Edge of Destiny

by J. Robert King

“Let her go!”

  Faolain stooped to lift her black cloak from the floor. She slid her rot-riddled hand into it and stepped past Rytlock. “This, too, will heal. My arm will be mine again.” She glanced at Caithe. “And so will you.”

  “Get out!” Rytlock roared.

  Faolain was visibly shivering as she walked up the stairs, out the blasted top of the ziggurat, and into the night of Rata Sum.

  Logan lingered on the stairs, watching, but the rest of the companions gathered around Caithe.

  “Are you well?” Eir asked. “Truly?”

  “Yes. And I know what we must do.”

  “What?” asked Rytlock.

  “A great evil is rising. An ancient evil. We haven’t fought the true evil yet, but only the mortal champions. Now we must fight a true dragon. He is rising. His champion is bringing him out.”

  “Faolain showed you this?” Rytlock asked. “Surely she was lying.”

  “There is only one hope to stop this new threat: we must slay the dragon’s champion.”

  Rytlock shrugged. “Well, we’ve killed the others. Why not this one?”

  “What is this champion called?” asked Eir.

  “She’s another dragon—a lesser dragon,” Caithe said, “though ancient in her own right. Humans call her Glint.”

  “Glint!” Logan said. “The Glint? Keeper of the Flame-seeker Prophecies?”

  “The same,” Caithe said.

  “Are you kidding me? She helped stop the Lich Lord. She helped stop the titans,” Logan went on. “Why would she turn against us?”

  Caithe looked levelly at him. “Glint is the champion of the one who rises.”

  “Glint is a friend of humanity,” Logan argued.

  “Very few of us are human,” said Zojja.

  Logan said nothing, but after a moment he nodded.

  “Glint is in the Crystal Desert,” Rytlock grumbled. “That’s a long walk.”

  “There’s no time to walk,” Caithe said. “We must arrive in a matter of days.”

  Snaff snapped his fingers and trundled off across his workshop.

  “Where’s he going?” Rytlock wondered.

  Over his shoulder, Snaff called back, “I’ve got a device that could get us halfway there!” He disappeared into a closet, and there came the sound of clattering metal. Something heavy crashed to the floor; then Snaff emerged, seeming to carry nothing except a smile. “It’s one of the cleverest things I’ve come up with.”

  “What?” Rytlock asked.

  Snaff reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a metal coin. “I call it a ‘hole in my pocket.’ But it’s actually a mini, portable asura gate, of my own fabulous design.” He flicked the coin, and as it tumbled in midair, it expanded. Metal filaments slid over each other and reoriented, broadening into a hoop, then a wide ring. The metal circle came down to strike the floor, wobbling itself flat. The moment that the entire circumference of the circle touched the floor, the flagstones within it vanished, showing a patch of windblown sand.

  “Whoa,” Logan said. “Where is that?”

  “I can tune them only to known places, and this one’s tuned to just south of Ebonhawke.”

  “How far south?” Rytlock said in alarm.

  “Out of arrow range,” Snaff assured flatly.

  Logan frowned. “What if the charr are sieging?”

  “Out of range for them, too. In the desert! Where do you think I got all that sandstone for Sandy?” Snaff clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Now, let’s gather up supplies and golems and go see this Glint!”

  From Her Royal Majesty, Jennah,

  Queen of Kryta

  To the Most Magnificent Logan Thackeray

  Logan:

  Another dragon champion lies slain at your feet—the Destroyer of Life and his thousand minions. Well done! You have saved Rata Sum, and you have won for us an upgraded asura gate into Ebonhawke. To think—a year ago you were guarding a caravan to Ebonhawke. Now you have made such caravans unnecessary. Thank you!

  Still, I must say that I was greatly troubled to read your account of the incident with Faolain of the Nightmare Court. None of her ilk can be trusted. They cling to a demented view of the world. When I read your account, I almost called you to me, but that would only have been selfish.

  If Glint is helping her master rise, you must face her down and slay her. But Glint has been an ally to humankind. I am torn. If I had to choose, I would trust her more than the Nightmare Court.

  This mission is yet another danger for you to face in my name, in the name of all Tyria. So, go, my champion. Go slay a lesser dragon to stop an Elder Dragon.

  Yours always,

  Jennah

  From Logan Thackeray

  To Her Royal Majesty, Jennah,

  Queen of Kryta

  My Queen,

  This may well be my darkest hour. I, too, remember what Glint has done for humanity, and to go to slay her seems inconceivable. But if this act can stop the holocaust of an Elder Dragon’s rising, I must do it.

  Your letters pierce me like arrows. How I long to see Divinity’s Reach, our home. But more, I long to see you. Every moment of every day, I hope to feel your call, so that I can throw aside everything that doesn’t matter and run to you. I would throw aside the whole world if I had to. But I know that the only way you will call to me is if you are in mortal danger. I never want that to be the case.

  So I will remain your champion. I will fight on for you, these thousand miles away. I will even kill Glint if I must. But all the while, I will have your face before me—your eyes that pierce to my soul.

  Your champion,

  Logan

  PART III

  BATTLING DRAGONS

  SEEKING THE SANCTUM

  The Crystal Desert sun beat down on a strange company. At the head walked warriors in white burnooses—Eir Stegalkin, Logan Thackeray, and Caithe of the Firstborn. Behind them came Rytlock Brimstone and Garm the wolf, their backs bared to the blazing sun. Next were a pair of newly designed Bigs, with Snaff and Zojja suspended within.

  This army was marching into battle against another dragon champion: Glint.

  Eir perched a hand over her eyes and squinted toward a ridge that ran across their path. “Either Glint’s sanctum is very close, or we’ll have to climb that ridge.”

  Caithe shook her head, eyes closing to consult the map in her mind. “The sanctum is beyond the ridge, but we will not have to climb. There’s a defile that cuts through, just ahead.”

  Rytlock stomped up beside them. “A defile? Oh, perfect!” He shot a look at Logan. “Any jackass could send a rockslide down on top of us.”

  “It’s the only way,” Caithe insisted.

  Rytlock stared at the ridge. “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to,” Eir said.

  The companions marched onward toward the defile, but an hour later, it looked no closer. The ridge only grew taller, the walls of the crevice only steeper. Four hours later, they stood at the entrance to the narrow canyon.

  Eir stared at the cleft ahead, then flashed a sharp look at her comrades. “Well, here we go.”

  She marched up the loose scree at the ridge’s base and headed into the defile, followed by the rest of the companions. Somehow, the heat of the plains was all the more intense within. The sun baked one wall of stone, which turned the cleft into an oven.

  “Wow, it’s hot,” Eir said, her voice echoing from the walls. Those two asura are like chestnuts in an oven.

  “Very compassionate,” Snaff replied tersely.

  “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Must have. I heard it out loud,” Snaff said. Your brain’s so close to the sun, it’s probably getting baked.

  “It’s hot enough, we don’t need to be sniping at each other,” Eir replied. And don’t even start making tall jokes. You don’t know how many short jokes I’ve suppressed.

  Short jokes! Oh, yes, you’re above us all, aren’t you, Miss Titan?


  Leave her alone, Zojja put in. You can’t stand having someone else in charge of you.

  “Would all of you just shut it!” Rytlock snarled.

  “That’s just the thing,” Eir said. “We haven’t been talking.”

  “Oh, you haven’t?” the charr roared. “News to me.” You never stop talking. All these soft races, all they do is talk talk talk—talk you to death.

  “Soft races?” Logan spat. What about short races—Runtlock and the striplings?

  I’m twice your height now.

  Yeah, and four times my weight, Gruntlock.

  Gruntlock!

  “Don’t you see what’s happening here?” Eir asked.

  Oh, I’m sure you’re about to tell us.

  She knows everything.

  Yes, quiet everyone! Let’s listen to the mighty norn.

  “We’re hearing each other’s thoughts,” Eir said.

  Brilliant!

  Thanks for explaining the obvious.

  “The things we would never say to each other are coming right out.”

  “Well, maybe they should come out,” Rytlock growled. “I gave this guy a Blood Legion pendant, and he’s calling me Gruntlock.”

  Logan replied, “It was a private thought. And I wouldn’t even have thought it if you hadn’t called us soft.”

  “I was talking about how you people won’t shut up!” Rytlock roared.

  “It’s not a matter of shutting up. You’re reading our thoughts!”

  “Well, then, stop thinking!”

  Easy for a charr.

  “What kind of a place is this?” Caithe wondered.

  It’s the kind of place we have to get through, Eir responded, which will be much easier if we all take Rytlock’s advice and stop thinking.

  How do you stop thinking? wondered Snaff and Zojja simultaneously.

  You haven’t heard a thought from me in a long while, Rytlock put in. Do what I do.

  Grunting keeps you from thinking? Logan thought. When Rytlock turned on him, he said, “Sorry. It was there in my brain before I could stop it.”

  You think of me as an animal, Rytlock raged.

  Garm shot him an angry look.

  “Not an animal,” Logan said. More like a monster. Rytlock’s eyes grew wide. I mean, a good one—a good monster that’ll fight on our side.

  So, you think I’m a traitor to my race?

  You’re fighting beside a human being. You’re supposed to be killing me—

  I may change my mind.

  Eir broke in, You have to shut down your thinking. Or if you can’t do that, think nice thoughts.

  In other words, don’t think about Klab, Snaff told himself.

  Zojja hurled her hands up. You’re obsessed with him.

  He makes iceboxes!

  You don’t respect anyone but yourself.

  I respect you.

  Yeah, right—genius in training.

  Haven’t I promoted you?

  No.

  Well, now you’re an almost-genius.

  Thanks a lot!

  You just jumped a whole level!

  An imaginary level! I just helped defeat three dragon champions, and everyone still sees me as nothing more than your assistant!

  Is that all you can think of? What I call you? The whole while that we’re working together, you’ve been thinking you’re the real genius!

  Now we both know it! And what’s all this “working together” crap? You order me around like I’m no better than Garm!

  The wolf turned angry eyes toward Big Zojja.

  So, I should worry about this cockpit weld, should I? Snaff wondered. Put some kill feature in it, did you? Something to get rid of the master so you can take his place?

  Is that what you think? You think I would compromise a design like that? That I would try to kill you?

  It’s the secret desire of every apprentice, Snaff thought, adding, but not so secret now.

  Eir yelled, “Why can’t you two stop thinking?”

  Snaff and Zojja both thought, We’re asura.

  “We’re being tested,” Caithe said softly.

  That brought silence, with only the sounds of feet marching through the defile.

  “We can hear each other’s thoughts because Glint is listening to our thoughts. She’s trying to understand why we’re approaching her sanctum. She’s trying to drive us away.”

  She may succeed, Eir thought.

  Don’t act like we’re the only problems here, Rytlock thought.

  “We need to stop,” Caithe said. “She knows what we are thinking, that we are divided. She’ll use it against us. Think thoughts that unify us!”

  There came a flash from Logan’s mind—Caithe stabbing her stiletto into the tail of a devourer, then her smile later as she pulled the roasted meat from the shell.

  And from Rytlock’s mind—the image of Logan launching up to drag down Racogorrix in midair.

  Then from Snaff—Zojja bent over a golem, removing the ankle joint he had designed and replacing it with her new version, much stronger and simpler.

  From Zojja—Snaff describing the defeat of the Dragonspawn, his eyes aglow and his hands gesturing to a ring of norn admirers.

  From Snaff—Eir with hair drawn back and arms speckled with sweat and rock dust flying as she carved a perfect likeness of him.

  From Logan—Caithe single-handedly bringing down the mast of a rotten ship and swinging away from undead.

  From Rytlock—Logan mowing down undead.

  From Zojja—Rytlock lifting a tankard.

  From Caithe—Eir laughing at a joke.

  From Garm—guarding them all.

  And suddenly, they were through.

  The sun-baked defile was behind them, and the companions stood on the edge of a great sand sea.

  “We made it through,” Caithe said. “She couldn’t drive us away.”

  Eir shook her head. “You’re right, Caithe. She couldn’t drive us away, but she could drive wedges between us. We’ll never defeat her unless we fight as one.” Eir looked around at her companions. “I know you heard some unsavory things from me, but you must understand that I’ve hand-selected each of you. I trust each of you—all of you—with my life.”

  Her companions nodded, looking down at the sands.

  “Damn it!” Rytlock spat. He turned and clapped Logan on the back. “Sorry about some of those things I thought.”

  “It’s fine,” Logan assured him. “And sorry about that whole thing about being a monster.”

  Rytlock laughed. “I kind of liked that.”

  As the two Bigs ground along, side by side, Snaff spoke through the tube, “You really are a genius, you know.”

  “Yes,” Zojja replied. “I know.”

  “You’ll be your own master any day now.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Okay, I won’t,” Snaff replied in a tinny voice. “But I will think it. You’re ready for it. I’m just selfish. Where am I going to find another apprentice like you?”

  Eir meanwhile turned to Caithe and said, “You didn’t share a single unkind thought toward any of us.”

  “I don’t have a single unkind thought toward you. If I did, I’d say it.”

  “I suppose you would,” Eir said with a laugh. She looked out on the rolling sand dunes that stretched forever into the distance. “Now, where is this dragon sanctum?”

  “It’s hidden in a crystal of sand,” Logan said. “But how do we find it?”

  “Yeah,” Eir said. “I’m glad you can’t hear what I’m thinking.”

  Big Zojja strode up and clanked to a stop, and a metallic voice came from within. “I can find it.”

  The others looked at the golem in amazement, and Eir said, “How?”

  “Scan for magic.” Zojja said. “Glint is incredibly powerful. She could not completely hide her magical signature. I can use the cockpit cage as an antenna of sorts. Tune it to magical frequencies.” Big Zojja began walking out into the vast
desert.

  Eir looked askance at Big Snaff. “Really?”

  The golem seemed to shrug, then waddled out after Big Zojja.

  Eir nodded, took a swig of water from her canteen, and followed, as did the rest of the companions.

  The companions wandered beneath the staring eye of the sun, following Big Zojja, as Little Zojja used her cockpit cage to pick up a telltale tendril of magic. She always proclaimed that the sanctum was before them, but twice they crossed their own trail. Never did they find that one grain of sand that held the sanctum of Glint.

  Big Zojja trudged up a hill. Her ankle joints made an agonized hiss, ball sockets crisscrossed with score marks from the sand. The golem planted its feet wide and settled into position. Steam jetted from a pair of air locks on its shoulders, and the blast shield on the torso cockpit creaked open. “Ah! Cool air!” came the voice from within. Straps were unsnapped and buckles unbuckled, and Little Zojja jumped down amid the others. “It’s hot in there.”

  Exhausted and sunburned, Eir trudged to the top of a dune, dropped to her knees, and lay on the still-warm sands. “This is as good a place as any.”

  Zojja quietly approached. “It’s close by.”

  “You’ve said that all day,” Rytlock noted as he, too, collapsed to the sands.

  Logan trudged up, yanked off one boot, and poured a mound of sand to the ground.

  “No wonder we couldn’t find it!” shouted Rytlock. “The sanctuary’s been in Logan’s boot!”

  “Har, har,” Logan replied.

  Zojja clamped her teeth together. “You’re such a charr.”

  “Where is the damned place?” Logan asked.

  Zojja closed her eyes and spread her hands. “It feels like . . . it feels like it’s every direction.”

  “No wonder we’ve been going in circles,” Rytlock murmured. He took two gulps from his canteen. “Nearly gone.”