IT’S DONE AT LONG LAST
This set of chapters is less polished than the others, but the inspiration that I had in the middle of summer dried up unfortunately. It’s really a pain about the [HoT spoilers] because I really just don’t have any interest in the game anymore after they did that. The story’s not bad in LW4, I’m just… there’s no point for me. If I had more inspiration, there would be more proper build-up for several of these plot points, particularly Trahearne’s progression between his different stages. It was already a delicate balance to try to strike with being true to his personality and to achieve the sort of alteration that I was looking for, without also bringing gradual changes into it as well. Though he’s probably going to go Reaver now; I know that him using a greatsword before wasn’t a preview of Reaver, since OG Caladbolg had its own moveset, but when you get Caladbolg Orchida you get to use your regular moveset. And the Reaver moves just sound cool.
This image was really cool, but obviously I didn’t go with that idea for this fic. Super epic, though.
I used Roar of Dominion for the Balthazar fight scene! Trahearne’s still listening to Aviators a lot – but I also dipped into the Necrodancer OST for his second fight and returned to Let There Be Fire for his third fight. When I needed to write Faren, I borrowed Incandescent (although Solaire is better at being a hero than Faren, he’s more humble. But I think Faren would like to be like Solaire if he could). Then I used God-Shattering Star for the Joko fight, because that seems like his kind of drama. : P And most importantly, Dive from Mystic Pop-up Bar is Caoilfhionn’s final reunion song – and kind of the theme for this whole story! It just fits so well! I didn’t plan it that way! Trahearne’s reunion song, by contrast, is Love Resembles Memories! Couple songs that didn’t really get used for anything specific would be the male version of Magnet (for the boys together) and Mark Knopfler’s Irish Boy (for Caoilfhionn).
I know Faren doesn’t have an official first name yet, and might never. If he gets one I’ll edit. He was also frustrating to write until I realized he’s Sain from FE7 lol.
Chapter contents:
– 1: On the Rocks
– 2: The Hero of Amnoon
– 3: The Necromancer’s Destiny
– 4: Mistakes Have Been Made
– 5: Faren’s Moment
– 6: Who We Are
1: On the Rocks
Caoilfhionn and the other members present of Dragon’s Watch – Rhyoll, Annhilda, Damara, and Rytlock – were returning to the Temple of Kormir a few days after they’d saved it from the Herald of Balthazar. While Caoilfhionn would have eagerly gone after the Herald, to track down Balthazar and Vlast right away, the Temple was still in danger and so they’d delayed a little to clear out some Forged camps. It served a dual purpose; while these people deserved to feel safe, it was also important to secure friendly territory for Amnoon.
Rhyoll in particular had become invaluable; his mechanical legs that Caoilfhionn had first seen when they first met were complete, and while they had been designed with the open grasslands of Ascalon in mind, they did excellently across the sands of Elona. Rhyoll outstripped them all with ease on a regular basis, arriving at destinations nearly fresh. Annhilda often asked him to scout ahead now, “Still rather have a tank, but how am I gonna get a tank down here from the Black Citadel by myself? Hahaha!” Rytlock groused under his breath about it, which made Canach snerk with amusement when he was around.
But for now, Canach, Phiadi, Wegaff, and Kasmeer were further afield. Caoilfhionn was enjoying seeing everyone again, though he missed seeing his other friends back in Tyria, whom he still hadn’t seen in over a year. Ah well! At least he could talk to Taimi over Annhilda’s communicator, and they were making new friends too, sort of, slowly.
There were fewer people in the Temple now than there had been previously. Any of the refugees who had the strength to had hurried on to Amnoon. Caoilfhionn didn’t blame them; although it was safe now, though Dragon’s Watch had destroyed the Forged camp, they surely did not feel safe to remain. He only worried that they might push themselves too hard in their haste…
He glanced around the main hall and caught sight of a figure of medium height next to the Humans, though tall to him, green and leafy and gazing up at the beautiful domed ceiling- “Trahearne!” He ran forward, delight illuminating his face, and flung himself into his lover’s arms. The right arm was thinner than the other, perhaps always would be, but it was full-length now. “What are you doing here?”
Trahearne smiled down at him, hesitant still but just as happy to see him as he was. “I missed you, beloved. I need to push myself. Waiting idly will not heal me. So here I am – free of all other obligations, ready to follow you and your guild wherever may be.”
Caoilfhionn drew him in. “I’m overjoyed to hear it. Welcome!” He kissed him soundly. “So what do you think of Elona so far? Have you ever been before?”
“No, I haven’t. It’s fascinating. The cultures I see here, past and present, are so vibrant.”
“I know, these domes are exquisite-”
“And the colours on everything-”
“And the patterns!” Caoilfhionn grinned at his love, ecstatic that he agreed so closely with him on this. And they could explore it… together!
“You yourself look splendid in local clothing. I know I said so before, in the Grove, but it is even more apparent here under the desert sun.”
“Thank you,” Caoilfhionn said happily.
“No doubt you’ve been busy aiding people. I’ve already heard rumours of your exploits; it seems that Sylvari, Charr, Asura, and Norn stand out in a country primarily filled with Humans,” Trahearne said dryly.
Caoilfhionn laughed at the joke, but sobered. “We’ve begun. Balthazar is doing much damage. If he were to attack a major settlement head-on, it would be devastating. So I’m glad you’re here. Come, the others can help me explain.” He took Trahearne by the hand, but Trahearne didn’t move. “Trahearne?”
Trahearne raised his hand to his lips and kissed it, and suddenly Caoilfhionn felt short of breath. He didn’t understand entirely the emotions Trahearne was trying to convey, but he felt them. And he just wanted to put his arms about him and hold him, forever.
He’d waited for this for so long, when he and Trahearne could see the world together. He could still see shadows in his eyes, the walls still standing around his heart, the uncertainty in his body. But he could see the love and trust there too, reflecting his own. He just had to be patient.
And he really did have to be patient, it quickly became clear. Though Trahearne did seem genuinely happy to be with him again, and out in the world, and as magnificent in his magic with scepter and focus as ever he had been, his temper was as short as it had been a few months ago in the Grove. He snapped at minor things, without warning, withdrawing in shame and frustration afterwards, and Caoilfhionn didn’t know how to help. And slowly, Trahearne slid back into the anger and depression he’d thought he left behind in the Grove. Though he began to see a pattern. The anger always flared when Caoilfhionn was threatened, whenever any of them were in danger but most especially him.
“Trahearne… you realize I can’t stop being in danger, out here, on this quest?”
Trahearne bowed his head. “I… I know. But I…”
Caoilfhionn waited, trying to figure out what was going on. “The past is the past.” This was… survivor’s guilt, it was called, wasn’t it?
“I know,” Trahearne snapped. “I told you… I can’t just will away my… emotions.”
“I know,” Caoilfhionn said, soft and yielding where Trahearne was hard and prickly. “I’m sorry.”
A sigh. “You’re trying to help. I’m trying. I really am.”
“I know. I love you, beloved.”
“I love you too.”
And yet. Summoning a minion on a man who threatened to run them out of town seemed like overkill to Caoilfhionn. Snapping at Phiadi when she was a little too arrogant… picking a fight with a ghost who refused to speak with them… unleashing the full force of his power on an average-sized Branded devourer… Trahearne was not in control, and Caoilfhionn didn’t know how to help him regain it.
Annhilda had asked Damara to go signal the Phoenix Dawn to come moor at the spires by the skimmer ranch, to bring in some of the members of Dragon’s Watch – and Canach – who had become scattered across Elona. They had to prepare for a scouting mission southward on Balthazar’s trail. Caoilfhionn was with Trahearne, feeding fish to the skimmers, when Trahearne looked up sharply. “The spire is on fire.”
Caoilfhionn looked and gasped, for it was so, waves of gouting fire spraying in ominously controlled patterns from the distant rock. “Annhilda! Come quickly!”
Annhilda came running. “Spirits! That’s not good. She doesn’t have her wyvern, so that must be…” Her grey-blue eyes widened. “Balthazar! Let’s go!”
They ran, but they had only gotten partway there when a crystal missile flashed overhead towards the spiretop. “Aurene?” Annhilda cried. “Aurene! Come back! Wait!”
“Aurene!?” Caoilfhionn exclaimed, feeling a dim tug at his senses in the direction of the missile. Annhilda had told him of the little dragon’s birth, but he hadn’t met her outside the shell yet…
There was no time to think about it, only to climb the cliff as swiftly as possible as the noise of the fire roared over them. Caoilfhionn drew his sword, flinging water over their path, quelling the embers that fell from above and threatened to spread the flames to the surrounding area. And when they reached the top…
There was a figure lying motionless on the ground, a massive gaping wound in her chest and her clothes burning. Her devourer was a burning smudge beside her. No one else was there. “No! Damara!” Caoilfhionn shouted as he saw, sweeping water over the entire plateau. Across from him, the Phoenix Dawn cruised in at high speed, Rytlock and Rhyoll jumping from its side before the gangplank was even down.
Everything was dim and he felt dizzy, a sickening weight in his stomach as he stared at Damara’s dead body. He barely heard the others talking all at once, even Taimi chiming in through Annhilda’s communicator. He’d lost people he’d loved before, but so rarely was it so… immediate. Ruadhan, Malyck, Sieran – he’d never seen their bodies. Tonn, yes, though he’d only known him a few weeks. To lose a guild-mate, someone he’d known his entire life…
Trahearne knelt beside her, but rose almost immediately, shaking his head. “I can do nothing for her. Her soul is fled…”
Caoilfhionn went to him and leaned his head into his shoulder, seeking his embrace, and Trahearne wrapped him in his arms and held him close, and they both wept.
Until they heard a gasping breath, and whirled to see Damara’s wound had somehow closed – her eyes were open – she was blinking, and breathing, and grunting, trying to sit up!? Everyone jumped away from her, Rytlock shouting “Get back!”
“How!?” Phiadi demanded stridently, not getting back but marching up to Damara with a look of extreme indignation. “How did you do that!?”
“Well…” Damara thought for a minute, blinking, a bit of a goofy smile crossing her face. “I was dead… But now I’m not.”
“That’s not how ‘dead’ works,” Taimi put in.
“She makes a very good point,” Canach said softly. “We all checked, Damara, and you were very much… no longer with us.”
“This is a trick!” Rytlock growled.
“No trick, really,” Damara said, her eyes still on Canach. “But we have more important things to worry about. Balthazar has Aurene.”
“I know,” Annhilda said, kneeling beside her. “I felt him take her. They’re heading south, towards Kralkatorrik.”
“But there’s a large army of Forged in our way,” Phiadi said. “We’re going to need a plan.”
“I think I have one,” Damara said, trying to get to her feet – and her eyes fell upon the remains of her devourer. “Be-Betty…” And she burst into tears.
Annhilda, already beside her, put an arm about her shoulders, and Caoilfhionn broke away from Trahearne to join her other side, to comfort her. Kasmeer was kneeling with them, and even, to Caoilfhionn’s surprise, Canach.
“I don’t suppose your devourer can come back the same way you did,” Phiadi said, tactfully soft.
Damara shook her head. “Oh, why did he have to come here now? I couldn’t get away, and she wouldn’t leave me…”
Caoilfhionn held her tighter as she sobbed. “I’m sorry we didn’t arrive sooner. We came as quickly as we could.”
“I’m glad we don’t have to bury you,” Canach murmured. “I know how much you love your pets, but we would miss you too.”
Damara sniffled and tried unsuccessfully to dry her eyes. “I’m not saying I’d rather have died than Betty, but it’s… painful… I’ll be all right in a minute. I’ll… Just… I need a minute.”
“Of course,” Annhilda said, and got up, motioning everyone away.
“So the people here really coexist with the Awakened?” Annhilda asked.
“Yes, of course,” said the human farmer, smiling with bemusement. “The Bonestrand helps supply the entire empire. The farmers of Purity work with the Awakened to raise crops that are then sent south to Vabbi. Praise Joko!”
“Hmm,” Damara said. Caoilfhionn looked at her – and remembered. Her mother had been from Vabbi, hadn’t she? She hadn’t spoken much about her, but… Perhaps he could ask delicately, later.
“Uh, praise Joko?” Annhilda pressed.
“Indeed.” The farmer nodded emphatically. “King Joko has blessed us with protection, prosperity, education, and even Awakening! He defeated Abaddon and vanquished the Elder Dragon Zhaitan-”
“Excuse me,” Trahearne broke in, face darkening in fury. “How dare you!?”
“I’m pretty sure those last two things are made up,” Damara said.
The farmer’s smile dropped like a stone. “King Joko doesn’t lie. He’s as honourable as he is powerful. If you want to blaspheme, do it north of the wall with the rest of the exiles.”
“This is all abomination!” Trahearne snarled. “Necromancy-”
“Trahearne!” Caoilfhionn grabbed at him, at his mouth; Trahearne struggled, but Caoilfhionn dragged him away desperately, using Air to help him. Sure, the person before them was only a farmer, but even a farmer could be important. They didn’t need to tip off Joko’s forces that they were coming, or turn the locals against them, or-
He managed to get them out of sight behind a stone outcropping and let go. Trahearne immediately turned on him and struck him in the face. “Don’t… don’t force me like that!”
Caoilfhionn caught his breath. His cheek stung but that wasn’t important right now. He should have realized… had he brought back unwelcome memories? Trahearne was hunched away from him, shaking, grinding his teeth. “I’m sorry. Please- please breathe. I’m not…”
“No… you’re not.” Trahearne’s breathing was unsteady, half-sobbing, and he leaned on the rock. “You’re not to blame at all. I’m the one who should be sorry. I…” He managed to breathe deeply and turned away, looking north back where they had come from. “Perhaps we should… part ways. For good.”
“How do you mean?” Caoilfhionn asked, dread seeping into him.
Trahearne glanced in his direction but did not meet his eyes. “How many times have I nearly brought disaster upon us? You deserve someone better. Someone who is not half-mad and broken…”
“Trahearne.” Caoilfhionn took a step towards him, feeling his own control slipping, his normally-sweet demeanour darkening. His fists clenched as he tried not to explode. “I have not been angry at you once in my life… until now. How dare you cast me aside in your despair? Do you not love me?” He knew the answer already; he could not lie about that, even at his lowest point.
Trahearne flinched. His voice was weak and high-pitched as he answered. “I do. You are my inspiration and my hope.”
Caoilfhionn huffed. “Then don’t say another word about breaking the troth we made.” He made himself relax his arms, his hands. “If you need space, that’s fine. But by the Pale Tree, I cannot live without knowing you are there for me, whether at my side or the other end of Tyria.”
“I… am the same,” Trahearne said, and tears ran down his face. “I take it back. I need you as much as you need me, if not more. But I am causing problems for you. I have been this whole time. And just now… I have been trying! Truly! But I cannot seem to stop myself. I swear it is not Mordremoth, but my body and my mouth move before I can rein them in… I’m sorry for jeopardizing our mission. I’m sorry for striking you.”
“I forgive you,” Caoilfhionn said readily. “I did not think of how you might react to being seized and dragged off…”
“At least you didn’t use vines,” Trahearne said, with a flimsy attempt at a joke. He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Talk to me. What is it that upset you?”
Trahearne trembled again. “Joko. He is cruel beyond belief, and his Awakened are a perversion of necromancy. How can these people live beside the re-animated corpses of their families? How can they see this as a privilege!?”
“I know,” Caoilfhionn said. “They have been brainwashed over generations.”
“Yes, I know full well that I cannot open their eyes in a moment, but it… it makes me angry! ‘Tis worse than Zhaitan, in some ways.” He turned and slammed a hand into the rock, crumbling it under his fingers with death magic, then pulled his trembling hand back and sighed. “And that is partly why I must leave. I cannot trust myself not to ruin Damara’s scheme.”
“I’ll come with you,” Caoilfhionn said. “They have enough people to pull it off without me.”
Trahearne finally turned towards him, reaching out hesitantly to caress the cheek he’d slapped before. “No. I… need to find myself. I wish I could say it was enough for me to go through life at your side, but something isn’t right. And I must fix it on my own, without leaning on you.”
“Must you?” Caoilfhionn asked plaintively, leaning into the hand. “But if you feel that’s best, you should follow your quest. I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me, as long as it takes.”
Another tear ran down Trahearne’s face. “I’m sorry. A lot of good I’ve been…”
“Stop apologizing. I forgive you. I forgive you. I love you.” Caoilfhionn stepped forward and embraced Trahearne close, trying to impart all his confidence and love, to sustain him during their time apart. And if he wept tears of his own, Trahearne wouldn’t be able to see from this angle.
At least not until Trahearne nudged his head up so that he could kiss him.
They parted; Caoilfhionn gave him a wistful smile. “Will you be leaving straight away?”
“I might as well,” Trahearne said. “There’s no pressing need for me to stay, logistically. Be careful, all right? Balthazar isn’t allowed to take you from me while I’m not looking.”
“No, he isn’t,” Caoilfhionn said. One more kiss, and he stepped back with a wide smile. “I won’t keep you, then.”
“Going somewhere?” Annhilda asked, approaching them from a tactful distance. “Is everything all right?”
“We’re fine,” Caoilfhionn said, still smiling. “Trahearne has chosen a new quest. I’ll be staying with you.”
“Okay,” Annhilda said. “May Raven be with you.”
“Where are you going?” Canach asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Trahearne said. “It’s more the journey that is my quest, than any destination. Perhaps I shall go to Orr, there’s not much damage I can do there…”
“I think you’ll be surprised,” Wegaff said. “Er- not like that! I mean, you’ll be surprised by Orr in general.”
“You have my curiosity,” Trahearne said, and allowed himself to smile. “I apologize for my outburst earlier. I shall not get in your way from now on, at least. Good fortune be with you, and may Balthazar fall swiftly.”
“Thanks!” Damara said. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for. Stay safe, okay?”
Trahearne bowed. “Thank you. I will see you all again someday.” He turned and began to travel north, without looking back, tall and determined.
2: The Hero of Amnoon
The roof of the palace was blisteringly hot. Damara gasped for air, her sand lion Myran beside her, Sohothin in her hand. Balthazar loomed before her, indomitable in his fearsome armour and his own gigantic weapon. Behind him was the wreckage of his robotic weapon. She still couldn’t believe she’d disabled it on her own. The others were still engaged with Forged below; they’d promised to follow her when they could, but what if they couldn’t…? Fire raged all around the rooftop; behind her, Kralkatorrik’s massive head loomed out of a cloud of purple magic and sandy dust that obscured the rest of him. She was afraid down to her bones. If she died this time, there would be no coming back for her. But then, she hadn’t expected to come back the first time.
Balthazar huffed a disdainful laugh at her and attacked. She dodged, hacked a hasty slash back, and ran. “Yet again, you stand alone…” He slammed his sword against the rooftop, waves of fire crashing in her direction. She rolled out of the way. “…against the god of war… armed with nothing but a sword… and the foolish belief… that you’ve… just… accomplished… something!” Every word was punctuated by another swing of his sword, and she tried to quell the panic. The others would be here soon, right?
“I’ve stopped you from destroying Tyria,” she panted, wiping the pouring sweat from her face in the half-second before she had to dodge again. “That’s ‘something’.”
“You’ve stopped nothing,” Balthazar retorted. “All I need to finish Kralkatorrik is the scion trapped behind me.”
He wouldn’t hurt Aurene again! “Then I guess we’re not finished here!” Though she was spending all her time dodging. She couldn’t attack like this. Did her defiance count for much? Sooner or later, she was going to get smushed and fried.
Even as she thought that, fiery chains flung out towards her and wrapped around her, trapping her in place. She snarled and her lion snarled, but she was completely helpless – just like before! “Myran- run-”
Aurene trilled and broke free of the broken machine, scampering to Damara’s side and shattering the chains with a blow of her tail. “Aurene! Thank you! Stay close. We can do this if we fight together.”
Balthazar snorted again. “Impudent newt! You’re of no use to me dead, but half dead will still work.”
“The god of war likes to fight infants?” Damara cried, dodging another wave of fire and managing to get close enough to lunge a stab at his leg, then rolling away again before he could retaliate.
“The god of war likes to win,” Balthazar growled with finality.
An explosion shook the rooftop slightly, and a rift appeared in the fire, water and earth intermingled blasting through it and keeping it down, long enough for figures to appear: Annhilda, Phiadi, Rhyoll, and Caoilfhionn, who had undoubtedly let them in with his new magical powers. “Hey, Damara!” Phiadi called. “The cavalry’s here, you can stop holding back now!”
“‘Bout time!” Damara called. “My baby had to save me, with all the time you were taking! I’m supposed to be saving her!”
“Baby?” Caoilfhionn asked, and vanished in a blink of fire and lightning, reappearing in Balthazar’s face with a stab and another explosion, then darting away again with lightning bolts playing about him. Once he’d talked to that weird guy at the creepy academy, he’d mastered the dual-element skills he’d been working on in, like, a day. Wegaff hadn’t been able to believe his readings – or his eyes.
Didn’t he know? She could have sworn she’d told him. “My baby girl!” Damara wailed, nodding at Aurene. “All right, sweetie, let’s do this! Just like we practiced!” Practiced so long ago in Tarir, she barely remembered what to do herself. Crap.
With seven targets to defend against and attack, Balthazar could not focus on her alone, and now she took Sohothin with both hands. No Human had wielded it since Prince Rurik of Ascalon. Now she was going to kill a god with it.
For an instant, long-ago discussions with Annhilda flashed through her mind. Where would Balthazar’s power go when he died?
But while he lived, he was a menace to the entire world. They’d just have to kill him and hope that that didn’t destroy the world.
“You cannot win,” Balthazar mocked her, seeking to chain Aurene this time. Damara stabbed at the chains, shattering them with a shower of orange sparks; Aurene hissed at Balthazar with spread wings and bared fangs. How could something so dangerous be so cute? Good girl! “The gods have abandoned this world. Abandoned you.”
“No, they abandoned you,” Annhilda said. “We asked.” Rhyoll’s rifle cracked, but Balthazar shrugged it off.
Damara laughed breathlessly and darted around Balthazar. “Come on, Aurene! Come on, Myran!” Aurene bounded to flank their enemy, and hissed blue-white fire at Balthazar. He growled and jerked back, stung by her crystal flames. Myran roared and clawed at Balthazar’s knees, shedding a cloud of sand that swirled around him, though she didn’t think it would blind him nearly as effectively as it blinded mere mortals.
Balthazar roared and swept out more waves of fire, rings rippling outwards from his body, knocking everyone down except Caoilfhionn, who managed to jump over all of them, but her Sylvari friend hesitated to close with Balthazar, choosing instead to focus on healing them. Damara pushed herself up, feeling her muscles whimper with exertion and her shoulders scream with burns.
Phiadi coughed as she dragged herself to her feet on the other side of the rooftop. “Think you’re so special… just because you had superpowers once…”
For answer, Balthazar simply stabbed silently towards Phiadi, skewering two of her minions and nearly-! Annhilda sprang in front just in time, catching the blow on her shield, and getting knocked back, nearly off the roof. Damara and Caoilfhionn tried to take advantage of his distraction, dashing to attack him in the back, but he spun and the flat of his massive sword caught Caoilfhionn and sent him flying in the other direction, into Rhyoll, whose rifle rang out accidentally into the sky.
Melandru, help her! Everyone was down again, and they were all going to get killed like she had unless she… Myran lunged, and Balthazar kicked her lion away as if he were a puppy. Damara cried out, and barely ducked another swing of the flaming greatsword, and the shockwave knocked her to the roof yet again. Oh, gods, it burned. Her body nearly gave up right there, driven to the edge of exhaustion by the heat and stress.
But she got her arms under her, got her legs under her, took a tight grip on Sohothin, and raised herself yet again.
Balthazar snarled. “I am fire! I am war! What are you!?”
Damara chuckled grimly with the last of her breath. “Still standing.” Her pet was down, but not dead. The others were still moving. Everything hung on a knife’s edge, but they hadn’t lost yet!
He roared as he loomed over her, about to skewer her with another blazing-fast stab. She didn’t have the strength, or the speed to counter…
Aurene howled, and breathed blue-white flames all over Balthazar. He flinched, and Damara stabbed. Straight into his left shoulder, through a gap in his seemingly-impenetrable armour…
“No!” Balthazar shouted, reeling back. “I am a god!”
But flames burst from his hand – his left arm exploded from his body, fiery magical energy bursting from the wound. He shook and thrashed, as if power were building up inside him, trying to clutch at the pouring stream of energy – and then his other arm exploded – and his helmet – and now he was beginning to look like one of his own Forged, hollow, staggering, a marionette of metal and flame. His face was gone, and Damara screamed to see the blank mask where it had been, eye sockets and gaping mouth revealing the fire behind it.
Piece by piece, he crumbled, disintegrated, until the blue-white magic within him flooded the rooftop, spreading into the storm he himself had created, knocking everyone to the searing hot stones. Damara cried out again as her fingers and arms burned against the stone. She couldn’t see much, only that there was magic and light and shadow everywhere, and the wind was whipping dust into her face and through her braided hair. Caoilfhionn was going to have to generate a lot of ice for everyone as soon as this storm died down…
Aurene chittered unhappily, buffeted by the magical wind, as Damara found she still had the strength to stand in the middle of the storm. Sohothin was still in her hand, somehow. “Aurene! Are you okay, baby?”
Aurene was spinning in the centre of the storm, magic shooting into her, pulled in, and the little dragon was helpless to resist. “Aurene!” Damara dragged herself forward, limping painfully, reaching out to her sweet child, just as the last of the magic slammed into Aurene and she splatted to the rooftop, trilling angrily and covered in fire. As soon as the baby dragon recovered her footing, she took off and flew away, trailing a bright stream of magic. “No, come back…!”
A roar from behind her reminded her there was another dragon about, and she turned to see Kralkatorrik swallowing the rest of the magical storm. “Crap,” she heard Phiadi mutter. “That’s… not good. Carry the seven… No, not good at all.”
Kralkatorrik roared again and turned away, vanishing into the storm of purple lightning.
Annhilda sighed. “Okay. We saved the world for about two seconds. Now how are we gonna tone down Kralkatorrik so he doesn’t destroy everything, without actually killing him, which would also destroy everything?”
To Damara’s surprise, Caoilfhionn was smiling. “We’ll figure it out. It can’t be impossible.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m going to be doing most of the work,” Phiadi said.
“Wegaff and Taimi will certainly have something to say about that,” Caoilfhionn said. “And Annhilda and I are not inept at deciphering magical mysteries. But the real work done here today was by Damara, and I thank you for it.” He bowed to her, smiling with such heartfelt happiness she almost believed everything was going to be okay. She guessed he had a reason to think it could be done, though. After what he’d done before, being so in love as he was… he must believe anything was possible.
“Er, thanks!” she said, smiling back awkwardly. She’d take his word for it, for now. “Couldn’t have done it without you, though.”
“That’s why we’re a guild!” he said. “But I want to say ‘well done’ all the same.”
“Thanks! You’re welcome? I… am glad that’s over. I’m really hungry!”
“Me too!” Rhyoll said. “Guess it would be in bad taste to roast snacks over what’s left of a god, huh?”
Annhilda chuckled. “And I’m really thirsty! Let’s go find out where the others got to.”
The party in Amnoon was in full swing, and Damara was right in the middle of it, having left Myran back at her lodgings where he wouldn’t get overwhelmed with people. Because she’d been the one to kill Balthazar, she had to do the speech, which was really, really scary – almost as scary as fighting Balthazar all over again. No, it wasn’t that bad. But she didn’t want to do it, so she was stuffing her face with cake while she could. And hoping she wouldn’t get sick once they pulled her up on stage. What was she going to say? Some of her friends, like Rytlock and Phiadi, said she needed to be grimly honest about what they were going to face, with Kralkatorrik stronger than ever. Caoilfhionn and Kasmeer said she should be inspiring and hopeful, to let these people have their night of celebration unmarred by fears. Annhilda and Canach said she should ride a middle line and let them figure out what needed to be done for themselves.
She barely remembered making the speech. This wasn’t anything like leading soldiers for the Vigil or the Pact. She had the vague idea that she ought to pretend she was talking to Petra, another civilian, and focus on what she would need to hear. It was… mostly hopeful? Ugh, she wished she didn’t have to do it. Annhilda was really happy that it wasn’t on her shoulders for once, and Damara supposed that Annhilda deserved a bit of a break, after all the speeches she’d had to make as guild leader in the past. And at least Caoilfhionn had been the one sweet-talking Joko’s generals into the attack.
She was heading to the drinks table – time to get tipsy now that the hard part was done! – when she caught sight of fantastic pectorals and stopped dead. “L-L-Lord Faren!?”
“Hello, Damara!” Faren cried, in his bathing suit and absolutely nothing else, looking… ravishing, if she was honest with herself. She tried to keep her eyes up, but it was difficult! “Splendid speech! Just splendid! Congratulations on your victory. Though, I imagine you’d have won the battle sooner with Swordmaster Faren at your side. No matter! You should try the Elonian wine. It’s magnificent!”
“Oh, but you had an important job in Lion’s Arch, didn’t you?” She took a glass of the wine and sipped it. “Wow, you don’t get this at home.” She’d never had a wine that tasted buttery before. Though she’d heard some nobles liked to put butter in their wine… like weirdos.
“You’re right, of course! It’s a good thing I stayed behind. Yours truly was responsible for thwarting an organized theft of supplies. Imagine! Without Lord Faren on the case, these refugees would have gone without tanning oil.” He gestured, and they began to walk through the party, heading in the direction of the docks, where there was a bit more air.
“Right,” Damara said, glancing at his midsection inadvertently. “Which… you’ve been putting to use yourself, I guess.”
“The sun here is amazing! Though once I’ve developed an even colour I’ll have to get to work on those pesky tan lines. Do you know of any nude beaches around Amnoon?”
“Do I know of any nude beaches? Lord Faren, do I look like I know about nude beaches?”
He laughed. “Perhaps not. But you don’t need to tan. Your skin is already a lovely even colour just naturally! I imagine you’d just go for the enjoyment.”
“Lord Faren!” She reached out to slap him, blushing hotly, not that he could tell, and hesitated. He was still wearing next to nothing, and she didn’t really want to touch him when he was doing that. “It’s nighttime. You should put some pants on, at least!”
“But that would thwart my tanning regimen!” he cried, gesturing theatrically to the skies. “I need every ounce of sunlight Amnoon can throw at me, day or night. These rippling muscles and glistening chest hairs take a lot of work, I’ll have you know.”
Damara turned away, covering her face, wondering if she was in danger of getting a nosebleed. He wasn’t wrong, and she hated it. “Yes, but…”
“I wonder if I could start a cruise from Divinity’s Reach, with my new airship, for other like-minded souls…”
“Lord Faren, you’re incorrigible.”
“And proud of it!” He beamed with delight at her and she found herself blushing again.
“I bet I could take you in a fight, though,” she said.
“I think you said that before! Alas, I don’t have my rapier with me. But do you really think so?” He didn’t sound doubtful, only curious.
“Look, I once kept Annhilda from falling to her death off an airship. I may not groom myself like you but I’m friggin’ ripped under this leather.” She saw his eyebrows go up with intrigue and regretted saying it like that.
“I’d be interested in-”
She set her glass down, grabbed him, and put him in a headlock without much difficulty. “Ta-dah! Any questions?”
“Yes, could you let me up, milady?” He was laughing, and she laughed too, and let him go, retrieving her glass. Wow, she was already more tipsy than she thought if she were manhandling Lord Faren. But she knew he wouldn’t mind. He was generous to his friends regardless of class.
They’d wandered out to the docks, which were very sparsely inhabited for the moment – everyone was in the market where the food and music was. The water lapped softly at the old stones, and the moon shone down brightly upon them. She finished her drink and let the glass hang loosely from her hand. The alcohol had gone softly to her head, and she was pleasantly dizzy now. And she didn’t really mind hanging out with Faren for a while. He was friendly, and familiar. …And good to look at.
And then he took her hand in a more intimate fashion than she was ready for and she felt a jolt run up her spine. “What are you doing?”
“Admiring you,” he said cheerfully. “You are the Hero of Shaemoor, and many other things besides, but that title doesn’t do justice to your doe-like loveliness.”
“My what-”
“Do you not like deer? I thought you would, with all your pets…”
She pulled her hand away. “Lord Faren…”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He looked worried.
Best to just come out and say it. “Why are you hitting on me? Your usual admirers not enough for you?” With Merula and Jasmina no longer paying attention to him, he was technically single, but what did that mean with Faren?
“Ah, er, haha, well…”
“Lord Faren.” Damara raised her chin. “You are a fine friend, but you are a terrible boyfriend.” She didn’t want to prick his ego too hard, but she felt vulnerable and anxious and covered it with aggression. “I’m not anyone’s side chick or rebound or fling. I’m not going to be used and cast aside.”
He looked stricken. “I… I see. I, um…”
They stood awkwardly several feet apart in the romantic moonlight. She’d just murdered the mood with a greatsword. Two seconds ago she’d thought she wouldn’t reject this kind of attention, but when it came down to it… she didn’t want to get hurt later. She didn’t dislike Faren, she just didn’t trust him not to cheat on her. And after all, wasn’t that the reason why she got so infuriated whenever she heard about his new conquests? She had a crush on him but couldn’t believe he would care for her the way she wanted to be cared for.
He cleared his throat. “Would it help matters if I confessed that I’ve admired you for years…?”
She whipped her gaze up to stare at him in shock. “Then how come you were always philandering?”
“Um… You never seemed interested.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“Like, really not interested. You always seemed annoyed with me. It was… intimidating. So I hesitated. And, you know, since I’d never said anything, I didn’t think you would care if I saw a lady or two…”
“Or ten, or twelve,” she retorted. “That’s why I was always annoyed with you. If you can’t commit to a woman for longer than two months, how could I even consider dating you? I’m not in the habit of changing partners on a regular basis. You’d just break my heart like all the others.”
He hung his head, shamed for once in his carefree life. “I… see what it must look like to you. Clearly, I have been a complete and total ass. I swear, it wasn’t like that. I’m also doing spectacularly badly at sweeping you off your feet tonight… I had thought it perfect – a celebration, the full moon on the water, my sculpted physique…”
“Physically, everything might be perfect,” Damara mumbled. “Emotionally… I just… don’t trust you in that way.”
“I see…” Slowly, he reached for her hand again and held it gently. “What can I do to repair your trust?”
She looked up at him, feeling surprise creep over her. He really was asking? And it seemed like he was going to listen? Maybe he was just asking because he wanted to get in bed with her but he was so clueless she thought he might have trouble hiding insincerity. At least, she hoped. Maybe he was really good at it on this specific subject. “Uh… well… I don’t know where to start.”
He winced. “The list is that long, is it?”
“No, I honestly… I mean, I don’t mind talking to you as a friend, I trust you to be a good friend! You’ve been a good friend and I appreciate it. But… you want to know more than that, don’t you?”
He knelt on one knee before her, and wouldn’t let go of her hand though she tried to pull away, and she was too polite to be violent. “Loveliest Damara, jewel among heroes, I admire you and wish you to be happy. What do you wish of me that would permit me to be the one to try to make you happy?”
She could at least try and tell him that. “Um. Okay. So if we were in a relationship… I hope you wouldn’t try to change me. I’ve noticed a lot of the girls you go for are… Well, I’m really practical and pragmatic and self-sufficient, and I like girly things but I’m not really girly myself, you know? And I’m really, really not upper-class. If I had to wear dresses all the time and just go to parties I’d probably go crazy.”
“It doesn’t seem like you, I’ll admit,” he said. “I’m a pretty good judge of character, you know! I know you would look bewitching in a silk gown, but naturally if you were to wear such to save the world, it would probably ruin the gown. And of course your allure comes from your dashing rugged outdoorsiness!”
Probably ruin it? Had he ever seen her fight? Surely he had! She was always running around dirty terrain, dodge-rolling enemies, climbing rocks and trees – a gown wouldn’t last five minutes out there. But at least he got it. Except for the part about him being a ‘good judge of character’, that was debatable. “And I guess the other thing is no cheating. I don’t want to change you either, but I have to say absolutely no sleeping with other women, and no kissing them.” Like… duh.
“But I can still talk to them, right? I know so many!”
He did, and the way he said it vaguely annoyed her… “Yes, of course, flirt with them if you must, that’s basically how you talk to anyone, just don’t sleep with them. Look, I died two weeks ago and came back to kick Balthazar’s butt just because I didn’t like him. So please imagine what I’ll do if you cheat on me.”
He swallowed with a nervous grin and nodded vigourously. “Yes, ma’am.” And suddenly his eyes ballooned. “You died!? Surely you mean…”
She shifted uncomfortably. “No, I really died. I… couldn’t fight Balthazar on my own. I had to talk my way out of the Domain of the Lost and kill some kind of demon creature to return to life.”
He pressed her hand to his lips fervently. “You are truly the bravest woman in the world, to challenge a god not once but twice. Thank the- Thank Dwayna you are still with us all!”
“I mean, hell yeah, I avenged my own death. But I wish I did haven’t to.” She didn’t like thinking about it. She was afraid she’d start trembling if she did.
He was starting to fidget. “Um… can I get up yet? This ground is actually quite hard.”
“Yeah, don’t hurt yourself.” He clambered up, brushing the sand from his knee. “So… what exactly do you want from me, my lord?” He’d asked her what she wanted, it was only fair she do the same.
“Want from you?” He looked at her with indignation, but his expression melted into his normal charming grin. “What I want is for you to cease calling me ‘my lord’.”
“Well… okay. Even when other nobles are around?”
“Of course! I think you’ve earned the right to speak to anyone as an equal. I mean, who else has killed two Elder Dragons and a god?”
“That just means I’m good at being violent,” she said. “I don’t even know your given name.”
“Damara.” He took her hand again, clasping it to his heart – and she could feel it beating, under the hair and skin of his chest, and that made her heart jump like whoa. “My given name is Kyle.”
“What?” Why was he telling her this? Why was he being so gentle?
“My name is Kyle,” he repeated, patiently. “You can still call me Faren if you like. You’re probably used to it by now! Without the ‘lord’ part, obviously, now. But I wanted you to know.”
“Okay.” She let herself relax a bit, let herself smile at him. “Anything else… Faren?”
He grinned at her, pleased by her effort, and clasped her hand closer. “Please let me make this night magical for you!”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. She tensed up. “What do you mean?”
He looked surprised. “What are you afraid of?”
“Isn’t this a bit soon?”
“Can’t I lavish compliments upon you by the light of the moon?” he said plaintively.
If that was really all he meant, then… She laughed with embarrassment. “Yes. Sorry. I haven’t dated in years, and you know…”
“I understand. Your last boyfriend probably did not have my eloquence. We won’t hold it against him. But if I may begin anew…” He cleared his throat. “Dearest Damara, bright star of Kryta, the moon itself cannot compare to your beauty, nor the earth to your strength, nor wind to your grace, nor fire to your spirit-”
“Ack!” She flapped at him. “Too much!”
“Too much?” He looked puzzled. “Er…”
He was still holding her hand, and she squeezed it reassuringly. “Hey, can’t we just… talk like friends… while holding hands? You don’t have to put me on a pedestal. They already did that back in there and I didn’t really like it.”
“You make a good point, my dear,” Faren said, and drew her arm closer. “But it doesn’t seem like enough to me. What about…” He pulled her close enough to wrap his arm around her waist, to press her body against his, and she shivered. Her now-free hand hovered nervously for a moment before carefully settling against his back. His skin was warm, and smooth, and his back was broad and firm, and the arm about her was strong and certain. “Dearest Damara, would you permit me to be your boyfriend?”
He’d heard her stipulations, right? “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Petra would have a massive glee fit.
He tilted her face up to him with his free hand, practically radiating charm, from his sparkling eyes to his carefully-tended sideburns to the dazzling smile they framed. Gods, he was handsome. “Thank you for granting me this honour.” He leaned in, eyes closing, and she caught her breath… and let him kiss her.
She was still nervous. She didn’t quite trust him yet. But dangit, she wanted to be kissed by a cute guy, and this cute guy had just admitted that he’d messed up in the past, and he clearly really liked her, and she wanted to give him a chance. She hadn’t been kissed in years, and… and… and Faren was really good at it, which wasn’t a surprise. His mouth was as warm as the rest of him, and right now he was being very gentle, respecting her uncertainty, his free hand softly brushing her hair away from her face.
He released her and gave her a confident smile. “Was that pleasant?”
“Yeah,” she said, and then realized that her other hand had somehow ended up on his shoulder. Why couldn’t he put a shirt on!? Well… priorities. “Oh, I guess that’s another thing I could ask… I wish you’d take me more seriously when I ask you to put pants on.” Pants, then shirt.
He pouted, making the biggest puppy-dog eyes Damara had ever seen. “Don’t you like my fine legs? I’ve worked hard on them!”
She couldn’t restrain an embarrassed grin. “You’re really cute. It’s true. And there is something I’ve wanted to do for a while…” She slapped his butt with the hand that had been on his back. Faren jumped and yelped with a high-pitched squeak. She giggled uncontrollably. “Sorry?”
“My dear Damara! How forward!”
“I’m your girlfriend now! Aren’t I allowed a few liberties?”
Faren stopped rubbing his backside protectively and chuckled himself. “Why, yes, you are. What a delightful tease you are! I adore you more than ever.” He leaned in for another kiss.
This time, she leaned up to him. His mouth covered hers and she felt herself melt against him, even mostly-naked as he was, felt one of his hands thread through her braids to support the back of her head. Gods, she didn’t have to ‘let’ herself get seduced. It was happening anyway. And she was going to enjoy it.
3: The Necromancer’s Destiny
Trahearne pulled his cloak tighter around him, blinking through the snow. Sylvari might be more tolerant of temperature extremes than other races, but they weren’t immune to them either. As evidenced by Canach griping all through Elona, and Trahearne’s own discomfort at the present moment.
He’d walked north from Elona, by himself, keeping away from the main roads and settlements, gathering his own food in the wilderness. It was a return to his youngest days, when he only had himself to rely on, when the whole world lay before him unknown. Unlike then, his mood was unrelentingly grim and pointless. In the back of his mind an ignored voice grumbled and hissed.
When he’d made camp in Timberline Falls, some weeks ago, he’d turned to look into the darkness and saw Yaleiya on the edge of his camp – taller than a Norn, mysterious as a shadow. She’d joined his camp silently, folding her long limbs to sit cross-legged just beyond the fire. Her pale face seemed to float in the darkness, framed with long dark-brown hair loosely bound, her body clad in midnight-blue leather.
Trahearne broke the silence first. “I’m… not well.” She made no answer. “What do you do, when you don’t know who you are?”
“I have never not known,” Yaleiya said, so softly.
Well, that was terribly helpful. “Mordremoth wounded me before it died. Now I doubt every action I take. I have hurt so many around me that I am afraid to be around them.”
“You do not fear me,” Yaleiya said.
He gave her a wry smile. “Can you be hurt?” Ignoring the fact that she’d sat next to him of her own volition.
Alien brown eyes looked back. “Yes. But not by you.”
That gaze had always been hard to hold, but it was impossible now, and he dropped his own back to the fire, blinking and shaking his head to try and clear it. “I’m afraid most for Caoilfhionn. I want to fight at his side, to protect him, but what if I harm him instead of helping? As I already have? But what if he needs my strength and I am not there for him?”
Yaleiya shifted restlessly. He got the sense she had little patience for speculation. “I do not have any advice for you, little Trahearne. Think less. Do more. It is not what you like. But it is what I would do.”
“I thank you, Yaleiya,” he said gravely, and they both fell silent again.
By morning, she was gone.
And now, four months after he’d left Caoilfhionn in Elona, he was on the outskirts of Hoelbrak, trudging up to the home of the person he had come to visit. He knocked.
“Come in,” Eir’s voice floated out, and he braced himself to pull the heavy door. It opened easier than he remembered it being, despite his being physically weaker, and he was glad to get in to the warmth of Eir’s hearth. “Trahearne!?”
“Hello, Eir,” he said with a bow. “It has been a while.” Garm trotted up to him with a big wolfy grin and sniffed his face, then licked him from chin to brow. Trahearne backed away, reaching up to wipe his face. “Hello… Garm.”
“Not since we were both in one piece,” Eir said with a sigh, and a glance at his right arm, still obviously thinner than the left one, but she gave him a welcoming smile. “Garm! Don’t knock the man over. Come sit down. It’s good to see you at long last. Food? Drink?” She was sitting in a floating chair obviously of Asuran design, with blue and gold cubes.
“Both would be lovely,” he said, taking the regular chair she gestured to. “It’s been a long journey for me.”
“How have you been? Where’s Caoilfhionn at these days?”
“I’ve been… Caoilfhionn is saving the world again, but I couldn’t stay with him.” His failings lashed him and he frowned, trying not to cringe into himself at the memories. “But how are you? You look busy. And that chair…”
“I made it,” said a new voice, and Trahearne looked into the corner to see Zojja sitting, toying with her gauntlet, typing something into an array of holoprojections before her.
“I apologize, I didn’t see you,” he said.
Zojja waved him off. “No worries. I’m busy myself. Trying to… argh!” She paused in her typing and stared into space, swaying from side to side.
“She’s overcoming some lingering issues from Mordremoth,” Eir said, floating over to him with a well-filled plate and a huge mug of mead. Garm went over to the hearthrug and lay down with a satisfied grunt. “I guess we all are, aren’t we?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Let me guess, that’s why you’re here. For my wisdom.”
“If you would grant it,” Trahearne said, trying not to inhale his food like a sprout.
Eir chuckled. “I don’t know how I got this reputation. I follow Wolf, not Raven. Now every young hunter pesters me about everything that bothers them. Had to tell them to limit themselves to the weekend, or I was going to stop answering questions altogether. You’re fine, though. You’re a friend.”
“It’s not such a great mystery, is it?” he said to her. “Raven may signify wisdom, but he does not have a monopoly on it, does he?”
“True,” she said. “So. What is it you want to know?”
He took a minute to eat and drink some more before answering. “I am missing part of my mind. Mordremoth destroyed part of it before Caoilfhionn managed to kill him. I lack the patience and self-control that I once had. I feel like an explosive device, waiting for the next mental assault to set me off.”
“Hm,” Eir said. “I’ve known many warriors develop that way without even fighting an Elder Dragon. You’re very calm now, though.”
Trahearne shrugged. “Today has been… easier. Seeing you distracts me from my own mind.”
“And what have you done so far?”
Trahearne began counting on his fingers. “I’ve tried waiting it out with Caoilfhionn; I’ve tried waiting it out without Caoilfhionn; I’ve tried adventuring with Caoilfhionn; I’ve tried adventuring completely alone… that seemed to help some. To ignore the whispers that still linger, to know that if I lose control I will die with no one to rescue me…” Though if he were to run into a Joko supporter without Caoilfhionn around, he could guess how that would end up. Good thing there were none in central Tyria.
“So, high-pressure situations,” Eir said. “But you’d rather be around people – at least, when you choose to.”
“Yes. I can’t simply hole up on Orr like I did during the first twenty-five years of my life.”
Zojja huffed a massive sigh and trotted over to chat with them. “Ugh. I’m not making any headway on this thing.”
“What are you working on?” Trahearne asked.
Zojja shrugged. “I’m trying to work on a new behavioral program for Mr. Sparkles, but it’s not… I can’t… Look, I still have all my knowledge, and all my skills, but since I got shoved in that tree it’s like half the circuitry’s been snipped. I can’t concentrate, I can’t remember things that I know I know, and it’s so much harder to form new conclusions from previous calculations.”
Trahearne stared. “That sounds similar to my problem.”
Zojja continued on without paying much attention to him. “It’s just so frustrating, to be just as much a genius as I ever was, only everything’s twice as difficult! Stupid Mordremoth!”
“You should still take pride in what you have accomplished,” Eir said. “Logan is still not as physically capable as he once was, he said in his last letter, but his mind is undamaged so he serves as Marshal and strategist for the Pact. You may have trouble thinking, but you still have all your knowledge and your physical skills, so you built me this chair. You rebuilt Mr. Sparkles. You helped your ward Taimi with her communication device.”
Zojja glared at Eir. “Any Asura could do that.”
“But you did it,” Eir said. “And I’m very thankful for this chair. It’s given so much freedom back to me.”
Zojja’s face softened. “Yeah… Well… I know how you are about moving around. I wouldn’t mind being a paraplegic in a hospital bed if I could still think cleanly, mostly, I mean, I’d still complain, but you were always bouncing all over the place with Garm. And… well…”
Trahearne looked between them unobtrusively. Zojja had truly forgiven Eir, if she was helping her in this way. And that brought gladness to his heart.
“It’s not important,” Zojja concluded, getting huffy in that way she had when she was embarrassed.
“It’s important to me,” Eir said gently. “Look at what it’s allowed me to do, Trahearne!” She gestured to a huge block of stone over in the sculpting area of her house, as big if not bigger than the ones outside. It was still in rough stages, only just beginning to take the shape of a square-ish male Norn. But he could imagine with the capabilities of her chair that she had little trouble reaching the top of it as she pleased.
“It’s impressive,” he said. “Who is it?”
“It’s Braham,” Eir said, with a wistful smile. “He’s… having a hard time in his own way. After those strange invasions began happening, he went with Rox to find out what was going on.”
“Invasions?” he asked sharply. “What invasions?” He’d been wildly out of touch with Tyrian news.
Eir looked surprised. “There have been portals opening, with strange undead pouring out of them and attacking. They look withered and dried, so I hear…”
He frowned. “They sound like the Awakened of Joko.” He hoped Caoilfhionn was all right. And if Joko was messing with Tyria… His wrath would be great indeed. “Did… Has Braham spoken to you?” he asked. “I heard from Annhilda a little of what happened while I was asleep.” Of the young man’s anger and guilt coalescing into cruel aloofness.
“No, not really. But when he comes back… maybe I’ll have this done. And I’ll show him that he doesn’t have to slay Jormag to be a hero to me.”
Trahearne smiled involuntarily. “Well said.”
“That reminds me,” Eir said. “Where’s Caladbolg? I haven’t seen you without it in… years. Since it was given to you.”
“It’s… broken,” Trahearne said. “Like me…”
“Don’t start with that,” Zojja told him gruffly. “We’re only as broken as we think we are. I’m determined to overcome Mordremoth’s damage out of spite if nothing else.”
Trahearne offered her a wry look. “I do not have much spite in me. Anger, perhaps, and sorrow, the same as I had before, only more so, but not that.”
“Well that sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” Zojja said, willfully misinterpreting him. “It’s not my only motivation either. But it’s the one that gets me up in the morning right now.”
“Anyway,” Eir interjected, “didn’t you say something to me once about Caladbolg being alive? Magic of the Pale Tree and everything?”
Trahearne stared at her.
“Seems to me like you could do worse than try to mend it,” Eir said. “At the very least, it will give you a goal to hunt. You can spend years in the wilds of Tyria finding yourself, but why not multitask?”
He thought about that for a long time. The others waited.
“Depression is comforting,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on his hands folded on the table, just as Zojja opened her mouth to say something. “Mediocrity is comforting. Like a Human child’s blanket. There’s something inside me that wants to stay that way – where no one has any expectations of me, where all my mistakes can be excused without any effort on my part. It tells me how pleasant it would be to remain passive and squander my potential.” And he’d given so much, so much had been expected of him before, that not having to ever live up to anything again was disturbingly tempting. “To try, and perhaps fail, at whatever I do, is… frightening. Living up to expectations, even without a Wyld Hunt to spur them, perhaps especially without a Wyld Hunt, is frightening. It always has been, but even more, now. Caoilfhionn would be disappointed in me to hear me say so, though he would deny it.”
“Are you leading up to something?” Zojja said. Eir hushed her.
“Caladbolg transformed my life when it was given to me,” he said. “All it is said to do is enhance one’s own abilities, but suddenly I was braver, more confident, better able to lead. Then we broke together on Mordremoth’s will… but we are not dead, either of us.” He lifted his right hand and closed the thin fingers.
“No, you’re not,” Eir said quietly. “And I know it’s difficult and frightening to fight one’s circumstances. I know how difficult and frightening it is to even choose to want to fight. I had to, when I first returned here after my own injury. Some cannot, through no fault of their own. But I think you can.”
“I’ve spent long enough simply surviving,” Trahearne said. It had been unkind to Caoilfhionn. For that had been what he was doing before; he had said he wanted to heal, but his actions had not mirrored his words; had been the bare minimum necessary to continue living. But now he wanted… not just for Caoilfhionn, but for himself… “It is time to choose to live, to dare, to accomplish whatever I can in this world. With the help of my friends, and everyone who has stood by me so patiently.” He stood abruptly and gave Eir a small smile. “You’re right. I should seek out Caladbolg and repair it. You see, I was right to ask you for wisdom. I would not have thought of this in this way without you.”
Eir shrugged. “I just said what I thought was right. If there was wisdom in it, you’re welcome to it. But you’re not leaving right now, are you? Stay the night and catch up! You can go home in the morning, or whenever you wish.”
He bowed, glad of the suggestion. “Thank you. I am in your debt.”
He returned to the Grove a few days later, taking the Asura Gate from Lion’s Arch. He hastened to his home to collect long-neglected Caladbolg, and found Ridhais waiting outside his door. “Ridhais?”
“Marshal Trahearne!” she cried, jumping up from where she had been sitting, and bowed. “It’s good to see you, sir.”
“I’m no longer Marshal,” he reminded her. “That honour is Logan Thackeray’s now.”
“I know. But it’s difficult for me to think of you as anything else.”
She had only awakened after he’d been made Marshal, after all. He grimaced. “Please, if you can… But what brings you here?”
“You, sir, and Caladbolg.”
What a coincidence. He raised an eyebrow. “Caladbolg?”
“Yes, sir. I think it’s my Wyld Hunt to help you restore it.”
“How long have you awaited me?”
“Several months, sir.”
He smiled wryly to himself. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Ridhais. I only decided a few days ago to attempt this task.”
“I should apologize, really, Mar- sir. I was away when you woke, and I should have returned right away, but…”
“Do not trouble yourself, Ridhais. I was not ready for it before now. Only now has everything come together. Would you come in?”
Caladbolg was still safely ensconced in its dented wooden chest. It was splintered in half, its gleam so faint it could not be seen in daylight. He drew the halves from the chest, laying them end to end, but they did not join. Its magic was too weak in its current state. The hilt looked larger than ever in his right hand. “I’m sorry for making you wait. I’m hardly worthy of wielding you now, but…” But he felt the energy pull at him, unmistakably – Caladbolg still considered itself bonded to him, and had no wish to seek a new wielder. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. And suddenly, almost imperceptibly, the whispers were quieter…
“What was it you were saying about your Wyld Hunt?” he asked Ridhais.
Ridhais tore her eyes away from Caladbolg. “I dreamed of it in my Dream. At first I thought I was meant to protect Caladbolg’s bearer: you.”
“So you joined my guard,” Trahearne remembered. “I wondered why you were so insistant, though you were so young.” He’d worried, after learning of Caoilfhionn’s feelings, that she might also have loved him… but it seemed that was not the case. Which was a bit of a relief, after all this time.
She nodded. “But it is apparent now, Valiant Caoilfhionn is sworn to protect you, and he will do so, no matter what it takes. Though I am still shamed that I could not defend you in the jungle…”
He raised a hand to forestall her. “Forgive yourself, please. The jungle was my mistake, and I paid the price.” He had to stop, turn away, control his breathing as a wave of violent emotions crashed into him abruptly – he struck the wall with his fist and the pain helped him to focus on the here and now. “There was nothing you could have done. I am more glad you survived, without me.”
“Sir…”
“But go on. Since your Dream was not of me, you determined you must be meant to protect Caladbolg itself, correct?”
“Yes, especially when word spread that it had broken. So… I’ve been doing research, sir, and I think I can advise you how to proceed – if you require it.”
He looked down at the broken sword. “I have some ideas myself, but I…” She shouldn’t be burdened with him. “I…”
“Sir?”
“I am not myself, Ridhais. I have not been for some time. The man you knew as Marshal is dead and I do not know if he will ever live again. So… you are not bound to me. You can leave whenever you wish. But… if you truly wish to come… I wouldn’t mind the company.”
She smiled. “I would be honoured, sir. Where shall we start?”
“First I will need the materials to physically mend Caladbolg on hand. Do you know where Izu Steelshrike is these days?” He slung the hilt on his back and tucked the rest of the blade into his pack.
“I believe he’s still at Fort Trinity. When shall we go?”
“At once, if you’re ready. You can tell me about your research on the way.”
“Yes, sir. By the way, have you seen the statue yet?”
He turned to stare at her, and her expression suggested she found it unnerving. “What statue?”
There was a statue of him by the entrance to the Grove, huge and heroic and unsettling. He had never felt the way the statue portrayed him to be, even when he was at the height of his confidence. “By the Tree. What is it even for?”
“To honour you, sir,” Ridhais said, practically glowing with hero-worship. “You’ve done so much for Tyria, and you haven’t been properly thanked for any of it. Even though you’ve moved on, we never want to forget what we owe to you, and your efforts in creating and leading the Pact and slaying Zhaitan and Mord…”
He had twitched at the reminder of Mordremoth. Certainly, if he pushed himself to think logically, he’d opened a conduit for Caoilfhionn and Caithe and the others to slay the Dragon’s mind, so they wouldn’t have had that shot without him, but what damage had he wrought before, with his reckless charge into the jungle? “Is this… is this how everyone sees me?”
“Yes, sir!” She smiled widely. “You are the most noble, considerate, gallant leader I’ve ever served with.”
What was her comparison? “Maybe I was once, but it did… not… feel like that. …I wonder what Caoilfhionn will think of it.”
“I don’t know, sir. Er… I don’t think anyone asked him. I guess that was a bit presumptuous of the organizers…”
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “If they had asked, I would have refused. It… doesn’t suit me. But it seems that everyone else is happy with it, so it’s good they did it anyway. But I don’t need it.”
“Ah… yes, sir.”
Furnished with spiritwood from Izu, and supported by the accompanying encouragement from his old friend, he set off to seek the magic required to bind the new wood to the old, to give Caladbolg the strength to draw together and become whole again. It didn’t take much for it to recover enough for that, the pieces melding together into one branch of living wood – but the glow was still weak and unhealthy. He would continue to fight with sceptre and focus until it was healed.
Ridhais had found a vision crystal, and led him to Lychcroft Mere – to Riannoc’s grave. He’d been there once before, in the aftermath of Caoilfhionn defeating Mazdak the Accursed. Now, before he did anything, he knelt, and contemplated, and remembered.
It was strange… He had not known Riannoc very long, though certainly his Cycle of Noon exuberance and dashing heroism had left a vivid impression, but while he remembered, both the affection he’d had for him and the grief he’d felt at his loss as sharply as if it were new, it had been… a long time ago. Riannoc was evergreen in memory, but he had not had the chance to grow with the rest of them. What would he be like now, if he had not been taken from them so soon?
When he was… not ready, exactly, but when he could not put it off any longer, he took the vision crystal and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was in another time, and a shadow of Riannoc stood before him. This was Caladbolg’s Dream, not reality – though perhaps it was truly Riannoc’s soul there, conjured from whatever afterlife awaited the Sylvari by Caladbolg’s memories and the unfathomable enchantment of the Dream. “Brother…” He swallowed.
The shadowy figure gave a defiant cry and charged at him, raising Caladbolg high. Trahearne stepped back, raising his sceptre, unwilling to fight his brother, even a crazed shadow of him… and felt his ankle caught. A zombie had crawled out of the swamp and latched on to him, and he could see more coming. He smashed it with death magic and ran, summoning minions to keep them off him while he figured out what to do with Riannoc. “Riannoc! It’s me! Trahearne! Do you not remember me?”
But Riannoc kept coming, and he could feel the maddened fear coming from him. He didn’t have a choice, did he? He was going to have to fight to purge him of the shadows that plagued him. He ducked under one of Caladbolg’s bright beams – it was well that he knew Caladbolg’s capabilities intimately himself – and spun, sending chilling blasts at Riannoc, seeking to slow him and make him an easier target. He needed distance, needed space to think-
“The warrior desired only to become a hero,” said a gentle, sweet voice in his ear, and he nearly faltered as he tried to identify where it came from. Was it Caladbolg itself, speaking to him directly? “‘A hero is fearless,’ the warrior thought, and abandoned all doubt. Magic sword in hand, he set out to slay evil. But even if he could not comprehend it, fear remained.”
“Riannoc!” he cried. “You do not have to be fearless to be a hero! Your fear does not mean you failed! True heroism comes not from being fearless but from overcoming your fear – and you did! Ah, you did…” And part of him wished that he hadn’t, that he had fled, returned safely to the Grove, even if he had been shamed in so doing… but then Mazdak would have claimed Caladbolg.
The shadow did not stop, still swinging Caladbolg at him, and he ducked and dodged, putting to use agility that he hadn’t had need of in years. The bright beams of light magic and his dark beams of death magic zig-zagged across the mire. His sap raced in his veins as it had not since he was fighting for his life- no time to think about that; he only prayed that he didn’t catch his foot on a root or slip in the mud. By the Tree, Riannoc was a marvelous warrior! He truly deserved Caladbolg… and this was but a shadow of his true self-!
And as he feared, he tripped – flailed, managed to keep from face-planting into the mud, but a beam from Caladbolg struck him square on, sending him rolling across the drier part of the ground. Riannoc was upon him as he got his feet under him and sent out a point-blank spell, dashing away from death by his own sword.
The hasty spell connected and the darkness was blasted away, leaving only Riannoc himself. Trahearne pulled himself to a stop, turned, and stared, open-mouthed. He had not seen him in thirty years and to see him now… It was like a physical blow that left him stunned and disbelieving.
Riannoc blinked at him, taking in the world around. “Trahearne? What are you doing here? You decided that I really shouldn’t go alone?”
“No…” Trahearne said, feeling as if he moved slowly as he walked back towards Riannoc, rubbing the mud from his face, healing his injury, feeling as if he moved in a dream. “This is… not real.”
“Ah.” Riannoc’s expression became wistful. “With Caladbolg in hand, I thought I had no need for fear.”
“I remember,” Trahearne said. “But fear cannot be willed away, only overcome.”
“Aye, but I pretended I could not feel it, and so I could not understand Waine, let alone become the hero I saw in my Dream. And so I lost the sword. I remember now.”
“I’m sorry,” Trahearne said. “…I miss you.” Riannoc ought to be still with them, saving the world, teaching saplings, being his larger-than-life self. He would love Caledon Forest as it was now, and the Grove, and all his generations of siblings. He would love Caoilfhionn.
Riannoc grinned widely. “Do not! My heart is with you all, in the Dream.”
“I know, but…”
“‘Twas my own fault, and I willingly bear the responsibility of my own death. If only I had not forced Waine to his rashness…”
“I don’t have nearly as much sympathy for him,” Trahearne said. “Sorry.”
“He was not a bad person,” Riannoc said. “He looked up to me. It was… intoxicating, a little. It was not his fault.”
“Some of it was his fault,” Trahearne muttered.
“Trahearne,” Riannoc chided him. “None of us really understood what was happening. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m surprised that you can’t forgive him with all the wisdom you have surely gained of the world. You were always the wise one to begin with.”
“Nevermind,” Trahearne said. Once they had all been young together. He had not been wise then, only thoughtful. “I miss you, that’s all. But you need not fear for Caladbolg. It was recovered.”
“It was? Splendid! I am glad. Was Mazdak slain?”
“Yes. A young Sylvari, my lover now, did both.”
“Oooh.” Riannoc’s face lit up with glee. “You have a lover!? You were always so shy! What’s she like? A worthy Valiant, to be sure!”
“He,” Trahearne corrected him. “You don’t have to remind me what I was like. He’s… joyful. Unquenchable. Indomitable. If love were condensed into a Sylvari, it would be Caoilfhionn. He’s of the Cycle of Dawn and in my opinion, none exemplify it better, even of our three Firstborn siblings.”
“You adore him,” Riannoc teased. “And I am glad of it. Does he now bear Caladbolg?”
“No, that honour was given to me. Our Mother thought I would need it to complete my Wyld Hunt, and she was correct. But… it was broken in another battle. I have come to heal it, though memory and magic.”
“That’s truly splendid,” Riannoc said. “I know you were always hesitant to fight, but I see it in you now – you stand as one who has been through many battles. Is that what happened to your arm?”
Trahearne looked down at his right arm. “I suppose it is.”
“Clearly you have had many adventures! Indeed, it makes me quite… eager to challenge you.”
Trahearne smiled. That was Riannoc. “I would be honoured to accept.”
“Then let us dispense with words, and test each other in the manner of heroes!” He raised Caladbolg to salute Trahearne, and Trahearne saluted formally with his sceptre. A breath, and Riannoc charged, grinning like a mad fool, Caladbolg angled for a thrust at Trahearne’s chest. Trahearne wasn’t letting him get close, wondering if it was cheating to summon minions. Probably.
Riannoc must have sensed it. “Don’t hold back! Show me what you can do, Brother!”
Trahearne let himself smile back. “You’ll regret letting me, I think…” He raised his hand and pulled a flesh golem from the mud. And another. And three smaller minions, for good measure. Yet he was still not pushing himself to his limit; he was not on the verge of losing control. “Enough targets for you?”
“Incredible!” Riannoc panted. “So effortless! I recall when summoning one of those big ones was a task for you!” He whirled and slashed, carving through the smaller minions without much effort.
But without Risen trying to attack him back, Trahearne was able to breathe a lot easier than he had before. “I suppose you are right.” And now he was back to wondering how Riannoc would be were he yet alive…
“Focus, Brother!” Riannoc chided him, ducking one of the flesh golems and stabbing the other. “You may be powerful, but so is Caladbolg, and so am I!”
“Right,” Trahearne said, with another little smile, and cast another volley of spells, making Riannoc laugh as he dodged them. Riannoc clove his second golem in half and dove towards him – straight into a chilling spell that made him stumble to one knee before Trahearne, who pointed his sceptre at him, focus resting easily on his shoulder.
“Magnificent,” Riannoc said, breathing hard, lifting himself to his feet and bowing to Trahearne. “You were always one I looked up to – even if I didn’t listen to you – and you have grown far beyond me. You have changed… for the better, though I see darker shades in you that were not there before. But brighter ones, too.”
“Thirty years,” Trahearne murmured. Thirty years of despair and hope, warring within him.
“So long? May you live many, many more, with your lover. May Caladbolg continue to protect you… and do protect it still.”
“I will,” Trahearne said, a little embarrassed – but Riannoc didn’t know about Mordremoth, and there wasn’t time to tell. “It was… good to see you again.” He reached out his hand, and Riannoc clasped it eagerly.
“Likewise! Fare thee well, Brother.”
“Rest well, my brother.”
He woke then, and was quiet the rest of the day, despite Ridhais’s curious glances. He would tell her at some point, but he had a lot to think about, first. Caladbolg had a tendency to draw out one’s heart, hopes and doubts alike… perhaps it wanted to tell him that the good in him still outweighed the bad.
Now his quest took him across Tyria, its length and breadth, seeking out foes to challenge Caladbolg with, hidden wells of natural magic to infuse its soul; both would strengthen and temper the blade. And as the blade grew stronger, its glow returned.
And something else changed, as well. He had heard Caladbolg while battling Riannoc’s shadow, but now he began to hear murmurs of the voice outside of the Dream as well. When the hissing whispers of Mordremoth grew loud, the voice of Caladbolg would hum gently, overcoming it with soothing sweetness. It seemed he also was being strengthened and tempered.
He journeyed far, fighting powerful foes – aiding the Pact in Frostgorge Sound to fight the Claw of Jormag, helping the Seraph repel yet another centaur invasion, going so far as to lead a band of random adventurers and Asuran researchers in fighting the Megadestroyer in Mount Maelstrom. He still lost control, lost himself in the fury of battle, but he knew he would not hurt his allies anymore, at least.
So it was, from south to north, west to east. He was at the north-eastern edge of Tyria, of Ascalon, in a hidden glen beyond a cave, dotted with ancient ruins through which streams ran and trees grew – and a voice suddenly called to him: “What are you doing here?”
He turned and saw a figure on a rock above him, crudely dressed in leaves, standing crooked as if bones once broken had never properly mended. “Malyck. Caoilfhionn told me you were dead.”
Malyck tilted his head to one side, almost touching his ear to his shoulder. “Maybe I was. I was dead while Mordremoth controlled me.”
Ridhais was looking between the two of them, looking confused and anxious. He would explain later. “I understand,” he said to Malyck. “I was dead for a long time myself. I have only just started to recover.”
Malyck slithered down the rock and came closer to Trahearne, limping on his crooked legs. “I still hear him, you know,” he said in a hoarse whisper, as if he didn’t want to be overheard.
Trahearne’s heart went out to him. “I know.”
“But it’s not really him, is it? I felt him die. Almost died too, for real.”
“Caoilfhionn killed him to save me. He will be overjoyed to know you live. He grieved you very much.”
Malyck’s eyes were full of yearning, but he shook his head. “I dare not see him. Not yet. But tell him… thank you. And… I’m sorry.” He reached down and touched his belly, as if remembering something.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Trahearne said. “I can forgive you on his behalf immediately. We all were in danger, and you most of all.” Malyck had always been the most vulnerable, never even knowing the Dream, not suspecting he would have to guard his mind as the Soundless and the Nightmare Court had found out.
Malyck came even closer to him. “Trahearne… How loud is it for you?”
He shook his head a little. “Not loud. He never fully controlled me. But what he could not control, he sought to destroy.” But now Caladbolg was… replacing what was missing – or at least growing over the wounds, so they did not get in his way.
Malyck nodded, straightening a little. “Every day is a battle. I’m so tired. But I will never give in again.”
Trahearne smiled at him. Malyck was fighting, fighting against wounds both mental and physical that went far deeper than Trahearne’s. But he already knew he had gotten off lucky. His respect for Malyck was immense. “Every day is a victory, Malyck. …When you are ready, you should write to Caoilfhionn. He would be so happy to hear from you. I would suggest you visit the Grove, but I cannot guarantee when he would be there…” On the other hand, Malyck was even more alone than he had been when he was newly awakened, for now he had no hope that he would find his own family with his Tree. The Pale Tree would be glad to adopt him, even if he could never fully join the same Dream… or was that too cruel, to place him in a family he could never fully share in?
“Well…” Malyck said, with a touch of his old self crossing his face, “I suppose I owe it to him to let him know how much of a hero he is. Not that he needs to be told, I think.”
“I tell him whenever I can,” Trahearne said. “Every Sylvari yet living owes their freedom to him. But he would be happier just to know you’re alive.”
Malyck nodded several times. “Don’t suppose you have things to write with on you.”
Trahearne grinned, already reaching for his pack. “Who do you think I am? Some fool of a rogue with nary a scrap of paper to hand?”
Caoilfhionn, read the scrap that Trahearne carried away to be posted from the next settlement he reached, it’s Malyck. I yet live. It’s difficult. Trahearne says he understands. He also said you’ve been grieving me. Foolish of you. Did I not say I would die to protect you and your people? I hope you are well.
When Caoilfhionn received it, he wept for joy. Malyck! O Malyck! Glad am I beyond words that you survived! I will grieve those I care about who I have lost, thank you very much – but now I rejoice, for someday we will meet again! I am certain of it. I hear you say that it is difficult, and I wish to offer my love and encouragement. I believe in you, my dear friend! You are a brave and strong person, and kind and loyal. I pray that someday you will have peace. And thank you for letting me know you’ve seen Trahearne. He’s on his own quest, and I’ve heard naught from him since he left my side. Someday I hope we can all meet again together! If there’s anything I can do for you, if you would permit me to visit you, please let me know! I still have your sword, would you like it back? It is a splendid blade and has helped me immensely on my journey. Love, Caoilfhionn
From there, Trahearne crossed Tyria again. He had tried to avoid it, but it could not be altered – he had to face the Heart of Maguuma again. Caladbolg pulled at him, and he let it – did not let himself linger in the comfort and safety of the lands he knew for too long once he felt it. He did not want to paralyze himself with fear and doubt before he even got in, or he’d never go.
Going in was already… difficult. To come out of the tunnel from Amber Sandfall and see the wreck of the Glory of Tyria, just lying there impaled above the canopy, smote him to the heart and for a moment he was afraid he would pass out. It was a while before he recovered enough to continue. Ridhais was patient.
Without Mordremoth’s will to control half the flora and fauna there, it was far less dangerous for travelers. Still dangerous, of course. But at the same time, he had not really seen the jungle for what it was, before, when he was being rushed through as a prisoner, watching only for what he could use to his advantage. He found himself wishing he could be there with Caoilfhionn – for surely Caoilfhionn had not gotten a good look at the land either, rushing after him with all his worry. And Caoilfhionn would help bolster his courage here, when he faltered at the shadows of thorny vines. But he had to do this himself. He could not lean on Caoilfhionn this time. If he failed, Caoilfhionn would still love him… and that was not the encouragement he needed right now. He gripped his determination hard and made his way forward, one step at a time.
Caladbolg led him to the place he had fallen from the Glory into the jungle, where he and Destiny’s Edge had been overwhelmed by fierce Mordrem beasts. Caladbolg had not been broken there, but it had been wrest from him. Only when he had first been brought before Mordremoth had he been able to break free of the Mordrem hands that held him, seizing his blade and attacking everything about him. Then had it broken, and the shock of it had knocked him out. And he’d never truly regained consciousness after being placed in the Blighting pod, only knowing that he had to fight to keep his mind, his soul… only waking when Caoilfhionn appeared before him and called his name with love and fear and grief…
This vision was not that. When he opened his eyes into the dream, he saw before him one of the Mordrem monsters – a vinetooth, he thought they were called. It had trampled him, clawed him, cast his golems aside like toys. He had learned to fear it quickly. He felt the breath stilling in his lungs.
Caladbolg whispered to him. “The hero sought to save the world. ‘If I keep trying, I’ll be able to win,’ the hero thought. But the harder the hero fought, the further the world seemed to tumble away. Drowning in doubt, the hero could not even save themselves.”
He shook his head angrily at the words. “I’ve seen this before,” he told the visionary vinetooth as he dodged its first charge. “I did not win then. But your master is dead. My love was victorious. So I will be victorious against you!”
It screeched with hatred at him and sprang high in the air towards him. Trahearne gritted his teeth, jumping backwards and unleashing a barrage of spells at it, chilling spells, life-sapping spells, hexing spells. The monster’s impact knocked him from his feet and he tumbled over and over away from it, somehow managing to keep his grip on his sceptre and focus.
It was stomping carefully towards him, the ground shaking beneath its tread. He scrambled to his feet, eyes and spirit blazing, a wave of rage breaking over him, and flung spells at it, striking it in the leg, the head, and it flinched, its skin discolouring in large patches. It hissed and snapped at him, and he jumped back, dodging its teeth, its tail, its claws. It sprang at him again and his magic surged to meet it, knocking it away before it could flatten him with its impact. Now it was the one to tumble away, and he followed it recklessly, hardly knowing what he was doing, only that he was going to tear it to pieces now. His thoughtful, tactical self would have been horrified… if it had been aware of anything.
If it hadn’t been for the other Mordrem around, overwhelming Destiny’s Edge and his soldiers, this fight would have gone very differently the first time too.
There was a rumble that shook the very air around him and he froze, stock-still, breath caught in his lungs again, eyes dilating, sap halting in his veins.
He sucked in a breath and screamed back in answer. “No! You are dead. You are dead and I’ll kill you again if I must!” The shout echoed from the cliffs and trees around him, and he found himself trembling… in rage, not in fear. His feelings a moment ago were nothing compared to this instant, when the memory of every injustice ever done in his presence rose up before him, every living, breathing being he could not save, every dead sibling he could not protect. He felt as he had when he stood before Mordremoth in his own mind, Caoilfhionn’s soul at his side, and blasted it into atoms with Caladbolg. His vengeful wrath was all-consuming and he took flight in it.
The vinetooth was rushing at him again with another shriek, raising itself onto its hind legs. He cried out furiously in answer, and he blasted it with death magic, channeling his strength into a intricately massive wave that assaulted it from all sides at once. It screeched and thrashed, but it was withering before his eyes, leafy flesh melting from its wooden bones. It collapsed before him, its teeth gently knocking against his chest, and he took a step back and sheathed his weapons with grim satisfaction. He looked around quickly, but the vision did not seem inclined to force him to fight against Mordremoth again.
He came out of the vision and looked at Caladbolg, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He was still shaking. “That was cathartic, wasn’t it?” He sensed agreement.
Ridhais smiled. “What was once wrong has been righted, hasn’t it?”
He looked towards the remains of the Glory. “‘Twould have been better if it had not been wrong to begin with… but at least it will no longer plague my nightmares.”
“I am glad for you, sir.”
The last step in healing Caladbolg was, naturally, to go to Orr. For all he’d planned to go there, he still had not since he had left Caoilfhionn – since he had awoken from his injuries. Since he’d gone to Camp Resolve.
“With billowing robes of blackened silk, she beckons us, arms outstretched,” he recited softly as he came to Fort Trinity, all the familiar sights and sounds washing over him, the dark cone of the forbidden land looming in the hazy distance. “I see my brothers walk forward, greet her as a friend. So many fold themselves into her embrace. And even over their cries, and the roars of the beasts, I hear Darkness call to me with a promise. But I close myself. I will not join her yet. Another call is more beautiful…” and the last line was still a mystery. It was still his favourite.
“I remember,” Ridhais said. “You used to say lines from that during the Zhaitan campaign.”
“I did… but it was not for him. It was for Orr. For me.”
“For Valiant Caoilfhionn?”
“Yes, I think so.”
When he left Fort Trinity and headed west, with only Ridhais for escort, he stared as it became visible through the haze, as he crossed the bridges of the outer islands. Surely it wasn’t… He must be mistaken…
He came closer – standing beneath the Vizier’s Tower – and gaped. And then tears flooded his eyes and he couldn’t see anything.
Orr was green. Orr was alive. His efforts had not been in vain. To think, the last he’d seen there had been lichens and seagrass, and to see – green grass, and waving palms, and ivy and shrubs and flowers – flowers, on Orr! He’d heard vaguely that Dagonet had organized something, that things had changed, Wegaff had hinted before, but he’d never imagined– Orr was scarred and battered and, according to his reports, still dealing with lingering Risen, but despite everything, it was growing anew, and growing strong.
There was probably a lesson in that for him. Caoilfhionn would rub it in, lovingly, if he ever told him about it.
Dagonet found him on the beach. “Well met, Brother! What do you think?”
Trahearne had no words, only tears – and hugged his brother tightly. “I… It’s incredible.”
“Everything you ever dreamed?” Dagonet asked affectionately.
“Everything and more.” He pulled himself away and gestured to… everything. “It’s exactly how I envisioned it. Exactly. How did you know?” It was one thing to know he had fulfilled his Wyld Hunt… and quite another thing to see what had resulted from it.
Dagonet laughed heartily. “Your notes on the ancient flora and fauna were very helpful. And really, how else could it look, if we were doing our jobs remotely correctly? We could hardly bring pines from the Shiverpeaks to a tropical environment.”
“It’s marvelous. Thank you so much.” If only he’d had those kind of resources when he was Marshal – but no. His job had been to find a way to deal with the Dragons. His Wyld Hunt had been his personal quest, not one to beg Tyria’s help on, especially once it had technically already been accomplished.
“Would you like an escort, or no?”
“I wouldn’t mind your company for a while, if you’re not busy, but I have an escort.” He gestured to Ridhais, who bowed. “And I hope you’re not suggesting that just because everything’s green now, I’ve forgotten my way around.”
Dagonet laughed. “Of course not. Let me inform my assistants where I’m going, and I’ll walk with you a while.”
All along the coastline it was the same, and he would never get tired of seeing it, how the new was swallowing up the old, how the towns and villages were becoming overgrown, how the crumbling corals and gigantic shells were being cleaned and transformed into beautiful sculptures. The black stone stone stood out among the green in a very pleasing way, and the mountain at the centre of Orr was beginning to look as if moss were creeping up its sides, rather like Mount Maelstrom. Even the climate was changing. It was more damp, mists blowing by the volcano’s cone, soft clean white wisps of cloud; the Dragon’s miasma had been gone since the year following its defeat, but the weather had never been very kind. Now he could see immediately how Orr had been a paradise for its inhabitants.
Dagonet left them in the evening, at a camp – not even a camp, really. Instead of huddling in tents or lurking in caves as the Pact had during the Zhaitan campaign, the researchers and ecologists had begun to move into the long-abandoned villages. It would still be a while before anyone lived there to inhabit, like they lived in Caledon Forest, or Kryta, but it thrilled him that people were living there all the same. And it was like that everywhere they visited on the several-day journey to the western side of Orr. Some people knew who he was. Some didn’t. He neither sought them out nor avoided them, only was pleased to observe them.
At last they came to the Temple of Melandru, where the Source discharged, and followed the hidden passage within. The door was open, letting the stream flow out freely, and Ridhais and him to enter. He guessed there was not such a need for the door to be locked when the Risen were so feeble. But there was a guard, and they saluted him, and he nodded to them as he entered.
He gasped audibly. He had expected to be astonished, after everything he had seen so far, and he had been right. The memories of his triumph here flooded him, of the intense strain of casting and holding the spell, of the way Caladbolg had taken the spell and burst it into fulfillment, the way Caoilfhionn had caught him and kissed him so passionately… The way his Wyld Hunt had cried out in ecstasy and left him, leaving him with the jubilation of the Pact around him and the victorious hope that Orr might be free. The hope that someday it might look the way it did now.
Every wall was draped in vivid green, vines and lush mosses dotted with small flowers creeping over the stone up to the windows above, where silvery threads of water dripped down into the pool below. It smelled like the freshest of mornings, cool and verdant, green and slightly bitter.
‘And you will always be strong,‘ the song went, had Caladbolg sang to him when he first came here, and he found himself striding forwards, head high, tears of wonder and gratitude running down his face. He drew Caladbolg, and saw it shining, almost healing before his very eyes.
“Once more,” Ridhais said, with a hopeful smile, and handed him the vision crystal.
He nodded, grateful to her for standing by him through this journey, a most faithful squire, and turned to concentrate on the crystal.
The first thing he saw as he lifted his head was a dark, shadowy figure, clutching Caladbolg to its chest protectively as it knelt in the centre of the fountain. It was his own self, wrapped in shadow like Riannoc had been, wracked by doubts, weighed down by fears. That version of him… was not fit to wield Caladbolg.
But… he was. Even as he was, with the cracks in his mind and scars in his soul…
The figure rose to meet him, swinging Caladbolg into a salute courteously. “The scholar dreamt of a land reclaimed from the dragon’s touch,” Caladbolg sang to him from his shadow’s hands. “‘I must learn how to fight it,’ the scholar thought, and sought knowledge. But all the scholar found was despair at the impossible task. Perhaps from the beginning, it was indeed simply a dream.”
“Dreams are powerful,” he whispered. “You showed me how to overcome my despair then, and it led to… this. Help me now.”
The voice was silent, but he felt the accord in his mind.
His shadow swung the greatsword, and Trahearne dodged as the beams of light began to blast from it, splashing through the spring. He was cautious without holding back with his own spells. He couldn’t lose control here; his past self had had excellent control even through his doubts and fears. He knew perfectly well how dangerous he could be, but he needed to defeat that shell of himself. If there was anyone he knew whom he would gladly defeat, it was his past self.
It wasn’t going to be easy. Flesh golems rose before him and he summoned his own in response. “Get out of my way,” he muttered, dashing past them to find an advantageous place to cast from. He felt anger rise in him and let it surge through his limbs, but kept a tight grip on it from clouding his mind. He could do that now.
It was a deadly dance they trod, Trahearne weaving between minions and golems, his shadow taking aim at him as he ran. Light blasted past him, narrowly missing his body, clipping his elbow. He could feel the other’s determination, a mirror to his own, interlaced with desperation. When two identical wills clashed, who would triumph? He felt his anger subside, exultant conviction welling up instead. Casting away everything that had weighed him down before, he leaped lightly onto a minion, and from a minion to a golem, and from his elevated vantage point leveled his sceptre at his doppelganger, blasting it with icy darkness.
The figure staggered and fell on his back, still gripping Caladbolg tightly. Trahearne hopped down from the collapsing golem and drew closer, sceptre ready, but the shadows had been torn away, and it was his own face that looked up at him, a face tear-streaked and yet smiling.
His doppelganger stood and bowed, holding the hilt of the sword out towards him. The blade sang to him. “Trahearne, if you still believe in a brighter future, hold in your heart a thorn that can pierce all doubt.”
He slowly reached for the sword. He… believed. Even though his mind was still scarred, even though his anger simmered closer to the surface than before, he knew it would not stop him. He would stand at Caoilfhionn’s side; he would protect him, and everyone else on this green world of Tyria.
His thin fingers closed around the hilt, and as he took it from the other’s hands, it began to sprout. Tendrils and buds curled around his hand, and and he raised it over his head with a flourish, it blazed with light, stronger than ever before. Caladbolg hadn’t just been restored… it was reborn.
His doppelganger smiled, then disappeared with a shimmer as he left the vision, still holding Caladbolg aloft. Trahearne let out a breath. It was done. The Pale Tree’s thorn was whole, and… so was he. Different, both, than they had been over two years ago. They had moulded each other, so closely joined now they were virtually one being. His was the only hand for this blade now, and he would never wield another. And now his quest had come to an end.
Which meant a more important quest was beginning. And he would dare to see it through.
“It’s so beautiful,” Ridhais breathed. “It’s as I saw it in my Dream.”
He turned to her and bowed. “I am eternally grateful for your assistance through all of this. I could not have done it without you. Your Wyld Hunt has subsided?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “It feels… wonderful.”
“It does,” he said, remembering his own. He sheathed the sword on his back. “Congratulations, Valiant Ridhais.”
She smiled widely. “Thank you, sir. What will you do now?”
“What I was not ready to do until now,” he said. “It will be deadly dangerous. Even with all my and Caladbolg’s strength, we may not be able to accomplish it. But I will go anyway. What will you do?”
She hesitated, intimidated by his rather grand proclamation.
“You are not bound to my side for life,” he said to her gently. “It was an honour to have you as my squire for this quest, but Tyria is your home, is it not?”
“Yes, sir. I will miss you, though! And I wish you the best of luck on your future quests, and all possible happiness with Valiant Caoilfhionn.”
He would be proud of him, and he couldn’t wait to show him. “Thank you, Ridhais. Now if you could but stop calling me ‘sir’…”
She laughed. “Small chance of that, sir. Shall we?”
4: Mistakes Have Been Made
“Guess what I found out!” Phiadi announced to the present members of Dragon’s Watch in their temporary hideout in a cave on the northern coast of Istan. “There’s a bounty for Damara!”
“What!?” Damara wailed. “Why just me?”
“Yeah, why not me?” Annhilda said. “Damara killed Balthazar, but I ticked off the Mordent Crescent, didn’t I? Or Caoilfhionn, since he did all the talking?”
Phiadi shrugged. “How should I know? But naturally, we should go get it.”
“Why?” Caoilfhionn asked, confused. “Shouldn’t we take it down to protect Damara?”
“No, silly!” Phiadi said. “We turn her in, collect the bounty, and then break her out again! We’ll be rich!”
“Funny you should say that,” Annhilda said. “While you were out scouting, I found out the local leader of the Sunspears is imprisoned by the Mordent Crescent. We have to break him out.”
Phiadi looked suspiciously at her. “And I suppose we can’t use Dragon’s Watch to turn in our bait and get the gold.”
“No,” Annhilda said. “I’m glad you told me about this, because it makes it so much easier! There’s some pirates nearby who will do anything if we recover an artifact for them. Bribing them with the artifact and heaps of gold is a foolproof plan.”
Phiadi flopped down, disappointed. “But think of what we could do with heaps of gold…”
“Think of what we can do with an alliance with the Sunspears,” Caoilfhionn urged her.
“Think of me getting locked up by the Mordent Crescent!” Damara said. “It’s easy for you all to talk about this plan! What if they kill me instead of locking me up? I’m too young to die! My pets will miss me! I only just got a boyfriend last month!”
“The bounty was definitely for you alive, so they wouldn’t just kill you right away,” Annhilda said. “Whatever they want you alive for, they’ll keep you alive long enough for Dragon’s Watch and the Sunspears to distract them from your escape.”
Damara put her head on one side and stroked her sand lion. “Well… let me think about it. I’d like this plan to be a bit more solid before I commit to it. You’re proposing some really wacky ideas – and you’re assuming that these pirates are open to negotiation.”
“Well, whatever you’re going to do,” Phiadi said. “There’s been nothing interesting to research for ages. Money was the only thing nearly as interesting…”
“There was a whole library,” Caoilfhionn began indignantly.
“Library, shmibrary,” Phiadi retorted. “I mean like tech. Wake me when you find some of that.”
“I’ll ask the Spearmarshal,” Caoilfhionn said, teasing.
The wanton explosions ground to a halt and Scruffy’s parts clattered slowly to the ground. Taimi tumbled out and lay unmoving.
“Taimi?” cried Caoilfhionn, and dashed forward. “Taimi!” She had grown to full stature sometime between when they had met and now, but she was still tiny and fragile to him as he carefully gathered her into his arms, channeling a soothing healing mist around himself. Damara was right behind him, ready to help.
Taimi began gasping deeply and opened her eyes. “Never been so… happy to… smell dead people…”
“Well, we’ve stopped that,” Braham grunted. “For the moment.”
Taimi managed to smile at the Norn. “Good to see you again, Braham.”
“…Yeah,” Braham said, uncertainly. Caoilfhionn couldn’t read his aura, nor Damara’s, but he’d heard how Braham had been so angry before. Now he was just cold and hard like ice. It wasn’t like how Caoilfhionn remembered him, and he didn’t like it. But Braham was a stubborn man. Like to Trahearne, he would need time and patience to thaw.
So he ignored the emotions buzzing behind him. More importantly: Taimi was recovering her aplomb, but she had been deeply shaken – terrified for her life – yet so brave! “You all right?” he asked, letting her down as she seemed to be recovering enough to stand on her own.
“Yeah,” she said, limping over to Scruffy’s hull and plopping herself down beside him. “It’s not every day you’re almost asphyxiated by your own golem. But I’ll live.”
“Oh! Before I forget,” Damara said, and pulled the hair ribbon out of her pocket. “I found this. You left it for us, didn’t you?”
“Aw, thanks, Damara,” Taimi said. “I was hoping you would get the hint. Didn’t expect to get the hint back, though.”
“So what now?” Canach asked.
“Joko’s dead meat,” Damara said, clenching her fists around her bow. “No one makes Taimi cry.”
“I agree,” Caoilfhionn said. And when Taimi looked up to protest, that they were treating her like a kid, he added: “We’d do the same for anyone in Dragon’s Watch. You did the same for me.”
“I wouldn’t cry unless someone died,” Canach said dryly. “And you’d undoubtedly be going after the killer in that instance because they killed someone.”
“Fair enough,” Damara said. “I mean, he’s obviously up to something that needs to be stopped. But this is personal.” She frowned. “I wonder if it’s personal because I flipped him off in the Domain of the Lost. I… um… wasn’t thinking. He mentioned that Balthazar had imprisoned him there, but I didn’t make the connection that he would get loose when we killed Balthazar.” She was visibly becoming more upset as she thought about it. “I’m so sorry, Taimi! This is all my fault!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Canach said sharply. “I have no doubt this Joko is a petty enough bastard to want revenge for that sort of sass, but this seems extravagant even for him. How else did you interact with him?” Canach had seemed annoyed, particularly with Damara, since the beginning of this mission, and Caoilfhionn wondered why, but no clues had been forthcoming.
Damara didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I also refused to release him. Flipping him off was just to rub in that I wasn’t releasing him. So I guess that’s the real issue. Still my fault. But I wasn’t going to let him out.”
“Of course not,” Taimi said. “And knowing what we know now, maybe you should have flipped him off more.”
“Next time I see him, I’ll put rude words on all my arrows,” Damara assured her, and Taimi giggled weakly.
Caoilfhionn climbed the cliff behind the Olmakhan village after Damara, up in search of Aurene’s crystalline glitter. It was the first time he’d seen her that she’d stayed around, albeit at a distance, and he was eager to meet the one he had helped carry to Tarir, if she would let him.
Damara gave a great sigh of satisfaction as she got to the top of the cliff. “Ahh, that’s a good climb! Amazing view, except for that giant Inquest blob!” She turned westwards, to the open ocean, shutting Rata Primus out of her sight. “Much better!”
Caoilfhionn chuckled. “If only it were so easy to deal with them.”
“Yeah. Hi, Aurene! Are you up here? Can we come say hi?”
An iridescent blue eye-ridge and greenish-gold eye appeared over the edge of the cliff; Aurene was actually sitting on a ledge slightly off the top. Caoilfhionn heard a curious trill – but not too curious. And he could feel in his mind – curiousity, but clouded and alien.
“Yeah, it’s Caoilfhionn! Remember him?” Damara walked slowly and softly towards Aurene’s ledge. Aurene grumbled to herself and disappeared again. “Aww, come on. We won’t be a bother. Come here, lovely.” Damara sat on the edge of the cliff and slipped down to Aurene’s ledge. “Come on, Caoilfhionn.”
“If she doesn’t want visitors,” Caoilfhionn began.
“She doesn’t mind us,” Damara assured him, and as he approached, he could see she was gently, delicately stroking the back of Aurene’s head as the young dragon watched over the village. “She’s just being shy, and grumpy because of the shyness.” Aurene snorted, flicking her tail. “Aww, you’re growing up too fast. But every mom says that, don’t they? Caoilfhionn’s the nicest person ever. At least, I think so.”
“Kind of you to say,” Caoilfhionn said, easing himself down to join them. Aurene stretched her wings nonchalantly, then stood and lay down on her other side, facing them. She was beautiful, her greenish-gold eyes gentle now that they were not glowing defiantly with magic in battle. He’d only caught glimpses of her as an infant, but now she was sleek and powerful, her blue scales shining and glittering in the sun between the clouds. “Hello, Aurene. It’s good to finally meet you properly.”
Aurene trilled politely, looking at him all over; he had the unsettling feeling that she was looking through him. He bowed back, and she snorted, but there was friendliness in her mind.
“You chose me,” he said softly. “I don’t know why, but it was my honour to protect you before you were born – mine, and Damara’s, and Annhilda’s, and Caithe’s.”
Aurene shifted her wings in a movement reminiscent of a shrug.
“Thank you for warning me about Trahearne,” he said, and she dropped her gaze, feeling… regretful? “Sorry, I don’t understand?” She… felt she had hurt him, by giving him that terrifying vision? “We were in time, though. Barely, but we made it. We saved him. So, thank you.” He smiled. “You’ve been looking out for me before you were born.”
She snorted again, but shifted closer and bumped his hand with her head.
“You’re such a sweet girl,” Damara said, rubbing her nose and the other side of her head, and Caoilfhionn knelt and began to gently stroke the smooth, pebbly scales. Aurene trilled softly and nudged him harder, and he petted her more firmly.
“Very sweet,” he agreed. She was fearsome when striking from the skies, shooting deadly flames at their enemies, but he could feel now how much she loved them. And he loved her too.
Damara jogged down the docks ahead of Taimi and Gorrik and Phiadi. Faren was waiting there with a big smile and a bigger hug. “Hey!” He was dressed in his normal everyday finery, thankfully, not a bathing suit.
“Well, well, well, my dear!” He picked her up over his head and spun her around, then let her slip down far enough to kiss her. “Delighted to see you. Have you been well?”
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, pressing her hands against the fine brocade of his vest. They had set up a date a week ago, but, you know, life got in the way. “Phiadi had to help Taimi’s bug-obsessed friend not get arrested for being weird, and I had to be there.” Faintly behind her, she heard Gorrik protesting with exasperation. She ignored him entirely.
“Not a problem,” he said. “I am afraid I also have to report an obstacle to our afternoon – though hopefully a more pleasant one! Pact Marshal Thackeray has sent a ship with supplies to aid poor ravaged Amnoon. He asked me to receive it personally!”
“Great!” she said. “Thanks, Logan! That’s a big responsibility.”
Faren puffed out his chest and fixed his hair. “Yes, I assume that’s why he sent me with the delegation originally. The ship’s been spotted in the harbour; should be arriving soon. Dock six. Would you do me the honour of greeting them with me? It would so buoy the spirits of the locals. Give them a bit of diplomatic pomp.”
“Yes, certainly,” she said. “Phiadi, do you need my help with Gorrik’s stuff?”
“Nah, we’ll be fine,” Phiadi said. “Taimi, why did you think bringing all this sensitive equipment to Amnoon was a good idea in the first place? Humans don’t appreciate tech – especially not gamblers and fishers.”
“No! My prized marshmallow mites!” Gorrik exclaimed, as a crate popped open under Phiadi’s handling and a swarm of white-yellow bugs swished out of it in a cloud that spread across the beach.
Damara made a silly-scared face at Faren. “That might be our cue to leave.”
He’d just been inhaling to say something heroic, but yielded to her gentle tugging. “Oughtn’t we to help?”
“Phiadi’s very good at keeping things under control, unless she loses her temper,” Damara said. “They’ll be fine. Really. Look, she’s squashing them all with her springer.”
“Very well, my lady!” he said, all cheerfulness again. He offered her his arm gallantly, and they set out to walk around the harbour to the opposite side.
Councilor Mayameen was there, and Damara greeted her politely; she’d been overseeing Gorrik’s trial, and now apparently she was here to greet the Pact ship. Damara accepted this news complacently, but Faren protested, since he’d been asked to meet the delegation personally… Damara tuned them both out when she saw a familiar figure in white and violet approaching, detaching her arm from Faren’s to wave. “Hi, Caoilfhionn!”
“Hello, Damara! Hello, Lord Faren!” Caoilfhionn approached, noted the ship in the distance, and bowed to them all. “What’s happening?”
“Perfect timing, Sir Caoilfhionn!” Faren cried. Mayameen had won the argument easily. “The Pact supply ship is here. Come, stand with Damara and me so we can all be seen together.”
Caoilfhionn smiled indulgently. “I should be glad to.”
Together they waited, chatting idly, Caoilfhionn and Faren swapping fashion gossip, while the ship docked and let down the gangplank. Damara tilted her head to one side. Something didn’t look right about the sailors…
Caoilfhionn glanced at her, picking up on her unease. “Do you think something’s wrong?”
Couldn’t he see…? Maybe he couldn’t, with his glasses. “Maybe. Stay sharp.”
“Surely nothing could have-” Faren began, as Councilor Mayameen stepped forward to greet the descending delegates, and then they all gasped in horror, for that shambling walk and be-scarabed appearance was out of nightmare.
Mayameen had only time for a short scream before scarabs were upon her, buzzing and devouring. Damara scrabbled at her bow, putting an arrow through the head of another approaching diseased delegate, but there were dozens of scarab carriers on the ship, and the scarabs were flying forwards now in deadly swarms, striking down all but three of the welcoming committee, who managed to flee for their lives. She could shoot all the carriers, but what to do about the scarabs-?
“I say, that’s really not cricket-” Faren fumbled for his rapier, making heroic noises, but what good was a rapier going to be either!? He was in the same boat she was.
“Faren, get back!” Damara cried, grabbing his arm before he went charging in, and giving a piercing whistle. “Not crickets at all! Scarabs!” Caoilfhionn was lunging forward, reckless in the belief that he couldn’t be infected by the scarabs – and probably also to put his fire spells to work as a melee elementalist. Fire was likely to be of more use here than her arrows, and she huffed in frustration as she tried to figure out what else she could do to stop the bugs. A nearby priestess of Kormir rushed to them, throwing up a shield; she prayed it held against these bugs.
With a roar like a Charr rocket, Aurene swooped overhead, burning a line in the sand that incinerated any scarabs that tried to fly through it. “Aurene! Thank goodness!”
Caoilfhionn was still fighting out there all alone; Damara stuck one of her arrows into a nearby pail of tar and then into Aurene’s fire, launching the resulting flaming arrow high into the air – on a trajectory to hit the water when it came down, of course. But almost as soon as she did, she heard Phiadi’s springer and Annhilda’s raptor behind her. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! Scarabs – on the Pact ship!”
“Got it,” Annhilda said. “Stay back!”
But now she had access to fire, thanks to Aurene, and while Annhilda and Phiadi gleefully squashed all the bugs they could see, Damara shot anything humanoid and twitching with flaming arrows. And here was Myran, responding to her whistle, charging into the fray, unbothered by scarabs when he was half flesh-and-blood, half magic-and-sand.
When nothing was moving but her friends, Annhilda turned towards them. “The scarabs are dead! Get to safety!”
“Right,” Damara said, but before she could do more than grab at Faren’s hand, something sprang up upon the edge of the shore – a giant green apparition of Joko. She gasped and froze.
The apparition spread its hands theatrically. “Presumptuous people of Amnoon! This is the price you pay for declaring your independence!” She heard distant screaming – most of the locals had left, but the cavaliers ought to be arriving any minute… The apparition turned towards her with a leering undead grin. “Well, well, well. Damara, wasn’t it? What are you doing here? Small world. Or maybe it’s just Joko’s getting larger. And now I’ve acquired the Scarab Plague. The genuine article, this time. Thank you for repeatedly failing to stop me. The carnage to come will be on your head – the final act of your pathetic little tale.”
“Not on your unlife!” Caoilfhionn cried, brandishing his sword and his dagger.
“Oh, come on!” Damara said. “Just because I wasn’t able to stop you doesn’t mean you get to blame me for your horribleness! Jerk!” Remembering what she’d told Taimi, she flipped him off again, eliciting a gasp from Faren. Right, manners. But flipping off Joko… Worth it.
The projection of Joko didn’t pay either of them any attention, raising his voice theatrically and gesturing to invisible bystanders. “But first things first: Ten seconds to curtain! Places for Act One, please, places for Act One. Break a leg, people! It’s showtime! Alive or dead, all serve me! Rise, pets! Rise!” He gestured, and all the corpses Damara and Caoilfhionn had just destroyed began getting up again – they, and the newly-killed Amnoon entourage.
“Sh-!” Damara tried not to swear again. “By Lyssa’s- No fair! We already fought them!” Though with Phiadi and Annhilda to help, they would die even faster this time…
And they did, weak and unarmoured and unable to put up much of a defense against the four Dragon’s Watch warriors and her sand lion. Swiftly, they crumbled, and Caoilfhionn and Phiadi ensured there was nothing left of the corpses this time. Caoilfhionn scorched them to ash with lightning-fire, and Phiadi turned them into minions of her own, tearing apart the bodies and recycling the flesh and bone she needed. Which was too bad, but better they were a little disrespected now than that Joko take over Amnoon with them. And Phiadi didn’t bind souls like Joko did.
But Joko laughed. “Don’t slow down now, girl – this show is just getting started! Scene two: enter… Istari, the Inexorable! Discovered her myself. Very talented.” A new Awakened appeared from the ship, trotting down the gangplank to the shore, batting Damara’s first arrow aside with a sweep of her elaborate staff of bones, tar, and gold. With another sweep of her staff, she knocked down Phiadi’s closest minion and cast a pool of tar at her feet. Annhilda immediately backed off, wary that the tar would catch on fire.
“Ugh!” Damara exclaimed. She was going to have to get closer to avoid shooting her friends. “Stay here with the priestess, Faren!”
“But-” She was already past his hasty reach, calling Myran back to her side so he didn’t get covered in tar. Caoilfhionn swiped at the tar himself, but Istari did not seem at all bothered by the resulting flames licking about her ankles. She moved forward, clubbing Caoilfhionn across the face with her staff; taken by surprise, he tumbled backwards, as Annhilda stepped in front of him, and fumbled for his glasses in the sand.
What was magic to this undead woman? She blocked Annhilda’s sword strike with her staff, knocked Myran away with her staff, impaled two of Phiadi’s minions with her staff. What a weird way to use a staff. Damara huffed in frustration and moved again, finally getting three arrows into her… and lodged into her big epaulets, not the fragile-looking skull behind them. Istari grunted with a disdainful look, and came at her, very quickly. Damara scrambled back, sending another volley of arrows in; Istari battered two of them aside with her staff. The third lodged in her ribs and she ignored it, moving ever closer. Damara ran to reposition herself behind Annhilda, feeling vulnerable under that unblinking stare.
Joko interrupted them with another set of elaborate gestures, raising his arms to the sky. “Quintets are divine, but I love a big ensemble number. Scene three: cast of thousands!”
Damara yelped as, if not thousands, at least dozens of undead erupted from the sand, all around them, separating her from her friends, clawing at them all. She couldn’t shoot them all fast enough, and grabbed at her sword, slashing at everything rotting in front of her, trusting Myran to watch her back as long as she kept moving, running through the crowd of zombies. Several of them clawed at her leather armour, but their crumbling fingernails scrabbled off the surface.
Joko cackled and then tried to pretend he was racked with sorrow, but it mostly came through as smug. “And now, Damara Biros’s poignant death scene. You’re welcome.”
“You really are a petty jerk!” Damara complained, as zombies grabbed at her arms and she hacked their arms clean off in return. It was getting hard to breathe, with the stench, and she lurched forwards, slashing and slicing, frantic not to get caught in place – she stepped in tar and her boot stuck- “No! Ugh!” If she survived this, she was going to need new boots. More importantly, she beheaded a zombie and felt another latch onto her waist, trying to drag her down-
Then Aurene blitzed by overhead, blasting a jet of white-hot fire through the zombies, somehow missing all her friends, and suddenly she had breathing room again. Caoilfhionn ran through the zombies flanking her, Phiadi blasted the one clinging to Annhilda’s shield, and they were clear except for Istari.
“Wh- You brought a dragon!?” Joko cried. “There’s no dragon in this show!”
“Your show is lame!” Damara yelled, sheathing her sword and nocking more arrows to her bow. Good people lay dead and Joko was just being mean about it. Time to hit Istari hard and fast and put an end to this nonsense…
Joko pouted loudly. “That’s cheating. Nobody likes a cheater, girl. What do we do to cheaters, Istari?”
“We put them to death.” Istari’s voice was grating, and she raised her staff, casting a huge tar spell across the beach. Now everyone had to move carefully or risk tripping from stuck feet. Except for Istari.
“I do believe that makes you a hypocrite,” Annhilda slung back at Joko, changing course to try to attack the apparition instead of the undead. Damara didn’t think it would do much good, but she was welcome to try! Caoilfhionn had switched to Earth and Water magic, she could see, not wanting to send the entirety of Amnoon up in flames from a stray spark. Phiadi was making infuriated noises, wiping her tar-covered hands on one of her minions.
And Istari was stomping towards her again. Oh gods. Bow, arrows, hold the shot, hold the shot, her armour’s too good…
“You cannot kill the dead!” Istari grated, raising her staff to whack Damara in the head with the heavy gold blade on the end. Damara growled and headshot Istari right up the gaping hole of her nose. Istari reached up and pulled it out, snapping it-
Damara drew her sword, lunged, and cut her head off.
She could hear the wind, and the waves, and the gulls, and their heavy breathing… and Joko’s slow clapping. “And… scene. I do hope you’ll join me in Gandara for Act Two, Damara – I’ve reserved you a front row seat. Exit Joko.” The green apparition twirled and vanished into the ground.
“Oh, you just wait,” Annhilda said in his former direction. “You’ll regret your entire centuries’-long reign of mockery and terror.”
Damara put her head down. “Okay. That was too close. No more undead in Amnoon. Please. Except for that weird guy selling statuettes.”
“That’s Joko!?” cried Faren, trotting up to her, ignoring the tar and scorch marks and undead body parts littering the ground. “Good gods, he’s insane!”
“He’s worse than when I met him,” Damara said, straightening up. “And he really does have a grudge against me.” She shivered and Faren put an arm about her with a look of concern.
“We’ve always lived in the shadow of that lich, hoping he’d leave us be,” said the priestess who had come to their aid. “I must alert the rest of the council.” She ran off. Caoilfhionn twirled his sword with a spray of water and began trying to wash the tar off the beach, so they could move unhindered. A troop of cavaliers came running up, and Annhilda scolded them for being late.
Taimi and the others came running too, demanding to know what happened. Damara let Phiadi tell them about it and turned to Faren. “Thank goodness we didn’t get infected.”
Faren’s brow furrowed. “That lunatic despot stole the Pact’s supplies and murdered my – our countrymen. He must die.”
“According to Joko, he can’t die,” Taimi said. “He just pops back to life like a demented Jack-in-the-box.”
“So it’s been said, from many accounts,” Annhilda said. “Then again, Joko says a lot of things.” She grimaced, probably thinking about the library in Istan. “He claims he killed Balthazar.”
“Stealing our credit, eh, dear?” Faren squeezed her shoulders. “So: what’s our plan?”
“It’s not that easy,” Damara said. “Humans can catch the plague. If we go to war, our people will have to hang back.”
Faren frowned at her. “Seems to me this Joko has already declared war – on us! And I for one am joining the fight!”
“Faren-” Damara heard Taimi ushering the others away; Caoilfhionn hesitated, then followed; Annhilda was the only one who lingered. “Look, I know you want to help-”
There was a determined pout on his face. “You gave me busy work when you faced Balthazar. Not again. Humans have the most to lose here. Honour demands that some one of us join the fight against this monstrosity. And you are the clear choice… but I shall stand at your side. I’m a hero too, you know.”
He was unwontedly serious, despite the grandiose words, and she was confused. Had he… maybe… been maturing while she wasn’t looking? Being away from home and relatively anonymous in this foreign nation give him perspective on what was important in life? “Well…” She hesitated and sighed. “I… Fine. I don’t want you to get hurt.” But making him sit out just meant he would go and do something else heroically foolish while she wasn’t looking. “You’ll stay by me?” She gave him pleading eyes; she’d play on his need to protect to keep him out of deep trouble.
“Yes, of course!” He melted under that look and took both her hands. “Thank you, my dear. No harm shall come to you while I’m near!”
“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him. “Now we’d better go figure out what we’re going to do about it.”
“What about dinner? Will we still be having dinner later?” He’d promised – of his own volition – to treat her to a fancy dinner the next time they got together.
She’d been looking forward to it, looking forward to what might be a normal day for Faren but what would be a totally new experience for her, but right now she made a face. “I’m not really in the mood, after that…”
“Oh, please? We deserve it! We just defended the city from a horrible invasion!” He grimaced. “I wish we could have saved the Krytans and the good councilor, but… ’twas still a victory! And you are tense – what better way to wind down than with a good meal, good wine, and good company?” His fingers twitched against her side, caressing the curve of her waist through her leather armour.
“All right,” she said. “Just you and me, right?” She didn’t want to have to deal with people looking at her while she processed everything.
He smiled brightly at her. “Of course! Whatever you wish, my sweet.”
She blushed. She still wasn’t used to that nickname. He really was accommodating and she appreciated it. “I’m going to go with Annhilda to talk to the council, then. Coming?”
“Yes; as the representative of Divinity’s Reach, it is my duty. Let’s be off!”
5: Faren’s Moment
Damara and Faren had been assigned to guarding the supply camp; Faren had pouted indignantly at first, before she pointed out that she’d learned she was immune to the plague – having died already – and she was also on guard duty. Then he subsided, though he was restless as he patrolled the camp checking on all his newly-trained volunteers. She was pretty sure she was there to keep him pacified, but she didn’t mind.
“How are you so calm?” he asked, the second time he came by her post, where she sat on a pile of boxes with her rock gazelle Gina resting at her feet. “I’ve always thought of you as boundlessly energetic, oh paragon of rangers. I can’t bear this waiting, how can you?”
He was just itching for a chance to show off and spout heroic lines, wasn’t he? Like a little boy. He was adorable. She had a great view of the surrounding lands from her vantage point. “Couple things… First, I was in the Vigil; they’re super strict on discipline. You have to sit still when they tell you to.”
“That sounds dreadful.”
“I got used to it. But the other reason is my pets.” She smiled down at Gina. “They don’t spend energy unless they have to. Some more than others, it’s true. But I’ve learned a lot from watching them. You need a lot of energy to keep up with animals, whether domesticated or semi-wild like a lot of mine are, but you need to save it for the right moment.”
He nodded several times. “I see. I will try it. Never let it be said that Lord Faren spent himself too soon!” He sat down near her, also looking out over the approach to the camp, away south to the front lines. He leaned on one of his swords – for some reason, he’d traded his usual rapier for a pair of longswords, which seemed a bit reckless to her, even if they were enchanted, but whatever. And she got to admire his new armour some more. It was pretty big and fancy, but Annhilda had surreptitiously checked it out and told her it was quality armour, under the frills and extra bits. Aesthetically, she liked it quite a bit, but she was relieved that it actually worked, too. And he wasn’t trying to do something silly in his underpants. Again.
“Do you think there will be a new god of war?” he asked after a while. “I saw the baskets over Balthazar’s statue in Amnoon. When I was last in Divinity’s Reach, they had not done the same.”
“Balthazar never attacked Divinity’s Reach or the heart of Kryta like he did Amnoon and northern Elona,” Damara said. “The baskets were over his statue in Amnoon from before we even showed up. But I imagine Queen Jennah doesn’t want to stir up unrest among his still-faithful adherents back home, right? Even once they learn that he’s dead, if they haven’t yet.”
“Yes, that was what I heard. And indeed, I only learned what happened to him when I arrived in time for your victory celebration. But it’s not the same, swearing by the Five! I keep getting it wrong!”
She chuckled. “Me too. But Aurene and Kralkatorrik ate his energy, so I don’t think we’ll get a new god until we get a massive release of magic and someone to absorb it. But, thinking about when I was last in Divinity’s Reach… I think I’m okay with not having a new god of war. People were so unpleasant to each other under his influence.”
“Oh, that’s just because the other gods were not around to balance him out, wasn’t it?” Faren said, and she had to say that sounded pretty reasonable. “I did see some very fine duels from some under his influence!”
“And no one sustained lasting injuries?” she asked anxiously.
“No, I don’t think so… I did not partake in any, if you’re worried about me.”
“I think Humans are fully capable of fighting without a god of war around to inspire them,” she said. And who said there had to be Six Gods? The only thing she wondered about was that four out of the five were female – did Grenth feel outnumbered at all?
“Hm? Damara?” Faren was looking at her curiously. Had she zoned out too much?
“Well, one thing we can all agree on is that Joko isn’t, and never will be, a god,” she said firmly.
He nodded, preening a little. “Absolutely! He shall never conquer Tyria. He’ll regret inviting us here to trounce him!”
“My worst fear would be that he becomes a ghost and keeps pestering us after we told him he can’t be a lich anymore.”
“That would be dreadful. Has that sort of thing happened before?”
Damara shrugged. “Ask the Priory bunch. I like hearing stories, but I don’t remember all the details like they do.”
“Speaking of ghosts… those queens are nearly as stunning as our good Queen J, don’t you think?”
“Are you really planning to hit on a ghost? On two ghosts?” Damara tried not to smirk too hard.
“My dear! Of course not!” He sounded genuinely shocked. “I fear to incite your wrath!”
“What about the ghosts’ wrath?” she asked, but she was teasing. “Yes, they’re good looking. Should I dress like that?”
The way he perked up made her wonder if she should regret suggesting it.
Guarding was not the most interesting job, but they did have to fend off a few small attacks from Joko that broke through their main lines. What concerned her more was how quickly Rytlock was going through their stockpiles of blackpowder. Annhilda, acting as Rytlock’s second-in-command, was kind enough to keep Damara updated on the state of the front so she knew they were getting somewhere, but still… everything was dwindling quite quickly.
“Soon we won’t have anything to guard,” Faren said to her, having noticed as well as she did how quickly the crates shifted, even if she didn’t keep him posted on everything going on at the front. “Will we run out?”
“I don’t know,” Damara said. “It’s going to be close.”
Faren’s brow furrowed. “We cannot let our front lines down. We must ensure they’re supplied, one way or another!”
She looked at him suspiciously. “What are you thinking of?”
He pointed out into the distance. “I’m certain those torches there are an enemy camp. And with all the Awakened Inquest around, surely they must have something we can use!”
“I’m impressed,” she said, peering out into the dim twilight. “I figured it was a camp, but I wasn’t yet thinking of stealing their stuff. I told Annhilda she should use the Phoenix Dawn to ferry in more from Amnoon, but she’s worried about the trebuchets, and it’s a bit late now.”
“Exactly why we should go ourselves!”
“Hold on!” she cried, before he could go marching off. “We still have to make sure nothing happens to the stuff still here.”
“No need!” he said, beaming triumphantly. “Our soldiers will hold this camp while we go to raid theirs!”
“The two of us? By ourselves? And how are we going to carry everything back?”
Faren deflated slightly. “But… we are heroes. We can take them on! I will admit I forgot about the carrying. And I don’t know how much we’ll need.”
“Or even if what we need is there,” she said. “Faren, hon, I might be a hero, but I’ve never done it alone.” Shaemoor she’d done alongside Logan. Protecting Queen Jennah she’d done beside Logan again, Mabbran, Phiadi, and even Caoilfhionn. She’d barely been present for the critical part of fighting Zhaitan, though she did save Annhilda there… and in fighting Mordremoth she’d dealt with grunts while her friends did the main battles.
Okay, there was the part where she killed Balthazar. But even that was with Aurene, and using Rytlock’s sword.
“But we must do something!” Faren exclaimed, pacing impatiently in front of her. “For Kryta’s honour!”
She thought for a moment, then held up a finger. “I’ll tell you what we can do. We can scout the camp, and see what they have. If they do, then we can come back with the rest of our troops, since I think Rytlock will have cleaned us out by then.”
He punched his fist into his palm exuberantly, then grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Truly, you are a jewel among tacticians! Let’s go!”
What did that even mean? His armour was making a racket, as he jogged off down the hill. “Faren! Scouting mission! Try to stay quiet!”
“Right! Sorry!”
She grabbed the next-highest-ranking officer, explained what was going on, and ran after him, Gina bounding beside her.
On the other side of Canach’s impressive vine wall, the land was pretty hilly, but growing less so towards the southern shore, and increasingly barren. It was like Joko didn’t like living things. Well, Awakened might be able to live without food or water, but it was pretty depressing, in Damara’s opinion! But the real problem was going to be getting through unseen. Many of the Awakened seemed rather near-sighted, archers aside, and it was well dark out, but with no cover whatsoever, and Faren in full plate… “Stay close,” she whispered, and glided ahead cautiously, a hand on Gina’s back.
He was trying, but he still clanked everywhere, and huffed and puffed on top of it. It seemed to take forever to get close to the enemy camp, partly because she kept stopping to check for enemy reactions. This was much more nerve-wracking than it had to be, honestly…
They made it to just beyond the edge of the torches without being detected, creeping at a snail’s pace. She didn’t know about him, but her heart was beating pretty quickly. This was a job for a Whispers agent like Phiadi, not them. Now they crouched in the dark, near a small pile of stones, peering across the dark ground to the piles of crates stacked up on the other side of the camp, and the small figures of undead Asura hanging around them.
“There aren’t that many,” Faren whispered in her ear. “We should signal for back-up and attack at once!”
“There’s probably more than we can see,” Damara answered grimly, trying not to be distracted by her enjoyment of his proximity. “Inquest tend to be small and sneaky. And they could call for reinforcements easily.”
They watched more. Did those crates have what they were looking for? Was there a way to tell instead of waiting for the Asura to open one, which might never happen? She could feel Faren being tense beside her, almost jittering. It made her relax physically more than she might have normally, trying to counteract his energy, though she was still plenty on edge internally.
Faren had just braced himself to stand, and she grabbed his arm hard, because she had seen unusual movement from the back of the camp. A big Awakened had emerged from the dark, followed by two waddling Asuran guards, giving orders and gesturing, and others were shuffling the crates around… prying them open… yes, that looked like explosives!
“That’s it!” Faren whispered, much too loudly for her comfort. “Let’s go!”
She kept hold of his arm. “We need to get back-up! That was the plan!”
“There’s no time, they’re taking them away! We must sweep in now and take them unawares-”
“Oi!” A shout came from behind them, and Damara whirled to see an Awakened mummy stumbling towards them. “Got some live ones here-!”
Faren sprang up, drawing his swords and slicing the mummy in half dramatically. “Begone with you!”
Every head in the camp whipped around to their direction. “I think we’re in trouble!” Damara said, grabbing her bow, scanning the terrain back towards the allied zone. It was clear for now-
“Charge!” Faren yelled, and she spun back around to see him running off into the torchlight.
“Faren-!” Oh gods why was she dating this maniac? She nocked arrows to her bow as fast as she could loose them from her kneeling position, trying to take down every spellcaster or electrorifle-wielder she could see. She couldn’t be distracted by watching him in action, even though he was doing really well, slicing through the undead in his path.
Now they’d seen not just Faren’s mad assault but that she was picking them off before they could get to him, and shots began to come in her direction instead. She was going to have to move up behind him, they couldn’t get separated now. She rose fully to her feet and moved forward, still loosing arrows back. “Okay, go get ’em, Gina! Go help Faren!” Her gazelle bounded forward, trampling Awakened Inquest with her stony hooves.
The big Awakened was confronting Faren. “Foolish humans… so eager to die, you’ve come to us!”
“But it is you who will die this day! -Night!” Faren cried, engaging the brute in single combat. He was having the time of his life, wasn’t he? “For I am Lord Faren of Kryta and I shall lay you low!”
“Empty words for a fop who’ll soon be fodder for scarabs,” said the Awakened, and she winced at the sounds of clashing metal.
But she couldn’t do much else than offer encouragement, kill the ranged enemies, and wait for a shot of her own. She didn’t want to draw her own sword and get in the way. “Get him, hon!”
“As milady commands!” Faren ducked a swipe and parried the Awakened’s sword into the ground, then went for a lunge, but the Awakened had already recovered with its huge strength, parrying Faren into spinning all the way around. Damara tried not to gasp, leaving Gina to deal with the Inquest, and took a opportunistic shot into the Awakened’s chest. She got it in the shoulder, at least, throwing off its follow-up attack while Faren was vulnerable.
And now Faren was recovered, slashing at its arm while it was flinching from Damara’s strike. He didn’t manage to cut it off, but it growled and its arm fell limp, and he struck again with his other sword, running it through with a shout. “Ha-ha! There!”
The Awakened fell with a gurgle. “Fools… There are still… the scarabs…”
“Nicely done, Faren!” Damara told him, and he brightened like a puppy. “I think we’re clear to grab a box or two, but let’s be quick – he’s not wrong about the scarabs.”
“Fear not, doubt not, my dear!” he cried, sheathing his swords and reaching for the top crate, the one they’d already seen was full of explosive devices. “I shall defend you to the end!”
Such a declaration made her very uncomfortable. She would hate for Faren to die, even defending her. Maybe especially defending her. But telling him that would seem… callous, somehow. Ungrateful to the sentiment. “Just be careful, okay? We’re all going to make it out of this alive.” She popped the lid on the next crate, saw it was filled with the same, and picked it up to follow.
And paused to listen. There was a… buzzing…-!
“Run!” she shrieked. “They’re coming!”
Faren’s eyes widened, he wasn’t that much a heroic fool that he’d stick around when he’d seen what they could do, and together they began to dash back towards the vine wall. She couldn’t tell how much of a lead they had over the scarab swarms, but she felt they were going too slowly… Maybe they should leave the crates-!
Movement bounded with a familiar undulating rhythm out of the darkness ahead, and suddenly Rhyoll and Rox were with them. “Rhyoll! Rox! There’s – scarabs!”
“Yep, just like I thought!” Rhyoll said. “Light ’em up, Rox!” With a huge fwoooosh, the night ignited in flames. Flamethrowers, Damara acknowledged distractedly, taking advantage of their fiery cover to make it a little closer to safety. There was a whole squad of Olmakhan running past them, now, though only Rhyoll and Rox had the flamethrowers. She could hear Rhyoll’s booming laughter echoing across the hills. “And let me show you another feature – the wide-spray nozzle!” The tone of the fire changed, and she glanced back to see a veritable pillar of fire erupting in the night, slowly waving back and forth as Rhyoll scythed it around.
She giggled a bit to herself with what was left of her breath. Were there even any scarabs left to challenge him? He’d clear out the entire plain single-handedly at this rate!
Then a blade came out of the darkness on her left side, aimed at her head-
Clang! Somehow, Faren had seen it while she was distracted and blocked the strike with his vambrace, dropping his crate to the ground to spring in front of her. Gina gave a short scream like only a gazelle could, punting the Awakened attacker away with a headbutt from her stony horns, but there were more-! Faren couldn’t get to his swords before they were charged, and he let out a horrible grunt and Damara heard a dreadful sound that she knew all too well.
“Faren!” she screamed, drawing her sword with the moments he’d bought with the shield of his body. He fell past her to the ground, but she was striking his attacker, enraged and upset. She’d kill every Awakened on the field if he’d been slain! She battered their weapons away with brute force, hacking them inelegantly to pieces. The Olmakhan were returning, hurrying to aid her, but she didn’t need their help. She was covered in disgusting bits of dried flesh and she didn’t care as long as the undead became really dead by her sword.
When the last one had fallen in rasping denial, she flailed around to get back to Faren’s side. One Olmakhan had knelt beside him, putting healing spells on him. “Faren! Oh gods, is he all right? Dwayna, please…”
“He’ll be all right,” said the Olmakhan, then lifted her head and sniffed. “Scarabs coming back, though, and I don’t know how much Rhyoll’s weapons have left in them. Let’s move.”
Before they could take him from her, she grabbed his arm and hauled him over her shoulders in a firefighter carry. “Get the explosives!” She ran for the wall, not waiting for the sound of buzzing insects to spur her on. “Oh, Faren, why did you…”
His head was bouncing near her shoulder, and she heard him take a breath. “‘Tis my duty to protect you, my… fairest… dove.”
Oh gods. He was back to calling her silly pet names. He really was badly hurt. She wasn’t going to cry! He wasn’t dead! “Hang on. I’m getting you out of here.”
“But… the explosives…”
“The Olmakhan have them. Just don’t die on me!”
“Never, my brave maiden… You were not joking about your strength.” His voice was pained, yet he wouldn’t shut up and concentrate on not dying. “I daresay you’re the strongest Human I’ve ever met.”
Because she could carry him with adrenaline surging in torrents through her veins, with a horrific death waiting if she slowed down the slightest? She could hear them now, and that pushed her on. She’d seen other Humans do similar things in the Vigil… had lost some of them. Panic had a way of motivating one’s body past its limits. Sure-footed, she ran on, charging towards the vine wall and safety. There was the peak with Rytlock’s command post… there was the path upwards… elementalists on guard, thank the gods… and she collapsed, panting her lungs out, in the middle of the camp.
“What’s going on?” Rytlock barked at her. “Got himself in trouble, did he?”
Damara shook her head, wheezing for air, as she heard the elementalists light up the scarab swarms. She had dumped Faren unceremoniously on the ground and fallen half on him, completely spent. “Both of us… in trouble… Saved me… Got explosives… Rox…”
Rox was actually right behind her, with one of the crates. “Right here. Look what they got for us, Rytlock!” Another Olmakhan proffered the other.
Rytlock sniffed the crates. “Hm. It’ll do. We ran out half an hour ago. Good job, take five.”
“Going to need… a few more… than five,” Damara panted, but she was getting her air back. “Faren needs… medical attention.”
Faren looked up and grinned painfully. “I’d do it again, upon my honour!”
“Yeah, yeah, hero-boy,” Rytlock said, pointing in the direction of the medical tent. “Let me know when you have proper scars instead of waxed legs.”
“Can’t I have both?” Faren said, and Damara rolled her eyes and picked him up again wearily, heading in the direction of the tent. She laid Faren down on the nearest available cot and grabbed bandages herself.
“Faren, oh, Faren, seriously, why did you do that?” Now that the edge was coming off the adrenaline, she was starting to shake a little, though she managed to keep her hands fairly steady. She’d almost lost him. She couldn’t tell if this whole mission had been vital or foolish. Or, as with so much that Faren did, both.
He opened his eyes to look at her a little petulantly as she unbuckled and carefully removed his armour. “I told you, my dear. I must protect you.” He gently reached out and touched the armour in the centre of her chest, the… the place Balthazar had run her through while she lay helpless. He’d seen it, of course, in bed, the deep gouge in her flesh over her sternum, dark reddish-black-brown with pale edges against her warm brown skin, a wound that no one could survive. There was even a matching exit scar on her back. She hadn’t known how deeply it had affected him.
She paused before cutting off his tunic around his wounds – of course he was wearing a silk tunic under his armour – and leaned down to kiss him, trying more than ever not to cry. “Love you, hon.” He was… foolish, and showy, and they still didn’t quite fit together personality-wise – but his courage and selflessness was genuine. It always had been. That was why she’d always liked him, even when he annoyed her.
He looked surprised as she pulled back. She’d never said it before, nor had he. “O-of course. I love you too, my dear.” She sniffled a little and he patted her hand where it rested on his chest. “Do not look so, please! Remember I am the handsomest, most courageous, most daring boyfriend you’ve ever had!”
She giggled through her sniffles and wiped her eyes. “Yes, you are. Good boy.”
She heard stomping noises from behind her. “Damara! What the hell were you doing? I’m not surprised Faren would do something like this, but you-”
She looked up at Annhilda with a defensive glare. “Give me a minute to patch him up before you chew me out, okay!”
“Mistress Annhilda,” Faren said weakly. “The day needed saving. For Kryta… and Amnoon. So we did what we had to.” While he was being dramatic, she could tell he wanted to be much more dramatic about it, and was holding back so she wouldn’t worry so much.
“We had a better plan, but you know what they say,” Damara said. Now she could see – he’d been stabbed twice, in the left shoulder and side. The Olmakhan healing had stemmed the flow of blood a little, but it wasn’t completely closed. She checked inside each stab and scrape, but she didn’t see any scarab eggs. He’d been lucky, as far as she knew – she actually hadn’t witnessed many people getting infected so she didn’t know exactly what she was looking for. But he didn’t seem sick. He winced at it, but there wasn’t much choice. At least now she could start bandaging before he lost any more blood.
“You disobeyed orders, both of you,” Annhilda said sternly.
“We had to,” Faren said. Dramatically.
“Actually, it did work out,” Damara said. “Rytlock said we ran out of explosives half an hour ago. We got more. No one died. Faren saved my life, in fact.”
“I see,” Annhilda said. “All right. Faren… you did good. And thanks for keeping my friend alive.”
“It was my duty and pleasure,” Faren said.
“Damara, will you be able to come for the final fight? We’ll need everyone immune to the plague we can get, and you’re among that number.”
Damara gave a deep sigh. She was still tired. “How soon?”
“As soon as possible. We can’t let up the pressure. Of course, if you’re too tired to fight effectively, you should stay here. Don’t want to lose you now.”
“Just let me have some coffee,” Damara said, tying off the bandages. The Elonian delicacy had been a literal eye-opener ever since she’d arrived in the region. Faren had shrugged at it – of course the nobles in Divinity’s Reach could afford to import such things – but she could certainly use it now. That would keep her going long enough to get revenge on the guy who wanted revenge on her.
Annhilda nodded. “All right. Come when you’re ready. We’ll start without you. Who knows, you’ll probably save the day again.” She grinned and left the tent.
Damara stroked Faren’s forehead after she finished tying off the last bandage. “I’m going to go with her, okay?”
“Yes, of course, my dazzling darling,” Faren said, reaching up to touch her face tenderly. “You represent Humanity now. I have done my part. I made you proud, right?”
He was asking her? After telling her how handsome and brave he was? She bent down to kiss him again. His mouth was warm and comforting. “So proud. You were great. I’ll kill Joko and be back as quick as I can. Rest up.”
6: Who We Are
Caoilfhionn looked up from the battle, just for a moment, to see Annhilda returning, and Damara with her alongside her rock gazelle. That was a relief. Rox had already told him how Lord Faren had taken a wound for Damara. That had won Caoilfhionn’s respect for him completely! He had thought Faren rather bubbleheaded, but he himself would do no less for his own love.
Braham turned away from the fight to complain to Annhilda. “Annhilda, Canach’s trying to sneak the explosives past their front line. Thinks he’s back in the Shining Blade.”
Canach appeared at his shoulder. “Couldn’t make it all the way to the front gate.”
Annhilda pointed. “What about the towers?”
Canach folded his arms. “What about them?”
And they exploded. Masonry cracked and came crashing down, smashing across the high bridge that led to Joko’s front gate. The foundations shook, splintering under the weight of the ruins above them. But the bridge itself held.
Damara laughed. “That was amazing!”
Canach’s expression lightened around the eyes. He might still be mysteriously annoyed with Damara, but her laughter never failed to make him happy, Caoilfhionn had noted. “Our Awakened friends are scattered. I suggest we get in there before they manage to pull themselves together.”
“There’s our opening!” Annhilda bellowed over the field. “This is our moment! Let’s go kick in Joko’s front door! Who’s with me!?”
“Ah yes, Annhilda’s patented foot key,” Canach murmured, eliciting another laugh from Damara.
A cheer rose from the army, Olmakhan, Asura, Sylvari, ghosts alike. Caoilfhionn twirled his sword and blinked into battle in the vanguard of the charge.
As they drew closer to the gate, Canach dusted his hands together. “Wonderful gate. It would be a shame if somebody blew a giant hole in it.”
“Well, get to it!” Annhilda said. “We’ll hold the Awakened off you!”
“Fabulous,” Canach said, and ran to the door.
Of course, Braham and Rox both pestered the ex-terrorist to hurry – the way Rytlock and Zaeim had in Fahranur – and Canach told them in his usual way to be patient. Or to shove off, which to Canach was pretty well the same thing. Caoilfhionn tried to ignore all of them, only focused on slaying the enemy as fast as they came. And they came fiercely, determined to protect their fortress. Damara was shooting archers off the walls if they dared stick their heads out, and Annhilda was with her using her own new bow. Braham was projecting magical shields over Dragon’s Watch to protect them from the arrows the two archer women could not prevent. There were Awakened on foot from all sides, too, though, and Caoilfhionn was busy, tearing through them with Fire and Lightning, Phiadi behind him to tear what remained of the Awakened’s life force from their bodies and twist their flesh to her own uses. When a great conglomeration of bones and tar rose before them, Rhyoll blew its head off with a missile and laughed.
“Is this a bad time?” Canach asked, popping up suddenly at Annhilda’s elbow.
“Canach, get back to work!” she barked, kicking a mummy in the face and then shooting it. “We can handle this!”
“Oh, I finished rigging the gate ages ago,” Canach said, slicing an enemy archer in half with his whipsword. “Got bored, so I figured I’d help you lot.”
“Not funny,” Braham growled.
“Agree to disagree,” Canach said calmly. “Care to do the honours, Annhi-”
“Just blow the damn gate, Canach!” Annhilda raged, smashing another mummy with her shield, and obligingly, the gate exploded in a massive fireball.
Caoilfhionn smiled. “Better work than the last time you blew something up, Canach.”
“Oh, hush,” Canach groused back. “Rytlock and Zaeim were distracting me then. And the ruins were in a much greater state of disrepair.”
And then they caught sight of the shambling horrors behind the gate. A few scattered scarabs fluttered out, but behind them stumbled a horde of humanoid forms, their skin bulging and crawling with their colonies of scarabs.
“Third generation,” breathed Gorrik, and while it was hard to tell if his voice were filled with fascination or fear, past evidence suggested to Caoilfhionn the former.
“Quick!” yelled Braham, flinging a magical shield over the gate; Taimi was right with him with an energy field generated by Scruffy.
“Force fields won’t hold forever,” Taimi yelled to Annhilda. “What’s Plan B?” Already the plague carriers were pounding against the shields, brainlessly, with low rasping moans.
The ghosts of the Primeval Queens swept past them, their army streaming across the bridge. “Leave it to us, mortals,” said Queen Nahlah said, a hand on her hip.
“Find another way in,” said Queen Dahlah, mirroring her sister. “And give our regards to dear Joko.” The ghosts behind them surged forward eagerly, their whispering murmur growing to a shout as they streamed past the barriers into the waiting plague carriers.
Braham waved to Annhilda. “Hey, I saw sewer gates into the fortress earlier. Maybe we can get through one while they’re distracted!” He ran off, jumping from the bridge landing to the tar bubble shells below.
“Braham- Braham!” Annhilda groaned. “Damara. Caoilfhionn. Go after him. Nahlah, Dahlah, keep it up, we’ll be back in a moment! Everyone else, fall back to Rytlock’s position and regroup!”
Caoilfhionn bounded lightly across the stones and tar. “That was reckless, Braham!”
“And?” Braham demanded, not breaking pace.
“And… let’s go find Joko,” Damara said, relenting as quickly as always.
“That’s what I thought,” Braham said. “‘Can’t die’… Everything can die. Only question is how.”
“Between the three of us, we should be able to figure it out,” Damara said. “Anyway, what the heck, I’ve already managed to salvage one botched mission into sort of a success today, why not another?”
“This isn’t botched, not yet,” Caoilfhionn said, before Braham could take offense. “Is that the sewer you were talking about?”
“Sure is. Phew! Looks like there’s worse than sewage in it.”
The sewer was discoloured strangely, and Caoilfhionn did not want to know what had caused it to look the way it did… nor why there was so much tar oozing through it.
And on the other end, on the other side of a door, Damara stopped dead. “Is that… me?”
“Didn’t know you had a twin,” Braham said.
Damara shook her head slowly, staring in horror at the body that looked exactly like her – down to the armour. The dead Damara had crawled down a hallway lined with prison cells, dragging a thick trail of blood behind her. But the cells were also filled with dead Damaras.
“I don’t understand,” Caoilfhionn said. “All these bodies… they’re all you. Mesmer magic?”
Damara wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “I know Joko’s a sick bastard, but I didn’t realize he was this obsessed. By Grenth, you decline to resurrect a guy one time…”
“My enemies burn me in effigy, but I’ve never inspired this level of… whatever this is,” Braham said. “By the Spirits!”
They’d entered a new room on the far side of the jail cells, a torture chamber filled with devices, some of which Caoilfhionn had only seen in Priory documents, and some he could only guess at. Several bodies were still bound in place, and he ached for them. How awful it was, to see his friend dead in so many ways – when he had seen her dead once already! But how had Joko duplicated Damara?
He glanced at the table in the corner of the room, for the sake of looking not at dead Damaras, and saw a ring, a magical ring, he could tell just from looking. He picked it up.
“What’s that?” Damara asked, leaning over his shoulder. She was a little taller than him, she could do that.
“I think I read about this,” Caoilfhionn said. “An ancient skill signet, I think.”
“Didn’t think anyone used those anymore,” Braham said. “What’s it do?”
Caoilfhionn slipped it on and flexed, both physically in his fingers and magically, and the room changed in appearance. Every dead body changed face and clothing. No longer did Damara lie sprawled on every torture rack, but random ordinary people. “An illusion! I knew it. But we have no mesmers with us, so this will have to do.”
“Oh, thank the Spirits, they’re just regular dead people,” Braham said. “I mean… you know what I mean. No one deserves this.”
“So many people died just because Joko hated me,” Damara said, her voice shaking. Her gazelle pressed close to her side.
Caoilfhionn shook his head at her. “Joko has killed so many. He would have killed these people regardless of his twisted fetishes. You are not responsible for his madness.”
“I wanna get out of here,” Damara said, but just then the ring flickered, and the enchantment ended. “There doesn’t seem to be a door, but there wasn’t really another one the way we came, so there must be one here. I thought I saw a switch a minute ago, can you do that again?”
“Clever,” Caoilfhionn said, activating the ring again and following her to the switch that became visible. “And unnecessary… though I suppose it prevents escape quite effectively…” They all shuddered in unison.
And on the other side of the door was a bunch of traps. Flame jets lined the floor, lasers beamed from the walls and ceiling – at least before the signet’s enchantment wore off again. Caoilfhionn frowned at it. This was going to be somewhat tedious to concentrate on in the midst of everything else he did.
Damara stopped abruptly as the green shadow of Joko rose from the floor before them. “Damara, I’m insulted. I invite you to the biggest battle the world has ever seen-”
Braham charged. “Die, you fiend!”
His mace passed harmlessly through Joko’s projection and smashed into the wall, leaving a cracked indentation in the stone. Joko stared at him for a second, then continued talking to Damara. “…and you show up with an idiot Norn and a nerdy Sylvari? I feel like you’re not even trying.” Caoilfhionn disagreed with the ‘biggest battle’ part, he’d read of many larger battles in the Priory archives…
Damara shrugged. “Left my friends and their army on your doorstep.”
“Oh, I know,” Joko said. “They’ll be my army soon enough. I hope you feel at home; I spent so much time preparing for you. Nice to have a reason to break out the crystal.” He laughed uproariously, then stopped frighteningly abruptly. “Enough waiting. Joko’s bored. Let’s pick up the pace.” He vanished as swiftly as he’d appeared.
“I’m actually with the lich,” Braham said. “Enough screwing around. Can’t wait to get my hands around his bony neck.”
“If he wanted us to get to him faster, he shouldn’t have filled these hallways with traps,” Damara said, picking her way through flames and lasers just ahead of Caoilfhionn. “Aren’t you coming, Braham?”
Braham eyed the traps. “I don’t trust them. You can trust Caoilfhionn and his magic ring if you like. I’ll wait for you to turn them off.”
“I’ll try,” Damara said. “Gina, stay with Braham! You don’t know how to dodge these traps! I guess this is what he meant by ‘preparing’. I can’t imagine him waltzing down here every time he wants to torture another illusion of me to death.”
By the Tree, there were too many close calls to count. Both Caoilfhionn and Damara had their own magic to aid their speed and protect against fire, yet Damara was burned by a laser, stifling a scream as the red-white light burned through her glove, and Caoilfhionn’s robes got singed. But they made it to the other side and hit the switch, and while they waited for Braham and the gazelle to catch up, Caoilfhionn cast healing spells on them both.
Joko taunted them all the further they moved into his fortress, assaulting them next with his ‘favourite’ Awakened, more traps, and puzzles that really weren’t hard enough to be puzzles at all. Not even for Braham, who had no interest in puzzles.
“He thinks he’s so funny,” Braham growled, as they worked on a straightforward ‘puzzle’ involving lasers and rotating stone discs.
“He’s not,” Caoilfhionn agreed. “He’s a murderer.”
“If he wasn’t a murderer, he might be funny,” Damara said. “But I’m pretty sure he’s just crazy.”
“Oh, Damara! You’re hurting my feelings!” Joko’s apparition boomed at them, crying fake tears. “As if your boyfriend doesn’t act just the same!”
Damara looked confused. “My boyfriend is Lord Faren. He doesn’t act like that at all. He’s a good person – not like you.”
Joko gasped. “What? Not him! Oh, dear, no no no. What a terrible choice. Why didn’t you go for the overgrown choya?”
They looked at each other. “…Is he talking about Canach?” Braham asked.
“Yes! That’s the one. The sassy green one who blew up my trebuchets and towers. He’d be a much better choice for you. He’s much more interesting. And cleverer. Not that that’s difficult.”
“That’s absolutely none of your business,” Damara had begun saying halfway through Joko’s statement, and said repeatedly, increasingly loudly, with the most indignation Caoilfhionn had ever seen in her. “None of your business, none of your business, none of your business, none of your business!”
Joko’s projection shrugged. “Not that it matters. You’ll all serve me in… well, as soon as you get here. Chop chop!”
Finishing the puzzle had opened the door to the next chamber; Caoilfhionn could see the soft glow of starlight from a great window ahead. Together, he and Damara ran ahead, with Braham hurrying after them as quickly as he could.
And Caoilfhionn froze, and Damara and her gazelle beside him. Not under their own volition, but they had activated some spell upon crossing the threshold of the door. All he could move was his eyes, not even his mouth. Ahead of them was a massive arch that opened onto a raised balcony beyond which he could see the beautiful night sky; around the sides of the room was machinery that worked the flame traps in the middle of the room. A large desk was at the back of the room, under the balcony, and Palawa Joko rose from it and came forward to look curiously at them. Or at least at Damara. Caoilfhionn was certain Joko didn’t care one whit about him in comparison.
He was an undead, like his minions, a lich with burning bright blue eyes, decked in linen, gold, lapis lazuli, and tar-covered bones. Caoilfhionn’s attention was drawn to his hands and bare feet; the nails had been distorted into bestial claws.
“How disappointing,” he said. “And honestly, unexpected. I thought you were smarter than this. Sub-Commander of the Pact, Hero of blah-blah-blah, rendered useless by a glorified parlor trick.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Braham roared from behind, and Caoilfhionn heard his footsteps pound on the stone. “Give him one for me, you two!”
Caoilfhionn felt a huge shove, and he and Damara each were pushed out of the spell and into the room. Behind them, Braham was trapped, frozen in the act of pushing, a determined growl etched on his face.
Joko snorted derisively. “That’s your ace in the hole? Morons so besotted with you they’re willing to sacrifice themselves? Haven’t enough people already died for you?”
“No more,” Damara said. “You’re just a distraction from the real problems. Braham’s not dying here. We’re gonna beat you up for him – and for Taimi.”
“And that’s what it’s all been about, eh, Damara?” Joko said, raising his staff and pacing back towards his desk. “You and I – two comets on a collision course. War. Plague. Gods. Dragons. I’ve seen them all. They come and they go. Like the tides. But a worthy nemesis… that is rare indeed.”
Damara loosed an arrow at him. “Shut up! Time to learn how to die!”
“An historic moment! When I stood toe-to-toe with the destroyer of dragons. The executioner of gods. The greatest villain in the history of the world!”
“I said… shut up!” Damara yelled, darting past his spell and loosing another three arrows in rapid succession.
“I’m not sure he’s physically capable,” Caoilfhionn said, blinking forward to close with Joko, but Joko did not seem bothered at all by his flames, and teleported away before Caoilfhionn could get a second strike on him.
He might have expected Joko to be offended, but Joko seemed to be smiling still. “I’m glad we have this time together. Admit it, the Norn is never this fun.”
Caoilfhionn had a lot to keep track of. The flame vents in the floor were going off in patterns, which he could track… if he didn’t mind losing track of Joko… and the bodyguards Joko was summoning from niches in the corners of the room… and the magic ring that he had to keep using. Damara was trying to keep the bodyguards off him, fortunately, but he still had to be quick on his feet as Lightning itself, ducking Joko’s spells, darting past flame traps, weaving Earth into his spells for a little extra durability just in case he slipped up…
“Ugh, I don’t even want to fight you,” Joko said, teleporting away from him. “I mean, yes, you will all fall before me and serve me, but Damara, is this really how you fight? However did you beat Balthazar, hiding behind your teammates all the time? Your form is terrible, too.”
Damara grunted. Caoilfhionn was glad she had decided to adopt the same strategy as him – to save her breath for fighting. Joko only wanted to distract, to elicit reactions for his own twisted sense of humour, so wit was wasted on him.
Joko split into multiple images; Caoilfhionn triggered his ring. “That one, Damara!” He spun away, giving her a clear shot to nail Joko in the chest. Which she did with one of her blindingly-rapid volleys.
Joko shrugged and raised his arms, and a buzz rose from the back of the room. Damara spun. “Braham-!” But the scarab swarm was not attacking Braham, only diving straight at them.
“Get behind me, Damara!” Caoilfhionn shouted, feeling one of her protective spells suffuse both of them as he cast a wall of flame before him. It was difficult, without a focus, to hold the spell in place, to keep the flames high enough to cover them, but he burned a hole through the wave of scarabs, and the bugs mindlessly escaped out of the window. Caoilfhionn panted for air and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Joko was still talking. “While we’re having this little chat… Who dresses you? I mean, really? You wore that for this occasion?” Caoilfhionn knew he was stylish by any standard, but he took offense on Damara’s account – he liked her armour with its asymmetrical panels of leather scales.
“Caoilfhionn, look out!” Damara cried, shooting at something behind him, and he felt something explode, knocking him forwards – into a flame trap. He rolled through it, jumping up to see huge fat scarabs scuttling along the floor towards them. He was vulnerable to them with his sword, so he exhaled… and ran. Damara would have to take care of them. He swatted at his leaves, at the singed feeling on the back of his head. It stung but he would live. One by one, she shot the huge scarabs, and they exploded in bursts of biochemical fire.
“Well, this is productive,” Joko jibed at them. “Oh look, your norn’s crying.”
That caught Damara’s attention, and she glanced over – “Damara!” Caoilfhionn cried, but he was too late, for the last scarab had scurried up to her and detonated itself, knocking her backwards – into one of Joko’s spells. She collapsed with barely a pant of air.
“Damara!” Caoilfhionn shouted, blinking to her side, heedless of the danger. She looked at him, struggling for air, helpless. The scarabs were dead, the bodyguards were fallen, but Joko was readying another spell. But if Caoilfhionn didn’t get Damara back on her feet that moment, Joko would kill her…! He channeled Water into her, shielding himself with Earth against the inevitable, blocking Joko’s shot with his own body. Joko raised his staff-
“Palawa Joko!” came a shout from the balcony. Joko’s attack went wide, smashing into the wall instead.
Caoilfhionn lifted his head with his whole face wreathed in smiles. “Trahearne!” For his love was standing in the opening of the balcony, tall and commanding, dressed as he always used to, with fierce eyes and Caladbolg shining like a sunbeam – a Caladbolg sprouting and blooming in his hands. His face and leaves pulsed with magenta luminescence, strong and healthy.
He had last seen him angry, doubting himself and the world, unstable and out of balance. Now he could feel his anger, but it was a righteous anger, and balanced by the confidence veritably radiating from him. By the Tree, Caoilfhionn fell in love all over again.
Trahearne leapt lightly to the floor of the chamber and crossed over to them as Joko stared. “Has he hurt you badly, Caoilfhionn?”
Caoilfhionn finished his spell and began to help Damara up. “He made Taimi cry.”
Trahearne nodded gravely. “I did not need another reason to kill him, but I accept it.” As Caoilfhionn stood, Trahearne took his hand and laced their fingers together.
Joko rolled his eyes. “Trahearne? The idiot who went running off to fight Mordremoth face to face without realizing he was literally its grandson? I mean, it had the right idea with its Mordrem.”
Caoilfhionn tensed to attack, but Trahearne said with dangerously measured wrath: “Your necromancy is a crime against decency and magic – a travesty of true necromancy. I realize that means nothing to you, and that is why we will end you. Together, as we ought.”
Caoilfhionn gently squeezed the hand he held. “We’ve slain dragons and gods. We’re not afraid of you. We never have been.”
Joko simpered at them. “Aww, the sad spinach and the delicate flower are mad at me. Well, tough luck!” Caoilfhionn blinked. Trahearne was much more of a prayer plant than a spinach.
Trahearne straightened yet further, were it possible. “Have some dignity!”
Joko shrugged. “It’s overrated.”
Trahearne smiled, and it was a grim smile. “Then your death shall be as pathetic as your life. Come, Caoilfhionn!” He let go of his hand and lifted Caladbolg to a ready position.
“I’m with you! Damara!” Caoilfhionn raised his sword and dagger.
“I’m still here,” Damara said cheerfully, an arrow already on the string.
Trahearne breathed, and that was all the warning Caoilfhionn got – that was all the warning Caoilfhionn needed to go back on the attack. The two of them were as one, alternating their strikes in perfect synchronization. From Caoilfhionn, the four elements, all the power of nature’s magic flowing through him; from Trahearne, the shadow of death and Caladbolg’s light of life, creating a beautiful and deadly storm of swirling power. They had never fought this way together before, but it didn’t matter. They knew each other. Damara’s arrows sang past them, the physical counterpoint to their magical strikes.
Joko teleported, teleported again, grimaced as he cast in return; Trahearne batted the spell aside. “Isn’t it nice you have friends to protect you like this, Damara?”
“Yeah, must be completely foreign to you, huh?” Damara sassed back.
“Of course not. I’m beloved by thousands!” Joko chuckled as he summoned more bodyguards to distract them. “I admit it, I’ve indulged in a few calculated fabrications to bolster my myth. I hoped yours was more than that. Perhaps it is.”
“You bet your wrinkled… toes it is,” Damara said.
“Scarabs!” Caoilfhionn called, as another swarm rose from the entrance to the room. Trahearne stepped before both Caoilfhionn and Damara, slamming Caladbolg’s point into the floor, and dropping a column of death magic around all three of them. The scarabs buzzed into the magical wall and perished, their corpses rattling to the stone floor in droves. Caoilfhionn looked up at his love with a breathless smile. His power was so mighty and effortless, and he was using it in new ways! It was magnificent and… sexy…
Joko glared as the shield fell and still they stood there unharmed. “Why persevere? It’s folly. Everyone knows I can’t be killed!”
Damara winked. “I’m thinking maybe that’s one of those fabrications you mentioned.”
“I see.” Joko growled and swung his staff, summoning yet more guards, more explosive scarabs. Trahearne and Caoilfhionn glanced at each other, and split paths, Caoilfhionn to deal with bodyguards, Trahearne to pursue Joko. Damara once again called out scarabs before she shot them, doing her best to keep them from blasting either of the Sylvari.
Trahearne was hounding Joko closely, and Caoilfhionn could feel his fury from across the room. And it sounded like Joko was getting tired. “All right, all right, well played, you’ve made your point. Let’s talk about this.”
“Let’s not!” Damara cried, jumping forwards with two arrows on the string. “Get outta here!”
The arrows sank deep into Joko’s chest, nearly up to the fletching. Joko wheezed and clutched at them, then teleported away, reappearing near his desk to reel heavily. “This… cannot be… the end…!” He tottered, then crashed to his face in a jangle of gold and bones.
Slowly, they lowered their weapons, carefully watching. Braham jogged forward to join them, freed from his magical prison. “Whoa. You… I think you killed him. I mean, I think you really killed him!”
“Cool,” Damara said, walking over and reaching forward cautiously to prod the corpse with the end of her bow. “I don’t believe it yet, though.”
Braham pointed at the two bodyguards who had not been slain. “Look, the Awakened… They’re in a stupour. They’re not under Joko’s command. We- we won!”
“Did you,” Joko growled, and Caoilfhionn found he could not move again!
He could hear it from the others, hear it in their strained breathing, sense it in their anger and frustration. No one could move. The only one he could see was Trahearne right beside him, and only if he moved his eyes so far over it hurt. But he caught a glimpse of Trahearne’s jaw tightening even through the paralysis spell, his teeth grinding, feel his rage flaring out of control.
Joko climbed to his feet, wearily, picking bits of wood and feathers from his middle. “The rumours of my immortality are drastically… understated. Oh, kids, you look so disappointed. So impotent. I feel for you, I really do. But let’s be honest: you knew, in your heart.” Caoilfhionn had to roll his eyes. “Fear not,” Joko continued, “the world will not forget you. The scars you’ve gouged into it spell out your names for all to see.”
“I confess,” he went on in a contemplative tone, pacing a little before his captive audience, “I was happy to take credit for your ‘victories’. But did you ever stop to wonder what that says about you? That so many bought what I was selling? They call me a monster and you heroes. The world expects Palawa Joko to dare to throw reality into chaos. But surely no mortal would be so monumentally stupid as to destroy a dragon, the life force of this world. Let alone two! And a god to boot? Perhaps they will finally thank me for luring you to me…” He leaned in and grasped Damara’s chin in his withered claw. “So that I… may save the world… from you.” He let go and stepped back, grinning, spreading his arms in a most theatrical manner. “Once you’re gone, everyone will flock to my embrace. They will all love me – Palawa Ignacious Jo-!”
With a roar that echoed deafeningly in the hall, Aurene shot through the window and tackled Joko to the ground. He flailed ineffectually for a few seconds before Aurene took his head firmly in her jaws, shook his entire body violently, and hurled him into the corner of the hall; his pained cries fell silent. Aurene sprang after him, and there was the sound of rending flesh and snapping bones. Caoilfhionn could move again.
Braham laughed and said sarcastically, “Praise Joko.”
“Wait,” Damara said, confused. “His middle name was Ignacious? But that’s… so… Hey Aurene! Are you sure you should be eating that?”
Aurene growled over her shoulder at them.
“A dragon,” Trahearne murmured, staring – he had not seen Aurene before, had he?
“Maaaaybeee we leave her be,” Braham said. “Although… eating Joko is probably the only sure way. Makes perfect sense. Kinda wish I’d thought of it myself.”
“You would not wanna eat Joko,” Damara said. “He looked absolutely disgusting. I hope he doesn’t taste bad, Aurene!” Aurene grunted between crunching, throwing her head back to gulp down her bites ravenously.
“Of course not!” Braham said indignantly. He sounded like he used to years ago, before Eir’s injury. Like his heart had healed towards them. It was heartening. “But we should have asked her to come with us from the start. Though she would probably have hated those sewers.”
“He had to be distracted,” Damara said. “He was so busy with us, he never saw her coming.”
Caoilfhionn put their discussion out of his mind. Joko’s essence was disintegrating under Aurene’s sharp teeth, and there was no more danger to them. All that mattered now was Trahearne, living and breathing and strong beside him. And Trahearne also tore his fascinated gaze away from the young dragon and turned it on Caoilfhionn, and he felt his limbs grow weak. “Trahearne,” he gasped, pulled off his glasses, and ran into his arms.
Trahearne fell into Caoilfhionn’s embrace as Caoilfhionn fell into his, holding him to himself as tightly as he could, cheeks pressed together, feeling each other’s warmth, inhaling each other’s scent. Caoilfhionn smelled of floral cinnamon and oh how he’d missed it and him, his violet and blue dawn, his enchanting orchid. Never mind the dust and grime of battle. Never mind the scent of death and sap and scorched leaves. He was whole again.
At length, he pulled back to look into his eyes, cradling his head with a hand, and was caught and overwhelmed by the open, trusting, infinitely loving look in them. Those were the same rose-coral eyes that had caught him when Caoilfhionn had been the awkward, clumsy, curious, naive-to-a-fault fresh sapling he’d met five years ago. Caoilfhionn had grown graceful and skilled in everything he put his hand to, mature and strong, intelligent and wise, but his eyes were the same, and the look in them when he looked at Trahearne was the same.
He needed him. He needed him like the air he breathed, like the sun in the morning, like the sap in his veins. He didn’t know how to say that. All he knew was that he loved him more than life itself. “Caoilfhionn.”
“Trahearne,” Caoilfhionn said, with a shiver running through his slender body and a gasp, almost a wail of a moan. Trahearne almost melted, holding this precious, precious heart so gently – and Caoilfhionn tightened his grip in a passion of fulfilled longing and kissed him deeply.
By the Blessed Source, by Caladbolg on his back, by the stars and sun and moon, this was the happiness he’d been searching for, that he’d been afraid he’d never find again even with Caoilfhionn… but here it was, nearly choking him with inexpressable emotion. It sounded like something Caoilfhionn might say, but his soul had wings in this moment and the world was his sky. He was happy. Here with his love, he was happy.
“Get a room!” he heard Phiadi complain, and grinned. The rest of Dragon’s Watch must have stormed the fortress at last.
“It seems our companions wish to be rid of us,” he said, letting go of Caoilfhionn and taking his hand instead. “Shall we oblige them?”
Caoilfhionn grinned back, shining like a luminescent star before him. “I’d like that.”
Trahearne led him out onto the balcony, away from the others, under the beautiful desert night sky and its cool gentle breeze. The conversation of the others was a murmur from inside now. Caoilfhionn was giddy as a newborn, feeling his soul beside him, his slender, calloused hand in his. “You seem well. Thank you for coming when you did.”
“I was just in time, wasn’t I?” Trahearne said, flashing him a grin. “Still miffed that I alone was not enough to aid you, but the dragon does as she likes, I suppose, and no one can gainsay her.”
“I was overjoyed to see you. I think we might have defeated him before he killed us. But Aurene will ensure that he can never rise again – unless he likes the pain and suffering of being digested for a thousand years.”
Trahearne snorted. “He might. Piercings like that, he must be a masochist.”
“How did you get in? How did you know?”
“I didn’t. My quest had been fulfilled – the part that isn’t an ongoing process of life, that is – and I was coming to join you without specifics. It’s only fate that I happened to arrive at the most dramatic moment I could.” He laughed a little self-deprecatingly. “Annhilda told me what was happening, and the moment the ghosts made a hole in the scarab defenses, I was in and heading for you, where I could see the lights flickering. Managed to glide to the balcony from the outer wall and you know the rest.”
“And you are well!” He seemed strong and healthy, emotionally and physically. No doubt it was related to the restoration, the blossoming of Caladbolg. Nothing was the same, but everything was as it should be.
Trahearne nodded. “I am well. The road has been long, but Caladbolg and I are whole once again.” His gaze grew solemn and he took both of Caoilfhionn’s hands. “I am who I am now. I can’t change that. But I can control it.”
Caoilfhionn gave him his best look of trust and acceptance. “I am happy for you. And I am happy to be by your side once again. I loved you before and I love you now. That’s all that matters.”
“I want to be by your side forever, to love you, my beloved… And I will destroy anyone who dares threaten you.” He was deadly serious. He was right – his soul was changed from who he had been. He was darker and harder, and just a little bit more creepy. His will was implacable and his wrath was relentless.
Caoilfhionn only laughed. He didn’t mind. He had never minded. For Trahearne was happy, too, and still noble, courteous, and generous, and good. He could feel it, for he knew Trahearne’s soul like he knew no other. “I know you will. But we fight as one now, as we did in there.” He pulled his hands free and slid his arms around Trahearne’s neck instead. “Together, beloved. My scholar.”
“My prince,” Trahearne said, staring at him again as if he’d never truly seen him before.
The unspoken feelings in those yellow eyes set Caoilfhionn’s sap racing. He’d started this embrace, but now he wanted to dance for joy – well, there would be a party, wouldn’t there? At least for the army! There would be dancing. He’d make sure of it. “Fear not this night,” he began, his voice almost shaking with his giddiness.
“You will not go astray,” Trahearne answered, as he knew he would.
“Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.”
“And you can always be strong, lift your voice with the first light of dawn.” Trahearne leaned his forehead against Caoilfhionn’s, and he could feel his breath on his face.
“Dawn’s just a heartbeat away… hope’s just a sunrise away…”
“My dawn,” Trahearne said softly, that deep gentle voice that completely seduced Caoilfhionn every time, and kissed him. Caoilfhionn kissed him back, hard, a hand in his leaves, his body wholly against his. The dawn could not exist without the dusk, and he gave himself to it fully…
He was the first to end it this time. “Forgive me, my love! I want to kiss you until sunrise but I also want to dance for joy…”
“Dance, then,” Trahearne said, loosening his arms around him, though not letting go completely. “To what music?”
Caoilfhionn looked up mischievously at Trahearne. “Well… it’s true I know other songs…”
“Yes?” Trahearne said, and Caoilfhionn had not heard him so breathless in years.
He began to sing again. “Fly towards the light, against the dark night… Right here, right now, I can see you dreaming… by diving in your dream.” Trahearne’s eyes gleamed as Caoilfhionn began to shimmy and writhe, stepping to his own beat, and Trahearne began tentatively to join him. “I’m the miracle you’ve been waiting for in the night. Now show up here, watching your dreams unfold in front of you, diving in your dream.”
No matter what happened from now on, he knew it would all turn out all right. The world was threatened with destruction more than ever, his friends were constantly in danger, and there was always grief and loss in this imperfect world. The Sylvari were still finding their place in the world, and the balance of magic was a mystery yet to be solved, let alone restored. But there was hope, too, and joy, and love beyond measure, and he would show that to everyone, at Trahearne’s side.
THE END