him here, and Earth was too slow. If he could slow Malyck, perhaps he could capture him. He summoned vines, slender bright green entangling things to wrap about Malyck’s feet and legs – and for a moment Malyck nearly tripped. Better than the last time he’d tried that! But he recovered, tearing himself free and blocking Caoilfhionn’s flame strike. “Do you think to challenge the Dragon with his own tactics? A fool you are.” Malyck grinned and spiny dark Mordrem vines sprang up about Caoilfhionn’s legs, anchoring him to the spot, clutching at him and tearing into his flesh. Caoilfhionn growled and cast down a ring of flames again, making them abruptly let go and flee back into the ground.
But Malyck slashed again, and Caoilfhionn’s right hand dagger went flying from his grasp. Malyck smiled and stabbed forward; Caoilfhionn twisted around it, dropping his other dagger and seizing the hilt of the sword with both hands, trying to keep it away from him. It was a contest of strength now, and they wrestled, the blade quivering near Caoilfhionn’s shoulder, then high in the air as Malyck sought to pull away from him. Caoilfhionn hung on grimly.
There was a whizz, and a thud, and Malyck dropped the sword, reeling back, clutching at his side where an arrow stuck out. “Fine. The third time will pay for all, though, Caoilfhionn! You will not escape again!”
“There won’t-” Damara began, but even as she loosed her next arrow, Malyck had dodged into the undergrowth, surprisingly fast for an injured man. “Are you all right, Caoilfhionn?”
“Yes,” he said. The mental pressure was also relenting, a little. He bent to recover his daggers, but he took another look at the sword he had wrested away from his former friend. It was a beautiful sword, surprisingly – or perhaps not so surprisingly. Most of the other Mordrem had thick, dark-coloured, jagged, thorned weapons, but Malyck had borne a slim, slightly curved blade, scarlet with a faint pulsing glow, and its hilt was simple and elegant, fitting who Malyck had been before. Perhaps he had made it or acquired it… before.
“Are you keeping that?” Damara asked.
“I’m considering it,” Caoilfhionn said. “It is a fine weapon, though I only know a little how to use it. Perhaps it would give me greater reach, or allow me to try new ways to focus my abilities.”
“I’m sure you can find plenty of people willing to teach you,” Damara said.
“And I wish to honour Malyck… perhaps this is a strange way to do so, but I want him to know I do not hate him, even now. I know he had no choice. Perhaps it will inspire him. Though I am losing hope that he can be saved.”
“Yeah,” Damara said. “I’m sorry I had to shoot him. But it did make him go away. Next time we can try and have a plan ready, if you really want to catch him.”
“Thank you, Damara.”
They returned to the others; Annhilda returned a little later, with Taimi, and the news that there was an Asuran city somewhere to the east – and Mordremoth was definitely south. “Rox, I want you to keep heading south and looking for the caravan. The Rata Novans will almost certainly have information about Mordremoth, however, so Taimi and… I can’t go myself, I have to lead the Pact. Who wants to go?”
“I’ll go,” Phiadi said. “I want to tap Wegaff, for a little extra genius power, and Canach, for muscle. Living muscle, at least.”
“You think they’ll have hints how to kill Mordremoth?” Braham said. “I want to go too.”
“Fine, you can come,” Phiadi said. “I don’t mind having a larger entourage.”
“I’m not going to be your entourage,” Braham said, frowning. “I’m going to learn how to murder a dragon.”
“Call it what you like,” Phiadi said. “Anyone else?”
“I’m going with Rox,” Caoilfhionn said. The city was irrelevant to him.
“Head out whenever you’re ready,” Annhilda said. “Catch up as soon as you can. Be careful.”
2: The Final March
The trail led them to a place of low cliffs, and beneath those cliffs the ground opened up into a maze-like series of tunnels and caverns. It was impossible to tell direction down there in the dark, and the dry rocky ground meant the prisoner caravan trail faded into nothing almost immediately. The Pact spread out through the caverns, trying determinedly to brute force their way southwards. They came across more crashed Pact ships and gladly added them to their forces, and they came across hylek of the Nuhoch tribe whose massive size made Norn look like children, who did not mind allying with them.
But there were dangers other than Mordrem and getting lost here. The greatest of them all was a horde of horrible bugs named chak. They were of many, many varieties, or perhaps they were all one species that differentiated based on the stage of their life cycle, but they ranged from the size of a large hound up to the size of a small cottage. They were fast, and poisonous, and entrapping, and they did not stop coming. No matter how many they slew, there were always more, and their nests were made of such a hard material that no amount of explosives seemed to have any effect. Caoilfhionn very rapidly grew to hate them with almost more passion than Mordremoth.
He could not hate anyone more than Mordremoth. The voice was stronger in these caves, as they drew closer to the Dragon’s hidden lair, no longer whispering in the back of his head but muttering, muttering loudly. It was difficult to tune out, and to watch Laranthir, and Eithne, and Mabbran, he knew they were struggling too. Yet when he saw their faces, when he gripped his ring, he remembered the Pale Tree, and he remembered Trahearne, and he knew who he was. He would not fall here, so close to his goal.
His goal was slipping away from him, though. Though Rox was skilled, and the others were eager to back her up, she did not know the way forward, and the Mordrem did. After a day or two, it became clear – they were losing ground on the prisoner caravan. It nearly drove Caoilfhionn to distraction, but there wasn’t anything he could reasonably do about it. He did not know the way, and the chak swarmed in their path, slowing them further.
He had showed Malyck’s blade to Annhilda, who looked at it curiously. “You’re thinking of taking up the sword?”
“Yes. Do you know who might have time to teach me?”
“I wish I had time to teach you, but I don’t right now. And this single-edged blade isn’t the type of sword that I’m familiar with… Why don’t you ask Bongo? He managed to put up with Faren long enough to get him competent, I’m sure he’d love a more cooperative student.”
Bongo was a bit skeptical at first, indeed, but Caoilfhionn was, at least, a quick student, and practiced diligently, and the Human swordmaster was pleased by it. It wasn’t too long before he felt he wouldn’t hurt himself with it, and after fighting the chak in their brutal, unrelenting swarms several times, he learned quite well how to channel his elemental attunements through this new weapon. It naturally affected his casting, but the spells that developed organically from wielding a longer blade worked quite well for him.
The Pact eventually found great tunnels, ley-line caverns, pointing south, which sped their progress considerably – until they reached a dead end at the southernmost point, where the tunnels converged. There was a cavern so massive and awe-inspiring Rata Sum would nearly have fit into it, but the south end was simply rock and stone.
Caoilfhionn was surprised by Rhyoll’s optimism. “No, I don’t think we’re stuck here. Occam, give it a big whack, would ya?” Occam obliged, and Rhyoll cupped his right ears towards the wall. “Yeah, this isn’t solid stone. It’s all fractured, and there’s space behind it.”
“That’s great, but we don’t have any heavy equipment to break it, and getting it will take time,” Annhilda said.
Rhyoll looked offended. “Give me some credit, Annhilda. There’s not too many airship wrecks in this area, but there’s two or three. If we can salvage… oh… four cannons and set them up in each of these ley-line tunnels, we should be able to channel enough energy to bust through.”
“And how long will that take? Where are we going to get the power from? What about the chak?”
“Couple days, I think. I’ve got plans for the generators, we’ve lost a few copters we can salvage from. And the chak is your problem.”
“Right. Rox, over here.”
“What do you need, boss?” Rox asked.
“I’m going to go with Rhyoll’s plan. If it works, we should be able to get the army through much faster than wandering these tunnels for days. But I want you to keep looking for another way through. The Mordrem got through, you can too.”
“Sounds good!” Rox said. “I’ll take anyone in the guild who you don’t need.”
“All right. Damara, I’m going to need you to help lead defense against the chak, but Caoilfhionn, Marjory, Kasmeer, and Rytlock, you can go with her.”
“Good luck, everyone!” Damara said. “See you on the other side of this wall!”
It took them another day of searching to find a way south; hours of running screaming through a chak hive, hours of wriggling through narrow, wet twisting passages where the only light was Rox’s lantern and Kasmeer’s mesmer glow.
It was a relief when finally they saw the light of day before them, for the first time in nearly five days for Caoilfhionn, and heard the sound of wind again. And with the wind came renewed rumblings of domination and hatred. In the tangled depths it had risen and fallen from mutterings to mumbles, but now it was clear and sharp as his friends beside him, and it dragged at his will. Caoilfhionn stumbled as he stepped into the light, growing dizzy, and he needed a minute to adjust before he could move on again, gripping his ring tightly.
Kasmeer noticed. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, but even to himself he sounded strained. “I won’t succumb.” But the Dragon was near. Almost near enough to touch.
There was an airship wreck to their southeast, and they headed towards it. They only made it partway when a shadow popped out of the undergrowth. “Hey there.”
“A-Agent Zrii!” Caoilfhionn cried. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
She nodded grimly. “Me too, though a lot of others didn’t make it. What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t make it to launch. You look terrible.”
“We didn’t make it to launch,” Caoilfhionn said. “Hope’s Legacy has been fighting their way here virtually from the Silverwastes.”
Zrii’s eyes opened wide. “Much respect to you, then. But for what? You don’t think you’re actually going to attack the Dragon, do you? With the five of you?”
“Oh yes, we’re going to attack the Dragon,” Rytlock growled. “The Pact went down hard, but we’re not giving up.”
“There’s a lot more than five of us,” Braham said. “The rest of the army is back with Commander Annhilda, trying to blow an alternate route out of the caves they’re stuck in. They should be here tomorrow.”
“We’ve managed to collect maybe a thousand, twelve hundred soldiers,” Marjory said. “The Sylvari are having a hard time of it, but we’re still here to do a job.”
“That’s what we said when we saw the fleet going down around us,” Zrii said, turning and leading them towards the wreck. “That’s why we pushed on anyway. I think we should have turned back. It’s been hell out here, and we haven’t been able to catch our breath enough to think about trying to escape. I was sure we were all going to die here.”
“That could still happen, but it’ll be as part of an army, and we’ll go down fighting,” Rytlock said cheerfully.
“Zrii, have you seen a prisoner caravan go by any time in the past week?” Caoilfhionn asked urgently.
“No – well, not to know it was prisoners. We kept our heads down if we heard Mordrem. No sense dying unnecessarily. Who’s in it?”
“Trahearne, and Logan and Zojja,” he said.
“We rescued Eir!” Braham put in.
“Oh my. No wonder you look half-dead,” Zrii said, and patted his leg. “Sorry, I didn’t see him. Them. There were some Mordrem going by about five days ago. Could have been them.”
Caoilfhionn took a deep breath and touched his ring. He was late, but he had to get there. A brown leaf fell from his head, fluttering past his nose. He paid it no mind.
“Well, here we are,” Zrii said. “There’s fifty-two of us left, hidden under this huge tree.”
“Listen up!” Rytlock boomed, striding forward into the little Pact camp. “You’ve done well to survive this long. Tomorrow the Pact Army should be arriving, so get ready! We’re going to need mess facilities, repair facilities, a space for command HQ, and barracks. Who’s your leader? Move!”
Kasmeer looked at Marjory. “What if it doesn’t go according to plan? What if they get stuck behind that rock wall and can’t make it on schedule?”
“Then morale falls a little lower,” Marjory said. “But we’ve got to prepare for the army’s arrival anyway.”
“Ah, Charr efficiency,” Rox said, smiling. “The Tribune will have this camp ready in no time.”
Caoilfhionn went to look southward, but there was not much to see. The jungle seemed… lower, here, the vegetation and foliage more sparse than they had been further north. There were many rocky outcroppings and gigantic stumps. And faintly, on the edge of his sight, something that towered high into the sky. Why should the jungle seem to be dying here, when they were closer to the Jungle Dragon than ever? Was its influence too corrupting for normal plants to live? If he headed out there, would he only find grasping thorny vines and poisonous Blighting Trees?
If the army had not arrived on the next day, he was going on. With the others if they wanted to come. Alone if they did not.
Breakfast the next morning was interrupted by a bright light coming from the northeast, as laser beams blasted into the sky. There was a distant rumbling crash, and the lasers ceased.
“Guess they did it!” Rox said. “Now the Dragon ought to start feeling scared.”
Rytlock took a small team to go see if it really was Annhilda and the Pact, and to guide them to their camp if it was. Caoilfhionn waited impatiently in the lower branches of the camp tree, staring at the distant tower. It was at least a couple days’ journey, he estimated, without running into trouble. And if Trahearne were five… now six days ahead… “Hold on,” he whispered. “Wait for me. I’m coming for you. I swear it.”
The mocking laughter of the Dragon was his only answer.
The Pact began arriving in an hour, a bit bedraggled and covered in chak guts, but Annhilda was in good spirits. “Too bad those laser cannons are too heavy to lug all the way to the Dragon! What’s the situation, Tribune?”
“We don’t have much of a map yet,” Rytlock said, and handed over what the crashed Whispers agents had pieced together. “Blighting Trees here, here, and here, and this other… tree… thing that sits in the middle of a lake of magic. Pretty sure that’s the Dragon’s lair. Chak here. A ‘golden structure’, which I’m guessing means Exalted tech, here.”
“Hm,” Annhilda said. “We’ll have to burn all the Blighting Trees simultaneously to deprive Mordremoth of its minion production. Trahearne, Logan, and Zojja?”
“No confirmed word. What did you find at Rata Novus?”
“No living Asura,” Phiadi said. “A lot of obsolete tech. But there was a hidden lab specifically for studying the dragons, as Taimi guessed there would be. We left Wegaff and Taimi there to study up to their hearts’ content.”
“Any immediately applicable information?” Rytlock asked.
“Not a whole lot,” Braham said.
“They determined every Elder Dragon has a specific weakness,” Phiadi said. “They didn’t figure out what, and they were mostly focused on Primordus, of course. But doing here what we did against Zhaitan was doomed to failure before it began. With Zhaitan, we at least had the benefit of Trahearne having studied the thing for twenty-odd years.”
Annhilda smiled. “We’d been charging headlong against Mordremoth not even knowing if it could be beaten, only that we had to beat it. Now we know it’s possible. We just have to find out how.”
“That’s it!?” Caoilfhionn demanded, unimpressed and angry. “Thorns! I didn’t need the hope that we could defeat the dragon. That was always an inevitability for me, whether in hope or despair.” His Wyld Hunt agreed vehemently. At least they hadn’t wasted more than five people on such a futile trip.
“Not everyone is a romantically stubborn try-hard,” Rytlock said. “This will be useful for future Dragons as well. We’ll know not to try the same tactic twice again.”
Caoilfhionn turned away. “It’s not time yet to think of other Dragons. This one is before us and any others are only a distraction.” There was always the possibility that they all died against Mordremoth, but he refused to consider that.
“Hear, hear,” Braham said.
“All right, settle down,” Annhilda said rather sharply. “Go away and prepare to get moving. Damara, Phiadi, we’re going to each head to a Blighting Tree. I’ll go for the western one…”
Caoilfhionn left; Braham and Canach followed him. “I wonder if Zojja or Logan knows anything about the Dragon’s weakness,” Braham said. “Since they’ve been with the Mordrem this long.”
Canach glanced at him. “I have to say, I’m still a little surprised you’d consider that instead of just trying to bash it with your mace.”
“I’m not counting that out either,” Braham said. “Hey, Caoilfhionn, when did you start wearing a sword?”
“About the time you went to the useless Asura city,” Caoilfhionn said, still irritated.
Canach raised an eyebrow. “You might have benefited from a visit. The Dragon’s call was but a whisper again there. He’s quite fussy here, isn’t he?”
“Was it becoming too much for you?” Caoilfhionn asked without rancor.
“Is it for you?”
“No. My resolve is stronger than that.” He touched his ring.
Canach saw, and smirked. “Mine as well.”
“Spirits, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that,” Braham said. “We did meet a Mordrem who almost turned back… but then he didn’t.”
Caoilfhionn looked up sharply. “Tell me more.”
“Hm.” Canach thought back. “He said giving in was a ‘relief’. He knew the things he did were wrong, but he could only watch. But he still heard the call, and it took him again as we watched.”
“I wonder…”
“You wonder if we could be saved, should we fall? Perhaps when the Dragon is slain, perhaps not. It felt like he had lost his grip on reality even when he was begging us for help.”
“Not for us,” Caoilfhionn said. “For another.”
“Trahearne?”
“No. I… had a friend, once, who was Sylvari, but not of the Pale Tree…” And he told Canach the entire story.
Canach, to his credit, did not mock him even once. “You have to remember that we have the protection of the Pale Tree. Your friend does not and did not. The Dragon will have drowned anything left of him a long time ago.”
“But he remembers!” Caoilfhionn cried. “He remembers me.”
Canach put a hand on his shoulder, and Caoilfhionn stared in surprise. He hadn’t expected this much compassion. “He has tried to kill you or turn you twice. Even if he can be saved, you may not have the option.”
“I know. And I will not die before I have saved Trahearne… even if it means killing Malyck. But I can’t help hoping…”
“We could take him prisoner?” Braham suggested.
Canach shook his head. “Too risky. Especially if your friend is as bold and clever as you say. Would you feel comfortable caging me, if I turned?”
“Good point,” Braham said, but Caoilfhionn hesitated.
And turned suddenly, looking into the jungle. “Who goes there!?”
A blue-green hand parted the ferns and a tall, beautiful Sylvari stepped out, clad in ornate leaves. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“Nightmare Court,” growled Canach. “What are you doing here? Come to follow your Grand Duchess?”
“Most assuredly not,” retorted the woman. “I am Duchess Chrysanthea and I am here to pledge alliance with your Pact.”
“What?” Braham asked. “Why should we trust you?”
“Let me explain this in small words you’ll understand, little boy,” Chrysanthea said. “The Nightmare Court seeks freedom. The Dragon obliterates that freedom far better than anything the Pale Tree could ever do; it threatens us just as much as it threatens you. Grand Duchess Faolain… is dead, and turned, and is no longer our mistress. The Court follows me, now. We came here only to slay the Dragon. We can certainly go back to making small war upon each other after it is gone.”
“Where are your followers? How many are there?” Canach asked.
“A hundred, and I don’t think you need to know where. We shall join in the fighting, not your silly camps.”
“I suppose we can let her make her case to Annhilda,” Caoilfhionn said.
Canach cast an amused look at him. “Caoilfhionn, I’m shocked. So quick to trust the Nightmare Court, are you?”
They had all sorts in their army, not only Vigil, Priory, and Whispers; not only Valiants and Seraph and Legionaires and hunters and Peacemakers; there were also skritt and ogres and Itzel and Nuhoch. The Nightmare Court might be more wicked than any other ally they currently had, but Chrysanthea felt sincere, and her plea was sensible. “I don’t really care as long as her word holds. You do speak for all your followers, don’t you?”
“If any of them disagree, they can speak to my staff,” Chrysanthea said with a wicked smile. “But I do give you my word, you can trust me until we have all made it out of this dreadful corrupted jungle again. And that is the best I can offer you.”
“I’ll go get Annhilda,” Caoilfhionn said.
Scouts went out and mostly returned; the way ahead was heavily fortified by great Mordrem plants and defended in great numbers. Annhilda looked at her forces. “It’s been a long road to come here. None of us thought it would happen like this. But we have made it to the last push. We will do what we have come to do! This Dragon will not threaten our homes, our families again! We just have a little farther to go, and by the Spirits or the Gods or the Eternal Alchemy – by whatever you believe in, we will triumph! So steel your hearts and your minds, and follow me!”
It was a long, slow pitched battle to move south. Caoilfhionn had joined to Phiadi’s group, the one going directly south first. She was delighted to find some Asuran ruins – less delighted to find the Inquest were already snooping around – and not nearly as fascinated as Caoilfhionn was to see Rata Sum in the distance. To him it really hammered home how much danger Tyria was in; if the Dragon had turned its attention to Metrica Province, the Asura as a nation would have been hard put to it from the beginning.
“And the Arcane Council would still sit on their fat bottoms and pretend that nothing’s wrong!” Phiadi said acerbically. “Believe me, sometimes I think a dragon attack would do them good. Why couldn’t we have had that summit in Rata Sum and woken everyone up?”
“You would wish a dragon attack on your own people?” Caoilfhionn asked.
“Look, you met Phlunt.”
“I admit that the Arcane Council is dislikeable… but I still wouldn’t wish a Dragon upon all Asura. I’ll fight to my death to defend even Phlunt from Mordremoth.” To do otherwise would be dishonourable. No matter what they had done to his people, no matter the Inquest’s crimes.
“I don’t really understand,” Phiadi said. “You seem to think that your suffering matters to the Eternal Alchemy. Mordremoth wants you to suffer, probably, because it’s an arrogant git, but you know it really doesn’t do Trahearne any good.”
“I know it doesn’t,” he said. “I know that I cannot bargain my sap for his. But I feel so useless else. I’d endure any pain, take any wound – I’d fight to my last breath as Riannoc did, if only he could be spared.”
“And you’re still saying that after more than a month of this slog,” Phiadi said. “You know, I’m fond of a few people. I’m not saying who and I’m not saying how much. But to me, it’s much more practical to focus on how much violence is necessary to protect your man rather than how much blood you’d shed yourself. Ideally, you’d shed no blood at all.”
“I am his knight,” Caoilfhionn said. “Violence is a side effect of my duty, not its focus. To shed my sap for those I defend is my honour.”
“I think we’ll have to disagree there,” Phiadi said. “I’d go berserk if- well, I’m not saying for whom. But I wouldn’t take a scratch while doing it. Or at least not a big one. At some point, he’s only a man. They can’t be replaced, but they’re not worth your entire life.”
“We will indeed have to disagree,” Caoilfhionn said, already displeased with the turn of the conversation. “No sacrifice is too great, for without him, my life has no meaning.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Phiadi sighed.
He frowned at her. “Pot, kettle.”
She chuckled. “Nice one. Well, we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s get back to it.”
It was three days later that the Blighting Trees burned, their champions laid low, and the way to the Dragon’s lair cleared. The three Pact divisions halted briefly, on the edge of cliffs overlooking a mysterious lake of fog that stood between them and the massive tree trunk where the Dragon dwelt. While the army counted their losses and tended their wounded, Annhilda summoned Hope’s Legacy and Rytlock to her. “This is it, everyone. I’m going to stay here and lead the army. Phiadi, I need you with me.”
“Of course you do,” Phiadi said. “Was there a question about it?”
“I’m sending the rest of you out to rescue Trahearne, Logan, and Zojja,” Annhilda said. “Damara, I’m sending you too. Laranthir will take control of the western division.”
“Okay!” Damara said. “Works for me, he’s still technically my boss anyway.”
Annhilda turned to him. “Caoilfhionn.”
“Yes.”
“Can I put you in charge of this?”
He was a little taken aback. He had not commanded a mission in a long time, not officially. But he knew why Annhilda asked. “Yes. I can lead us. With Damara’s help.”
“Is that a good idea?” Rytlock asked. “I don’t want him so focused on Trahearne he blunders into a trap.”
“That is an excellent point,” Caoilfhionn acknowledged. “But I will not fail him… and I will not fail you.”
“That’s not the most reassuring thing you could say,” Marjory said. “But I know how you feel.” Her eyes were distant, and Kasmeer squeezed her hand.
“I’ll help, no question,” Damara said.
“Me too,” said Kasmeer. “We’re all here to get this done.”
“I have faith in you,” Annhilda said. “You’ve grown to be wise and thoughtful, pup. And if the chance comes that you can hurt the Dragon from another angle, you take it.”
Canach smiled grimly. “With pleasure.”
“Will do,” Caoilfhionn said. “One way or another, it dies today.”
3: Hearts and Minds
The southern end of the jungle was a chaotic mess of porous stone; of exposed ley lines; of vines and corruption, interspersed with little pockets of cheerful, flower-sprinkled, bright green jungle. The little band was trying to travel unseen around the south end of the lake, though the trail of the prisoners was practically non-existent by now. “Dragging those three all this way, so close to its power… Do you think Mordremoth knew we would follow?” asked Kasmeer.
“You smell a trap?” Rox asked.
“Just keep your eyes open,” Caoilfhionn said. “We don’t want to get boxed in here. Kas, scout ahead. We’ll meet you at the fork in the road.”
“Right away!” Kasmeer said, and vanished.
She was back not long after. “I found the rest of Destiny’s Edge, but they’re heavily guarded,” she said. “No sign yet of Trahearne, sorry. That trail leads to Logan, the high road to Zojja.”
“Are they alive?” Braham asked.
“I couldn’t tell,” Kasmeer said. “Your, um, orders, Caoilfhionn?”
“Marjory, Canach, Damara, you’re with me. We’ll go get Logan. Rytlock, Braham, Rox, and Kas, head for Zojja and watch for Trahearne.”
“What if we’re too late?” Rytlock asked.
“Burn the bodies,” Damara said grimly. Caoilfhionn took a shuddering breath, and nodded.
They were surprised by Mordrem Guard around the next bend in the path, and for a few minutes they were fighting for their lives. Even as they thinned the enemy and won their way through, the Dragon’s voice crashed over them – over him. “You are weak. Give in, and find peace.”
Caoilfhionn stumbled, staggering sideways into an alcove in the rock, his head pounding. The Dragon’s face seemed to float before him, beckoning with its eerie yellow eyes. Just a moment… he just needed to rest for a moment…
“Wake. Join us.”
He started and jumped up. How long had he been asleep? What was he doing… why did his head feel so heavy…?
“Here you are,” said a familiar voice, and Caoilfhionn looked up to see a friend smiling at him. His vision was blurring at the edges, and he was still so very tired… His nap had not done him much good, apparently. “It’s good to finally see you here, Caoilfhionn.”
“I’m… Where am I?”
“Safe,” said his friend, reaching out his hand to support him. “Safe with the Dragon.”
As he touched him, as he heard the words, his head and vision cleared. “Malyck!” Friend, yes. Safe, no. The hollow malice he felt in Malyck made that abundantly clear.
“Come! Let us hunt together. It’ll be like old times. We can save your friend Canach, at least. We can’t save the others… but they can still be useful.”
Caoilfhionn backed away, shaking his head. It ached, and the Dragon’s call snarled in it, nearly drowning out the clamour of his Wyld Hunt, but he resisted. “No, Malyck. I have not turned. I will not be a slave to that monster. Canach will not turn either. Don’t try to fight us. You will die, and I don’t wish that.”
Malyck’s face hardened, his burning scarlet eyes flaring brighter. “You still resist? Then it is as I said. Third time pays for all… and you do not know how to use that sword as I do, I think.” He drew his own new sword, charging straight at Caoilfhionn – who rolled back with a trail of Air sparks, buying himself half a second of reaction time as Malyck twitched.
“I don’t want to kill you, Malyck,” Caoilfhionn said. “But there is nothing more important to me than getting to Trahearne. If I must kill you, then so be it.”
“You will never reach him now,” Malyck said. “He is already one of us.”
“He would die first,” Caoilfhionn said. “But he will not, because I am coming for him.”
“You’ll see,” Malyck said, with a grin, and Caoilfhionn gritted his teeth and slashed with fire.
“It’s not right!” he cried, emotions erupting out of his control. “I should never have let you go alone! You were supposed to find your family! To bring back an army to help us fight the Dragons!” The swords clashed on each other, never locking, Fire and Air crackling between them.
“Fighting the Dragons is futile… and foolish,” Malyck said. “You only doom yourselves in trying – and you doom yourselves worse if you succeed.”
“What do you mean?” Caoilfhionn hesitated the briefest moment, startled, and was nearly run through. No, he could not listen! Mordremoth would say that, wouldn’t he! “It doesn’t matter! If slaying Mordremoth slays all Sylvari, then we shall die to free the world! We will not be consumed!”
“It is inevitable. Me, you, Trahearne, your foolish flailing friends. All who were born of your Tree will come to Mordremoth, and all will be as it should be. And you will bring them.”
The grip on his mind was excruciating, threading through his thoughts, interrupting them like lightning strikes interrupting a dark sky, the voice roaring in his head, twisting his sight. “I… will… not!” He lunged recklessly and stabbed – straight into Malyck’s gut.
Malyck grunted a little and stumbled back. Caoilfhionn’s eyes widened and he reached for him-
Malyck toppled backwards and fell from the cliff, down, down into the dark chasm below.
For a long moment, he stared, gasping for air, unable to process what he had just seen and felt. Malyck was gone… forever. No chance of redemption… and at his hand, too.
He did not regret what he had done. Mordremoth’s call had lessened, for the moment. He needed to move forward – he desperately needed to catch up to the others. But another deep wound was carved on his heart.
He ran his hand over his aching head, and what was left of his leaves fell, withered, brown and dry. He was nearly as bald as Canach now, only scattered stems protruding from his scalp. He didn’t care. Trahearne would still love him even if he lost his physical beauty.
There was a low call from ahead, and Damara ran to him, Canach and Marjory following behind her. “Caoilfhionn! Thank the Gods! Are you all right? We feared the worst.”
With an effort, he pulled his eyes away from the abyss where Malyck had fallen and back into the present. “I’m okay. Just… ran into a little trouble back there.”
Canach looked closely at him. “Back there? Or in here?” He tapped his head.
He was recovering, though. “My head is fine, Canach. I’m glad to see yours is still attached to your shoulders.”
Canach gave him the barest smirk. “It gets harder and harder to keep it there, I know…”
“Just give us a call if you’re having trouble,” Marjory said. “It was a bit of a scare to lose you like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll try harder. How far away is Logan?”
Logan was not far away, and after fighting more snipers than Caoilfhionn really thought necessary, they cut open his blighting pod and Damara and Canach dragged him out. His armour was in tatters, his skin sickly pale, and his eyes were closed.
“Logan?” asked Damara.
“Logan, can you hear me?” Marjory asked.
Logan moaned and blinked slowly, his gaze unfocussed. “The others… Zojja…”
“We’re getting you out,” Marjory said.
“The darkness,” Logan mumbled. “I didn’t know where to stand… It was lifting me.”
“You’re safe now,” Damara said. “Can you walk?” Logan shook his head.
“Did the Mordrem let anything slip about the Dragon? A weak spot, perhaps?” Canach asked.
“No. Nothing.”
“Marjory, steady him and meet up with us,” Damara said. “Caoilfhionn, we should go ahead to find the others.” Caoilfhionn nodded and led the way.
“She didn’t want to leave the plant with the plant food,” Canach said to him, and he snorted.
“We’re both at risk of turning,” he pointed out. “We can steady each other. And maybe I… I don’t actually mind your company.”
“I don’t blame you,” Canach said, sardonic, yet less so than usual.
The others were in trouble as well, swarmed with even more Mordrem Guard, big heavy punishers and cavaliers. “They came out of nowhere!” Rox exclaimed.
“Zojja?” demanded Caoilfhionn – and stopped, and stared. “Caithe. What are you doing here?”
Rytlock shook his head. “They stopped us; we didn’t make it yet. We found her tracking Faolain, and then we were waylaid by this group of Mordrem protecting that twisted branch.” Caithe nodded to him calmly.
Damara grimaced expressively. “Faolain’s here too?”
“Whatever that thing is, it’s not Faolain,” Caithe said. “I came to put it out of its misery.”
“Get in line,” Braham said.
“Behind me, too,” Rytlock said.
“No time to argue,” Damara said. “We have to get Zojja. Braham, she makes one wrong move, stop her.”
“Sure,” Braham said. “Hand over the daggers, traitor.”
Caoilfhionn should have spoken up, but his trust in Caithe had been shaken too, and he had enough roiling in his own heart he could not spare any feelings for her. Caithe did as she was told and followed them.
Not a moment later, a troop of small, green, leafy Zojjas popped out of the undergrowth, wailing. “Burn… Burn us! Kill us!”
“Poor devils,” Rytlock said. “Far be it from me to deny their wishes.”
“These vile trees!” Caoilfhionn cried. “So that’s why they were brought here!”
“Zojja!” Damara cried. “I’m going to get her out!”
“Get back, it’s going to explode!” said Canach, and even as Damara reached the pod, it burst open with a sickening plop, depositing Zojja’s unconscious body unceremoniously on the ground.
“She’s unconscious,” Damara said, as Rytlock finished off the last of the clones. “We must have been too late. She’s much worse than Logan.”
Kasmeer looked up quickly. “You found him?”
“They did indeed,” said Logan himself, stumbling into their midst on Marjory’s arm.
Rytlock grinned. “Logan! I knew they couldn’t make mulch out of you.”
“Rytlock!” said Logan, managing a weary smile of his own. “You came back- where were you?”
Rytlock shrugged. “Oh, learning a thing or two here and there in the Mists. You know, typical jumping-into-a-rift sort of thing.”
“Anything to help me kill this Dragon?” Logan asked.
“Why don’t you let us handle that?” Rytlock said, surprisingly tactfully. “This team… they’re as good as we ever were. You two go and hang out with Eir. She’s probably antsy for company.”
“Eir’s all right?” Logan said. “I see Caithe’s on probation…”
“Eir was badly wounded when we rescued her,” Braham said. “But she’s alive. And yeah, she’d probably appreciate seeing you both also alive.”
“Isn’t this touching?” said a new voice from above them, an arrogant voice, and they looked up to see the horrible mutated form of Faolain crouching on a cliff a small distance away. “Destiny’s Edge reunited at last. Zojja, you’re looking well. Caoilfhionn, your leaves look marvelous.”
“Faolain!” cried Braham.
“It isn’t Faolain,” Caithe said. “Mordremoth is behind those eyes.”
“Whoever it is is about to be put into a grave,” Braham said.
Faolain chuckled merrily. “You’ll have to catch me first.” With a flick of her vinetooth tail, she was gone.
“Let’s go!” Braham cried, charging ahead.
“Kas, take Zojja and Logan and portal them out of here,” Damara ordered. “Rox, go with. Keep ’em safe.”
“With me!” Caoilfhionn cried, running in Faolain’s wake. “She shan’t get away!” Rytlock growled and dashed up beside him on all fours; Caithe and Braham were right behind him.
Her voice still carried to them. “You may have uprooted Zojja and Logan, but you’ll never make it to Trahearne in time. Don’t you see? Harmony is coming, and you will join Mordremoth.”
“Your harmony is slavery, and we will not stand for it!” Caithe cried. She turned to Damara. “Commander, please! Let me fight! I can help you reach Trahearne! I only want to kill the Dragon! Its death might kill me – the entire Sylvari people – but that’s better than living in its grasp! It’s the only end I’ve been working toward.”
Damara looked at Caoilfhionn. Caoilfhionn looked at Caithe. Her words spoke to his heart, and he believed them – even if she had not seemed in her right mind when she took the egg. “Fine. But don’t cross us again. Braham, give her daggers back to her.”
“Fine,” Braham grumbled.
The chase led them onward, across jagged rocks, ever closer to the gigantic tree. Faolain was fleeing there… undoubtedly leading them to trouble. And they came upon it, small pockets of Mordrem Guard, but they blasted through, unburdened by anything but the need to overcome. Over on their right, across the lake, they could see the battle of the Pact against the Dragon, gliders fluttering and zipping over the lake of enchanted mist, coasting on ley-lines and buoyed by strong wind currents, hopping from island to island of weathered ley-stone. The Dragon threaded through them like a great armoured serpent clad in violet-green plates. They could hear its cries, hear the mumble of magically-amplified orders, and the sharp reports of blackpowder weapons. The sounds echoed off the massive tree and the cliffs around the lake; Caoilfhionn could have closed his eyes and still sensed exactly how large the lake was.
Faolain came to the trunk of the tree and disappeared into it. They followed, lower down, finding their way in through a channel cracked in the ley-line-weathered rock. The interior of the tree was unbelieveable; two ramps winding like a helix up out of a pool of dark water up to near the top of the tree, far above them.
Caoilfhionn gazed up in grim wonder. “We’re here. This thing. This tree must be the Dragon’s… epicentre.”
“Yes, I feel Mordremoth’s eyes bearing down upon me,” said Canach.
Braham looked confused. “Where is the beast? Isn’t everyone else fighting it?” He pointed back north-east, where they had just seen the army fighting.
Caoilfhionn shook his head. “It’s not one thing out here, Braham. It’s everything! That’s… only a small manifestation of it. If they kill it, we will be no closer to victory than when we began.”
“The entire time we were traversing this jungle, we were afoot on its back,” Canach said. “Like fleas on a hound.”
“Eugh,” Damara said. “But I guess bombarding the entire jungle wasn’t as crazy as I thought it was.”
“If that’s the case, then…” Braham yelled and whacked the tree, leaving a heavy splintered crater in the soft, partially rotted wood. “…I know it doesn’t really hurt it; just something I had to do.”
“What will hurt it, then?” Marjory said. “If it’s in another dimension, that’s cheating.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Caoilfhionn said. “But first we must free Trahearne from whatever fate Mordremoth has in store for him here.”
“I’ve spent much of my life hating the Firstborn, always being compared to them,” Canach said beside him as they started up the closest ramp. “In our Mother’s eyes, Trahearne was perfect and none of us could live up to him. But now…”
“And now…?” Caoilfhionn asked, looking up at him.
“With Mordremoth pounding against my willpower, I’m barely holding on. And yet Trahearne… he flew his airships straight at it. I can only admire him now. We must find him.”
Caoilfhionn, in this late, desperate hour, laughed. He hadn’t done that in a while. “He was never perfect. He has made mistakes… but he tried his hardest and he overcame his fears. What else can any of us do?” Trahearne had not known Mordremoth’s strength. His boldness was not from bravery this time.
But had he known, he probably would have done it anyway. Trahearne never turned back once he had set his sights on a goal.
Canach let out a sigh. “I worry that it’s already too late. Mordremoth will have its hooks in Trahearne’s body and mind much deeper than it did in Zojja and Logan. It’s what we Sylvari were designed for.”
Caoilfhionn clenched his fists. “We’ll find a way. We… have to.”
They climbed the ramps, fighting Mordrem and vines, up, up, up to find where Faolain waited for them, in a hollow in the wood, a hollow filled with blighting pods. The monster paced back and forth before them, animalistic and menacing, but Caoilfhionn’s attention was fixed solely on the blighting pods, upon one encasing a tall, slender figure.
“You cannot stop the inevitable,” Faolain hissed. “You cannot silence the pulse of this world.”
“Trahearne!” Caoilfhionn sprinted for the blighting pod, heedless of Faolain. He reached it and struck it with his fists, scraped at it, trying to tear it open. “Trahearne! I’m here!”
A blow from the side knocked him to the floor of the hollow and Faolain’s horrifyingly gigantic face was looming over him, inches away, her head more than half as tall as his entire body. She leered with scarlet eyes as big as his handspan, her mouth large enough to bite off his whole head. “Trahearne is ours!”
He drew his knife with his sword-hand and slashed it between them, terror warring with fury within him, blowing fire into her face and making her reel away with a squeak of pain. “Trahearne is mine! And I am his! While I breathe you shall never have him!”
“Oh, don’t be so possessive,” Faolain cooed, darting back from him and watching them all with a predatory smile. “There’s room here for you both.”
“Get her!” Damara yelled, loosing an arrow that lodged in Faolain’s branch-like leaves.
“You can’t run forever, Faolain!” Braham said, charging forward with the rest of them. Caoilfhionn jumped up and joined them, spinning fire between Rytlock and Canach.
“Braham, how is your mother?” Faolain asked, spinning and knocking Marjory down with her tail. “Do give her my best.”
Braham snarled and swung, missing, at her clawed foot. “By Wolf’s breath, she will be avenged today!”
Faolain chortled. “I know Eir and I had our differences, but I hope she didn’t think I was a thorn in her side.” Braham’s only reply was an enraged scream.
“Faolain, please!” Caithe begged. “If there’s any part of you left… let us free Trahearne!” Futile, but he understood. She could not but love, deep down.
Faolain turned on her, focusing the full power of her attacks upon Caithe alone. “You still don’t understand. There was never Faolain, there was never Caithe, there was never Trahearne… There was always Mordremoth!” Caithe gasped under the onslaught, vanishing and reappearing a little further away. Faolain prowled after her, but Braham got in the monster’s way. “Caithe, don’t you know it’s dangerous to rebel against your creator?”
Caithe spun, daggers flashing, dancing between the monster’s feet and carving deep into its chest area. “I don’t care the cost! The Dragon will fall, and we will be free – in life or in death!”
Faolain screamed and reeled back, swatting at Caithe, but she was no longer there, dodging away, Marjory coming up in her wake to slash with her long sword. Rytlock roared, channeling magic through his flaming sword, hemming Faolain in from the other side. Faolain snarled, springing high and away from them, then charging back in to knock them down with the power of her passing. Canach swung into her path, Moon shield high and immoveable, and she drove him back with her head but could not knock him down. Caoilfhionn shot past him, crashing into her with the force and fire of a meteor, and she stumbled. Damara’s hawk stooped upon Faolain’s head, pecking at her eyes, and Damara’s arrows sank into her neck.
Faolain screeched even louder, rearing back to slam down upon them all, and Caithe leapt up, taking flight from Rytlock’s shoulder, and slashed through her throat. The monster gurgled, clawing at the air, and collapsed before them heavily. Her claws scrabbled at the wood for a moment before she sighed and lay still, scarlet eyes still open and staring eerily.
“It is done,” Caithe said, breathing hard. She closed her eyes and swayed a little.
“Caithe, are you…?” Marjory began.
“Fine,” Caithe said, opening her eyes again. “I made my peace with Faolain’s death when I saw what she’d become. Now I must destroy her body.”
“And-” The blighting pod cracked, and oozed open. Caoilfhionn turned to rush to his beloved, but Mordremoth was one step ahead of him. Trahearne was hanging limp from a vine that had swallowed his lower half, and it yanked him away, just as Caoilfhionn reached out for him. “No! Trahearne!”
The vine thrashed and pulled back into the whirlpool under the tree. Without pause, Caoilfhionn leapt after.
He had sunk through the water at the bottom of the tree and fallen into a tunnel full of air – as if the water had only been a layer. But now here he was in a dark tunnel full of tree roots, made of tree roots, smelling of bitter earth and stagnant water, and Trahearne was nowhere to be seen.
The others were following after. “What a strange place this is. Either this is a trap, or the Dragon’s getting desperate,” Marjory said as she landed in a ready crouch, reaching for her nodachi.
“Doesn’t matter,” Rytlock grunted. “Trahearne’s here, and even if he is just bait, he’ll still lead us to Mordremoth.”
“Mordremoth’s here too,” Caoilfhionn said. “I can feel its mind all around us.” He breathed slowly, fighting its pressure. His mind was all a jumble between the Dragon’s call, his Wyld Hunt, and his heart’s cry for his love. There was no need to be led anywhere. They had come to the end of their journey.
“Yes,” Canach said. “It’s like some great fist… And it’s squeezing.”
Caoilfhionn looked at him and offered a hand. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get this Dragon out of my head for good.”
Canach shook his hand with a fierce grin. “Agreed. Mordremoth must pay. And the world needs to see a Sylvari exact payment.”
Caoilfhionn nodded and turned to lead the way down the tunnel. It twisted and wound its way through the roots, and he could not see very far before him, nor hear – it was as if the roots absorbed all the sound around them.
They had not gone far when the tunnel shook. “Armies cannot stop me.”
Canach looked up. “The Dragon is focused on the battle outside. We’ll never get a better chance.”
The tunnel was opening up, and Caoilfhionn could see in the slightly larger space – there ahead of them was a figure, upright now, blinking awake… with burning red eyes.
“Trahearne!” The cry was torn loudly from his throat, and he ran to his love, heedless of the danger in those eyes. “I’m sorry I took so long, I’m sorry for all you’ve suffered…” He went to put his arms about him, but Trahearne put out a hand to stop him. “Trahearne?” Had he fallen? His body had been half-hardened from soft leafy flesh to jagged wood, his face half seized by corruption.
The expressive side of Trahearne’s face was yearning, his breathing unsteady, and he reached out as if to touch Caoilfhionn’s cheek, but pulled back. “I cannot… I dare not touch you, beloved, else I lose my concentration. But you look as though you’ve suffered just as much as I have… I’m sorry for causing you such pain.”
He shook his now-bald head. “I’d endure much more for you. But I’m here now, and together we will fight.” Caladbolg lay nearby, notched and splintered in two, wedged into a half-cloven vine, its light dimmed. He must have fought desperately, alone, to the last of his strength. Oh, how he loved him!
Trahearne swayed, a hand to his head. “It’s too late. I know – I am part of the Jungle Dragon now. It is everywhere.”
“Trahearne,” Caithe said softly. “…Faolain is dead.”
Trahearne nodded. “I felt it. You have been so strong, Caithe. And you are free now. I’m happy for you.”
“So how do we kill it?” burst out Braham. “Burn every field and fell every forest?”
“No,” Trahearne said, to Damara’s relief. “It can’t be defeated that way. It’ll just grow back. Its roots have spread too far, too deep.”
“Then we destroy the root,” Damara said. “Mordremoth is the Dragon of the Mind. Its strongest attacks come from its mind. That’s our target.”
“Sound strategy, Commander,” Canach said. “Turn the tables and attack the Dragon the same way it’s been attacking us? Brilliant.” There was a distant howl, and the tunnel shook. “You don’t need a translator to understand that – the Dragon doesn’t like this idea.”
“Or the army just struck a good hit,” Damara said.
“They have slain the Dragon’s body,” Trahearne said, looking upwards as if he could see to the surface. “It is in pain, and full of rage, preparing to grow a new body to destroy them with.”
“Then let’s kill it before it can,” said Caoilfhionn. “Kill it, and free you.”
“Yes…” Trahearne said softly. “Strike at the Dragon’s mind through the Dream. It can work. And my connection will provide the access you need.” He breathed, gathering himself. “I’m ready. If I concentrate, I can open a path into the Dream… into Mordremoth’s mind. Your minds will make the journey, but your bodies will remain here in the cavern.”
“Just like Mother does,” Caoilfhionn said. “Incredible!”
Rytlock grunted. “I’ve seen enough metaphysical landscapes lately. I’ll stay behind to keep the Mordrem at bay.”
“I’ll stay too,” Marjory said. “If something goes wrong… or Trahearne isn’t what he seems to be… I’ll be standing by.”
“Trahearne is strong enough,” Caoilfhionn said fiercely. “And so am I.”
“You don’t have to be so defensive,” Marjory said.
“Let me fight,” Caithe said to him. “You may not trust me, but we both know Mordremoth will enslave us all, just like Faolain. Let me help you end this. The Pale Tree may never recover… but someone has to destroy Mordremoth and lead our people out of the misery it created for us. I know you can do it. I want to help.”
Caoilfhionn looked at all his friends and companions. Caithe wanted to come; so did Braham, and so did Canach, and so did Damara. But Damara stepped back. “I know how important this is to all of you. I’ll watch your backs out here.”
“Really?” Caoilfhionn asked, unsure if he were grateful or regretful. Both.
“Wait… so everyone going into Mordremoth’s mind is a Sylvari except Braham?” Rytlock said. “Does anyone else see a problem here?”
“Nah,” Braham said. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
“We will all support each other,” Caithe said. “Be strong, everyone.”
“You are ready?” Trahearne said. “I… I want you to know… I’m so proud of you all. Thank you.”
“We’re almost there, beloved,” Caoilfhionn said to Trahearne, and found his eyes closing before he could see or hear Trahearne’s response.
He was falling into a void, a void filled with vines, grasping and choking all light. A voice thundered around him, echoing through his head as if all that existed were pure sound. “You should not have come here. I am everywhere. I am all.”
“Only in your mind,” Caoilfhionn said, as he landed on a small fragment of coherent reality in this chaotic void, an island made of leystone and vines. “And I will reduce your mind to ashes before I’m done.”
The dragon’s ghostly face loomed before him. “Bold words. But empty ones.”
He drew his sword and pointed it straight at the Dragon; his blade flamed as fiercely as Rytlock’s with the strength of his passion. “We’ll see how empty they are in a minute.”
The Dragon snarled and vanished, and in its place they fought spectres – of Eir and Garm, of Canach, of the Pale Tree, all blighted and turned to the Dragon’s control. But they were only illusions, and as they fought each of the phantoms, Mordremoth left itself vulnerable in its eagerness to destroy them. One by one, they brought low the illusions, and the Dragon growled in rage each time.
“We’re weakening it,” Caoilfhionn said in the first breathing space they bought for themselves, pointing to where the vines that made up this strange pocket dimension had begun to wither and crumble. “Breaking its grip on the mindscape gives us the chance to take control. Our minds have power here, too. Let’s use it!”
A deep laugh cut him off. “I am the only possible victor. Become part of me and endure… or fall forever into oblivion. We are the same. Let your mind merge with mine.”
Caoilfhionn stumbled to his knees as the full force of the Dragon’s power bore down on him and him alone. “I can’t… I can’t concentrate… can’t think… Help me! Mother… Trahearne…!”
Canach grabbed his shoulder. “You’re stronger than this, Caoilfhionn! Focus your mind! Reject the Dragon!”
Caoilfhionn’s only answer was a tortured scream. His head was bursting, his vision swimming and fading to shadows, and he could feel his skin crawling and hardening. All he could see was the Dragon – not the newly summoned draconic champion stomping towards them, but the true Dragon, the spirit of darkness and hunger, ready to consume his soul.
“Listen to me!” Caithe cried, running to one of the glowing pools that marked a hole in Mordremoth’s mind. “There’s another tear here, in the mindscape. Come close. I can help you.”
“Braham, distract that thing for a minute!” Canach shouted, putting Caoilfhionn’s arm over his shoulder and half-dragging him towards the rift, though Caoilfhionn felt himself struggling, dazed.
“Got it,” Braham said, charging towards the huge, bipedal, ogre-like manifestation of the Dragon. “C’mere, ugly! Payback’s only just started!” It swung a huge fist at him and he grunted as he caught it on his shield, getting driven back a pace, then gave it a crack with his mace.
Canach got him to the rift and dumped him headfirst into it as Caithe channeled its energy. With one more scream, Caoilfhionn felt the pressure of the dragon recede from his mind and body. “I… I think it worked. My head is clear again.”
“Good,” Canach said. “Glad we could return the favour. Now let’s kill that thing.”
Mordremoth summoned other illusions to attack them – Rytlock, Marjory, Damara… even Sieran, who had been dead for years. How insidious! But every time they opened a rift and defeated another illusion, the illusion joined their side.
And then he sensed an enemy from behind and whirled with a slash, to find himself facing… Trahearne. “This won’t end well… for you.”
“Trahearne!” He should have expected it, and yet he could not help his body freezing up. He could not lift his hand against his beloved…
But this wasn’t his beloved, only an image of him, and he remembered it as the doppelganger swung his sceptre; Caoilfhionn ducked and slashed, rippling a wave of fire over his attacker, buying himself enough time to look around for the inevitable rift. But it hadn’t manifested yet, so for the moment, he had to fight the one person he would never be able to fight in the real world. And Blighted Trahearne was just as good as the real one. Caoilfhionn ducked and wove, elemental magic sparking off of death magic, love and defiance flowing through him like a river.
He clenched his teeth as he dodged nimbly, twisting around spells and slashing his own back in return. How dare he!? How dare Mordremoth use the Sylvari – how dare he take Trahearne and twist even his image into a being of hatred and destruction!? And outside the real Trahearne suffered, fighting corruption with all his beautiful strength and will, struggling to remain himself just for a few minutes longer – how dare the Dragon!?
“I’ve got it!” cried Caithe, reaching into the rift that had formed by now. “Hold on, Caoilfhionn!”
Abruptly, Blighted Trahearne was yanked away from him, tugged into the rift – and with a flash, more vines fell from the mindscape as it unraveled just a bit more around the edges, and Trahearne’s illusion lay there, unBlighted and with determination in his eyes. Caoilfhionn reached out and gave him a hand up.
Trahearne gave him a firm nod. “This is it, beloved.”
“I’m with you, beloved,” Caoilfhionn answered. “Time to end this.” He turned back to Mordremoth’s physical avatar, currently engaged in beating back Canach and the illusory Rytlock with its mighty arms. “Mordremoth!”
“I am power itself,” Mordremoth answered. “I am life itself. To deny me is to embrace oblivion.”
“Then I embrace it!” Caoilfhionn cried, defiance igniting to an inferno within him, protective rage surging through his sap. “I know dragons are supposed to be above us mortals… never knowing our small concerns… our cares, our joys… so old and powerful that any concept of mortality has ceased to matter. Well, if you want to take my love from me so badly, take it! Take it all, take my love, my joy, my hatred, my rage! May you know what it means to be a mortal! May you suffer every drop of anguish we have suffered before you draw your last breath at my hand! Come find what it means to give your life for everything you held dear!” With tears in his eyes, Fire blazed around him, and he charged.
Mordremoth growled, focusing upon him yet again, yet Caoilfhionn barely slowed, blasting through the interference with a gutteral yell, throwing himself at the Dragon’s avatar, scorching it, overshooting and whirling to attack again from another angle. The world blurred before him, from tears, rage, and the Dragon’s call, yet he powered through, striking at the largest target – the Dragon.
The Dragon’s fist struck him full on and he was smashed to the ground with a cry of pain. The Dragon reached back to punch again, and Braham jumped in front. “Nope! Denied!”
And Trahearne and Canach were dragging him to his feet as Braham caught the blow upon his shield. “Up you come,” Trahearne said. “Once more. Well done!”
Caoilfhionn was past listening even to Trahearne’s voice, filled only with greater fury, his flames burning yet brighter. Magic surged through him, amplified by his feelings, on the verge of losing control and yet at the very pinnacle of his ability – every ounce of his power perfectly directed into destroying this being of destruction. Twice, thrice, and again, he charged and slashed, making the Dragon stumble and falter. With every strike, his focus sharpened as he disrupted Mordremoth’s control over him.
The Dragon’s avatar reeled and stumbled, trying to shield itself from his rage, and Canach gave a cry of triumph. “It’s stunned! Hit it with everything you’ve got!”
The ground was shaking as vines crumbled, as leystones shattered, the arena shrinking smaller and smaller around them at an increasing rate. Every one of them, Canach, Braham, Caithe, Caoilfhionn, and the freed illusions of Rytlock, Marjory, Damara, Sieran, and Trahearne, was giving their all. The Dragon screamed as their swords bit into it, stumbling back until it fell down, helpless before them.
Caoilfhionn held his sword high, blazing as a torch. “You’ve failed, Mordremoth. For the Pale Tree! For Tyria!” He leapt forward – jumped off the shield Canach held for him – and plunged his sword to the hilt in the Dragon’s avatar’s chest. Fire rippled out in a wave, incinerating the entire avatar.
“What have you done!?” Mordremoth roared, its avatar crumbling, the entire arena crumbling, and they were falling, falling past the thorny vines that petered out into ashes, falling into a bright light…