Edge of Destiny

by J. Robert King

  All would be lost if Morgus Lethe did not fall.

  With a roar, Captain Magnus the Bloody Handed plowed through undead and leaped rail to rail and landed on the deck of the undead ship.

  On the enemy ship, Rytlock and Garm fought a rotting host. The undead raked them with bony fingers and bit them with horrid teeth.

  But the charr and the wolf gave as good as they got. Sohothin rammed into them and ignited their tattered flesh. Garm meanwhile clamped fangs on the monsters and ripped out their bones. Rancid meat spattered him. It clung and stung. No matter how many undead they slew, more marched up from the hold, barring their way to Lethe.

  Garm suddenly howled, and Rytlock turned to see why. There, on the aft deck of the undead ship, Captain Morgus Lethe towered over Caithe, his black cutlass raised to strike.

  FIGHTS AND FEASTS

  Morgus Lethe roared, lunging at Caithe.

  She spun aside, letting the black-oozing cutlass jab beneath her arm. Meanwhile, she rammed her own stiletto between two of Lethe’s ribs.

  Lethe only laughed, a hacking sound. “I have no heart to pierce.”

  Caithe buried a second stiletto in his chest. It, too, brought only mockery.

  “You cannot kill me!” A blast of grave air broke over her as Morgus lunged with his cutlass.

  Caithe twisted aside, but the undead captain fell atop her. His blade struck the deck beside Caithe, and Morgus roared, writhing.

  In his back stood the axe of Magnus the Bloody Handed.

  “Whose blade!” hissed Morgus, clawing at his back.

  “Mine,” Magnus said, stepping on the haft and driving the blade deeper through his spine.

  Morgus jolted on the planks. “You can’t kill me! I am death!”

  “Now you’re dead!” Caithe said, ramming both stilettos into his skull. She twisted, and the cranium severed and fell in two halves. Where the brains should have been was instead a nest of maggots. The voracious vermin erupted from the skull and spread out all across the whole horrid figure, eating as they went.

  Caithe scrabbled back.

  In moments, Morgus Lethe was stripped to bone. Then the bones, too, were eaten away. At that point, the worms fell to the planks, twitching.

  “It’s ending,” Magnus said, reaching out to take Caithe’s hand. “Zhaitan’s champion is destroyed. . . .”

  Caithe reached down to pluck her blades from the writhing ruins of Lethe. “What now?”

  “Now, we must fight our way back to our ship,” Magnus said.

  Side by side, Caithe and Magnus battled the hosts of Lethe. Caithe’s stilettos split more heads, emptying them on the deck, while Magnus’s axe harvested them whole.

  They headed toward the rail, but it was too late. The ship was sinking.

  “Down we go,” Magnus said.

  The ship plunged into the water, dumping Caithe and Magnus throat-deep in sloshing waves.

  Worse, the undead hordes that had been crawling up the sides of the Cormorant now fell into the water around them. Caithe and Magnus swam and fought, slicing their foes apart, a job made easier because the undead had lost much of their will.

  The hosts of Zhaitan sought the abyss as living things seek the air.

  At last, Caithe and Magnus reached the Cormorant. Caithe grasped a line that hung in the water and pulled herself out of the soup. Magnus followed.

  The deck of the Cormorant was ravaged. Rotting corpses lay interspersed with the freshly dead.

  “What a mess,” Caithe said as she stepped over the rail.

  “Caithe! You’re alive,” called Eir from the aft deck. She was ruddy-faced, red hair torn wildly from its braids, but she smiled with triumph.

  Caithe climbed the aft stairs. “Not just alive. Victorious!”

  “Yes,” added Logan, “though some of us feel less than victorious.” He glanced at Rytlock, who was vomiting over the aft rail.

  Only then did Caithe notice Snaff and Zojja, who stood in swooning concentration beside Eir. They were bringing up the two barques. Both were smeared with undead and scratched from stem to stern.

  Magnus the Bloody Handed stepped up and bowed to them all. “You have done it. You have slain another dragon champion.”

  “Yes,” Caithe said. “Him and his followers. Do you see?” She gestured beyond the aft rail of the Cormorant, where the whirlpool closed. The once tormented sea settled into its regular rhythm, the waves rising and falling like breath.

  Magnus nodded, his face lined with deep gratitude. “Now Destiny’s Edge has purchased its own billet. All of you are free.”

  The Ship’s Council of Lion’s Arch announced a feast for Destiny’s Edge, slayers of Morgus Lethe. Every captain wanted to host the banquet, and every dignitary wanted to attend—with supporters and family and friends. As a result, no ship was big enough, and measures had to be taken to keep out undesirables.

  In the end, the feast took place in the middle of the Grand Harbor aboard not one but seven ships, connected via gangplanks and swinging lines. Each ship sought to outdo the others. Every deck was holystoned, every bit of brass polished, every rail festooned. Lanterns blazed upon the spars, sending a warm and manifold light down over the elegantly garbed partygoers.

  Even Eir and her companions wore new clothes—greatcoats in dazzling white. They were gifts from Magnus the Bloody Handed, tailored from the first shipment of fine wool to pass the erstwhile lair of Morgus Lethe. Each coat designated its wearer an honorary member of the Ship’s Council.

  “I think we look dashing,” Logan said, “as white as Seraph.”

  “I think we look like waiters,” Rytlock griped. His brawny shoulders bristled beneath the yards of white cloth, and his horns continuously snagged the coat. “I can’t move!”

  “Luckily, all you have to do is shake hands.”

  It was true. From the beginning of the party until well into the evening, Destiny’s Edge stood as a long line of dignitaries filed past and shook their hands.

  The companions coped with varying degrees of success. Eir and Logan were the most gracious, nodding and thanking people. Snaff and Zojja didn’t understand how to keep the line moving, though. Whenever someone would say, “I don’t know how you did it,” Snaff would leap in with, “Well, let me tell you! It all began with the design of the hold golems . . .” Then he would spin a long, elaborate tale, all the while shaking the person’s hand so that he or she could not get away, with Zojja breaking in every fifth word with a correction.

  The companions were, of course, stationed on the finest of the seven ships—the Pride—a great war galley that belonged to Commodore Lawson Marriner of the Ship’s Council. He was a man of contrasts. The finery of his greatcoat contrasted with the leathery skin of his seafarer’s face, and his quick movements aboard ship and his even quicker mind belied his age. When finally the receiving line ran out, the commodore showed the members of Destiny’s Edge around his ship.

  “It’s a warship, yes,” the commodore said as he guided Rytlock and Logan into the stateroom beneath the aft deck, “but it’s also one of the meeting places of the Ship’s Council.” The room was lavish, with silver leaf and red velvet drapes. In the center stood a great, round table in oak, where the commodore and the captains of Lion’s Arch routinely met to do the city’s business. Just now, though, the table was loaded with thundershrimp and clams and swordfish and squid. “Avail yourselves.”

  Rytlock grinned and grabbed a plate. “Ah, seafood.”

  “I’m surprised a charr would like seafood,” Commodore Marriner remarked.

  “I like any food I can spear with my claws,” Rytlock replied.

  There was plenty to feast on, of course—ales and wines and cheeses and breads and every other bounty of this bountiful city. Loaded down, Logan and Rytlock staggered out the cabin door and seated themselves on the capstan. There, they ate, listening to a nearby conversation.

  “It’s the size advantage, for one,” said a young asura, her skin smooth despite sea and sun
shine. She was speaking to Snaff, Zojja, and Caithe, and judging by her short greatcoat, she was a person of importance. “I mean, a norn in the hold—it’s a comical thing. And on deck they’re constantly getting whapped by the boom. ‘Bring a ship about and there’s a norn in the drink’ is the old saying. And have you ever seen one climb the ratlines? Looks like a mantis in a spiderweb.”

  Rytlock laughed, a shrimp flying from his mouth.

  “I can imagine,” Snaff said encouragingly. “Go on, Captain Shud.”

  “Captain?” Rytlock wondered.

  “Shhh,” replied Logan. “I want to hear this.”

  The captain went on, “An asuran ship, though, there’s a thing to behold. We fit everywhere—the tops, the decks, the holds. And we can run more sail than any norn ship. We can set the boom four foot off the deck, not twelve. No, the seas were meant for us—”

  “Not to mention the innovations,” broke in another asura, who was shorter than the first. The tail of his greatcoat pooled on the deck.

  “What innovations, Captain Tokk?”

  “Well, things like retractable keels so you can sail in three feet of water, and retractable masts so you can sail beneath bridges.”

  “Fascinating,” Snaff said. “I’d like to learn more.”

  “Well, I would like to learn more about you and your goals.”

  “Ehh?” asked Snaff, his mouth hitching.

  Captain Tokk smiled, his face beaming red. “Well, you’ve done so much for the norn in defeating Jormag’s champion, and then for Lion’s Arch by defeating the Orrian dragon’s champion, but what have you done for our own people?”

  Snaff blinked. “Well, I invented completely new forms of golems, ones that allow the controller to move them while moving their own bodies. I call it double sight.”

  “What else?” Tokk pressed, smiling in a self-important way.

  “Well, I’ve innovated sand golems—actual golems that rely more upon the powerstone dust that controls them than on the substances that make up their physical forms.”

  “Exactly,” Tokk said as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Nothing. It’s time for you to pay back your homeland by defeating another dragon champion.”

  Snaff blinked away his frustration. “Another dragon champion?”

  “It’s rising near the city, in the jungle beyond the swamp.”

  “Yuck,” Snaff said.

  “I know! Mud, mosquitoes, those bushes that stick seedpods to your pants—”

  “Sticker bushes—”

  “Thanks,” Tokk replied. “Yes, in such a horrid place is where a champion of Primordus is rising.”

  “Just name him!” Snaff said, scowling now. “Imagine the cheek, rising near Rata Sum!”

  “He is called the Destroyer of Life,” Tokk said, his eyebrows lifting as if his own words amazed him. “His master, Primordus, was the first of the Elder Dragons to rise, and he wreaked havoc on the dwarves. They slew his first champion, the Great Destroyer, and we allied with the dwarves to fight back the tide of minions that boiled up from the deep places. For centuries, we had them driven back. But the old wyrm found a new champion. The Destroyer of Life is forged of stone and magma. He is raising more armies of destroyers.”

  Snaff now was shaking one small fist. “We’ll get you, Destroyer of Life! And why shouldn’t we? We’re the killers of dragon champions!”

  Tokk grinned. “So you think you and your comrades could destroy the Destroyer of Life and his army?”

  “Of course,” Snaff said resolutely.

  The party lasted all night and stretched straight through till morning. As guests boarded boats and rowed back to the docks, the comrades found themselves lingering together around the council table and the ragged remains of the feast.

  “You know,” Rytlock said as he hoisted a barrel and poured the dregs of the ale into a stein, “that’s two we’ve done for the norn.”

  Eir glanced at him in annoyance. “What?”

  “You know—the Dragonspawn was for Nut White-Face—”

  “Knut Whitebear.”

  “And we did this one for Morgan Bloodfist.”

  “Magnus the Bloody Handed. How much ale have you had?” Eir asked.

  Rytlock pointed a claw at her and sighted somewhat unsteadily down it. “Not enough to not be able to recognize that it—I mean, to not notice it’s been all norn favors so far.”

  “Fine,” Eir said. “Noted.”

  “All I mean is, maybe next time we do something for the charr,” Rytlock ventured, downing the stein in one gulp.

  “Yeah,” Logan said with a laugh. “Let’s destroy Ebonhawke. But afterward, we have to help the humans by destroying the Black Citadel.”

  Rytlock looked at his friend with surprised admiration, and then with shocked disgust, and then with a mixture of the two, which looked very much like a hangover.

  Logan went on, “Instead of rushing into another fight, why don’t we do some—I don’t know—diplomatic missions. For instance, Queen Jennah has requested our presence in Divinity’s Reach—”

  “That’s it!” Rytlock crowed. “We’ll conquer Divinity’s Reach!”

  Everyone but Logan laughed at that.

  Snaff shook his head. “It’s no good doing things for humans or charr, but there is an ancient threat rising beneath Rata Sum.”

  “What threat?” Eir asked.

  “Another dragon champion: the Destroyer of Life. He’s raising an army of destroyers to erupt from the ground and swarm the jungles and destroy Rata Sum.”

  Eir arched an eyebrow. “How much have you been drinking?”

  “It’s true. Captain Tokk told me,” Snaff said. “Rata Sum doesn’t have effective defenses. Sure they have the peacemaker golems, but they’re used mostly to prevent krewes from stealing each other’s secrets. I’ve tried to sell them true battle golems, but no one on the council listens to me. This is just the sort of threat I was imagining: there’s a volcano under the jungle, and its spewing out destroyers. Perfect!”

  “You want us to fight a volcano?” Rytlock asked.

  Snaff bubbled excitedly, “We could come up with a caldera plug or maybe caldera crème—or even a giant spear like people use to lance a boil.”

  Eir smiled. “Excellent ideas, all. But first, we’ll find out what really is happening beneath Rata Sum. Then we’ll make our plans and our golems. If the Destroyer of Life is rising beneath the jungle, he’s just made seven deadly enemies.”

  From Logan Thackeray

  To Her Royal Majesty, Jennah,

  Queen of Kryta,

  Regent of Ascalon

  Friend of all Humankind

  Greetings,

  As you have no doubt heard, Captain Magnus the Bloody Handed, his troops, my comrades, and I have destroyed Morgus Lethe. This brave coalition of norn, human, asura, sylvari, and charr fought for many reasons; but as always, I fought only for you.

  Perhaps you have also heard that we were in the midst of celebrating this victory when the threat of another dragon champion came to our ears: the Destroyer of Life. It is a new champion of the Elder Dragon Primordus, and it rises near Rata Sum, homeland of two of my dear friends.

  I made a case for traveling to Divinity’s Reach first, but my comrades are too eager to fight again, too fearful of what would happen if we let the situation in Rata Sum simmer. Eir keeps us busy with preparation.

  Just say the word, though, and I will leave them and come to you. I desire more than anything to see you again, face-to-face. It is my sole consolation that you are before me every time I close my eyes.

  Let me know what you wish, and I will obey.

  Your humble champion,

  Logan

  From Her Royal Majesty, Jennah

  To the Magnificent Logan Thackeray

  Greetings:

  I knew you would kill Morgus Lethe. The champion of a dragon cannot stand before the champion of a queen. Your works bring honor and glory to yourself and to me.

  Yes, of
course I had expected you and your comrades to appear before me, but this next mission does take precedence. I have been in long-term negotiations with the Arcane Council of Rata Sum for a restored asura gate into Ebonhawke. The new gate will bind our farthest outpost to our greatest city. Long the asura have stalled, fearing a backlash from the charr. But when I received your letter, I at last had the bargaining chip I needed.

  I will allow my champion to fight this fight, and in return, I will get my superior gate.

  This is your greatest service yet to me, Logan, but I recognize the price we both are paying. I fear to lose you, and I want more than anything to see you again. But you cannot fight for me by standing around the halls of Divinity’s Reach. The last thing I need is another polished advisor. They are just statues compared to a flesh-and-blood champion.

  So, fight for me. Defeat the Destroyer of Life. And in our long separation, I will content myself with letters and with visions of your heroism.

  Your queen,

  Jennah

  BATTLE ON THE LAKE OF FIRE

  Damned inconvenient,” Zojja said a month later as she tromped behind Caithe and Snaff through deep jungle. “Why’d the Destroyer of Life have to rise so far from civilization?”

  “Just be glad he did,” Snaff said.

  “But the mud,” Zojja said, not for the first time. “And the bugs.” She slapped her neck, and her hand came away red. The burst body of a gigantic mosquito was pasted to her palm. She shook the insect from her hand, then saw another giant mosquito land on Snaff’s face. “You got one!”