Edge of Destiny (guild wars)

by J. Robert King

  "Fine," Zojja said, taking the golden laurel. She slid it down until the ends rested on her ears and the middle cradled her skull. The moment gold contacted skin, the powerstones began to glow.

  "It's working!" Snaff said, clapping his hands as if he had expected it wouldn't. He turned and pointed toward the golem's forehead. "It's working! You see?"

  The large powerstone in the golem's forehead glowed with crimson light. Ripples of energy spread out across the golem's face, somehow seeming to soften the stone. When the ripples rolled across the creature's eye, a black iris formed, and a pupil opened, shining red light.

  "It can see!" Snaff cried.

  The golem lurched up from the table, metal feet pounding stone, and took a booming step toward Eir.

  "Look out!" she shouted, and dragged Snaff back from the gigantic foot.

  Growling, Garm retreated as well.

  But Zojja stood unmoving in the path of the golem. Well, not actually unmoving. She lifted her leg, and the golem took a thunderous step toward her. She lifted her other leg, and"Look out!" Eir shouted, snatching Zojja out of the path of the golem.

  The golem's foot boomed brutally just behind Eir.

  Zojja squirmed in Eir's grip, her feet kicking the air as if she were a child having a tantrum.

  Behind Eir, the golem broke into a loose-limbed run.

  Eir held Zojja out at arm's length. "What's she doing?"

  Snaff's voice sounded distant and sad. "She's running away."

  Eir turned to see the huge golem bounding up the staircase, heading for the skylight above. Every kick of Little Zojja's legs became a step for Big Zojja-who just then vaulted out of the ziggurat.

  "Help me chase her down!" Snaff shouted, running for the stairs.

  Eir glanced from him to Little Zojja, whose feet were still flailing. "What do I do with her?"

  Snaff pointed to a small door. "Lock her in the closet until we get back!"

  Carrying Little Zojja to the closet, Eir shoved her inside and slammed and locked the door. Moments later, small fists were pounding inside the closet, and big fists outside the ziggurat.

  "Hurry! The golem's getting away!" shouted Snaff as he ambled up the stairs.

  Eir dashed up behind him and hoisted Snaff to her shoulders and vaulted through the skylight. She emerged in hot, humid Rata Sum.

  "There she is!" Eir exclaimed, pointing upward, toward the city center.

  Big Zojja climbed the stairs with the loose-limbed excitement of a child who was running naked.

  "Can we catch up?" Snaff asked dubiously.

  "Of course," Eir replied.

  Garm shot out past her and vaulted up the switchback stairs. His black jowls hung loose as he tore past the stony slope where Master Klab had launched his puffball. Beyond it, Garm closed in on Big Zojja. He nipped at her heels, snarling.

  The golem turned her uncanny stone head down toward him, eye beams scanning. Then she broke into a real run, leaving Garm behind.

  The great wolf slowed to a stop and stood there, panting, waiting for his master to catch up. When Eir arrived, they ran on together.

  "Some would call this an anomaly," Snaff murmured as he bounced on the norn's shoulders. "But to have an anomaly, you have to establish a baseline."

  Eir glanced at the inventor. "This is your baseline?"

  "I put it down to high spirits," Snaff said with mock cheer. "When you're used to having legs that are two feet long and suddenly have legs that are ten feet long, well, you want to take them out for a stretch, don't you? It's not an anomaly."

  Just then, gongs sounded from nearby towers. The clangor spread outward until all of Rata Sum was ringing. Asura voices joined the cacophony, resolving to a single word: "A-no-ma-ly! A-no-ma-ly."

  Snaff snarled, "Haven't they been listening?"

  Emergency crews poured out of the sides of the cubes, looking around in shock to see what sort of mayhem had been unleashed this time.

  Big Zojja bolted onward, cracking tiles and shattering stones on the bridges. She rushed across one of the giant stone cubes, then vanished around its edge.

  "No!" Snaff shouted.

  Eir ran up to the edge of the cube and skidded to a stop, with Garm beside her. They looked down at the jungle far below.

  Snaff squeaked, "Where is she?"

  Eir blinked. "If she fell, there should be a golem-shaped hole in the jungle."

  "She's up there!" Snaff shouted, pointing.

  They all looked up along the slanting edge of the giant cube. There, Big Zojja teetered, heading for the top.

  "She'll fall to her death!" Snaff shouted. "We've got to get up there!"

  Eir grabbed on to the side of the cube and began to climb. Garm scrambled up alongside her.

  Snaff meanwhile wrung his hands. "I've murdered her. That's what I've done. I've quite simply discombobulated my apprentice. And she was a genius! Oh, wretched man that I am!"

  "Shhh," said Eir.

  "What?"

  "Shhh! She's just ahead."

  At the peak of the stony slope stood Big Zojja, with legs fully extended and arms lifted high and stony face raised.

  Snaff wailed, "The posture of an idiot! I've reduced Zojja to an idiot!"

  "Shhhh!" Eir reiterated.

  Snaff fell silent.

  In the hush, the asura, the norn, and the dire wolf watched breathlessly as a great white puffball drifted up over the edge of the pyramid. Wind-filled bags of silk surrounded the terrified figure of Master Klab. At the base of the puffball, a dozen or so skyhooks hung, testimony to the failure of rescue krewes.

  Big Zojja stood on the block of stone, lifted her golemic arms, snagged a few of the skyhooks, and hauled down.

  The moment that the puffball reached the top of the pyramid, Master Klab unbuckled his harness and fell at Big Zojja's feet. "Thank you! Thank you! Where is your master? Where is your creator?"

  Snaff stepped up behind the bowing man and tapped him on the butt. "Ahem. That would be me."

  Master Klab looked behind him and managed to sputter, "Oh, yes! My good friend Snaff."

  "Good friend?" Snaff replied.

  "Well, friend is not so much the word. More like role model. Even idol." Klab wore a sick smile and seemed to throw up in his mouth.

  "Really, Klab, I think you might be wise to give up larking about in the sky. A bit dangerous, don't you think?"

  "A bit," Master Klab allowed as he mopped the cold sweat from his forehead. "Maybe I should go back to my study of frostometrics."

  "Yes, excellent idea. Iceboxes are more your speed." Snaff turned toward Big Zojja. "Come along, now. Let's head back to the laboratory for a few more adjustments." The golem nodded and followed its master. Once they were out of earshot of Klab, Snaff began to mutter, "I've got to solve the problem of spacial dislocation experienced by the pilot-that and the business about flailing legs and arms and all the dangers they present. Can't just be locking pilots into closets… unless they were mobile…"

  "What are you talking about?" Eir asked, regaining her breath.

  "Mobile closets," Snaff muttered, grinning.

  Eir blinked. "I don't know what that is."

  "A cage-no, a cockpit. We'll put it in the abdomen-you know, with a harness and all so that the driver can kick her legs and punch her arms as much as she likes and ride along in safety!"

  Eir nodded. "You think you could make these machines controllable?"

  "Of course."

  "Because, in wartime, a machine has to be completely in control."

  "Yes, of course," Snaff replied, adding innocently, "What's this about?"

  "You have these… hypercephalic-"

  "Cephalolithopathic."

  "Yes… these golems that people can control with their minds. And I need warriors who can fight the Dragonspawn-"

  "Your point being?"

  The norn sighed. "Here's what I propose: I'll carve your head, so you can have a golem just like your assistant, if you'll agree to march these go
lems against the Dragonspawn as your… um, what do you call it?"

  "Beta test?"

  "Right."

  The asura inventor sighed contentedly. "It's just the sort of arrangement I had hoped for."

  STRANGER DANGER

  Who said that?" Logan asked, silencing Rytlock with an upraised hand. "Listen."

  Only the crackling fires spoke in the dark canyon. Neither warrior could hear anything else, let alone see beyond the pyres.

  "Wasn't me," Rytlock growled. "Sounded womanish."

  "It was womanish," said the voice.

  Rytlock and Logan drew their weapons.

  Logan stepped away from the pyres, war hammer ready in his hand. "Who is it? Show yourself!"

  "I am showing myself," the woman replied flatly. "I'm standing right here. The problem is you're fire-blinded. If you want to see me, step away from the light."

  "Yeah, right," Rytlock snarled.

  "Why don't you step into the light?" Logan asked.

  "You want all three of us to be fire-blinded?"

  "Yes."

  There was a sigh. Then she emerged from the veiling darkness-a petite woman with silvery hair and porcelain skin. She wore glossy travel leathers crossed with vine motifs, which clung tight to her young body. Her spike-heeled boots also looked like dark seedpods, lifting her three inches taller than she would have stood.

  "A sylvari," groaned Rytlock. "Always trouble."

  Logan stepped toward her. "What are you doing here?"

  Her eyes shone like jade. "Talking to you."

  Logan blinked. "No, I mean, why are you here?"

  She sighed. "You asked me to step into the light."

  "See what I mean?" growled Rytlock.

  "Which is a bad idea since the smell of blood is drawing predators from miles around," she continued, "and those pyres are like beacons to bring the ogres."

  Rytlock huffed. "Bring the ogres? We just killed the ogres."

  "Yes," the silver-haired woman said. "You killed some of them."

  "Do you live here?"

  "No."

  "Then how did you get here?"

  "I followed you."

  "Why?"

  "Because you were moving. It's impossible to follow someone who is standing still. If I hadn't moved, I would have lost you. Thus, follow. You ask the strangest questions."

  Logan flung his hands up in frustration.

  Rytlock stepped forward, Sohothin before him. "You saw what this sword can do. Give us your name."

  "I'm Caithe. But what does my name have to do with what your sword can do?"

  Rytlock rolled his eyes. "It was a threat."

  "I'm not the one in danger here," Caithe said.

  "Is that a threat?" Rytlock asked, eyes growing wide.

  "Not a threat. A warning."

  The charr laughed harshly. "You? Warning me?"

  "Yes."

  "About what?"

  "Being killed."

  "You think you can kill me?"

  "No."

  Rytlock stared at her, waiting for elaboration. None came. Finally he asked, "So, who, then?"

  "Chief Kronon."

  "Who's that?"

  "The chief of the local tribes."

  "What does he want with us?" asked Rytlock.

  "You killed his son, Chiefling Ygor."

  "The one with the iron helm," Logan said, snapping his fingers.

  Caithe continued placidly, "When Chief Kronon finds out, he and his hunters will track you down."

  Rytlock stared at the dead ogres lying between the pyres. "We've got to get out of here."

  The sylvari clenched her teeth. "That's exactly what I was telling you but was sidetracked by all those hows and whys and ridiculous commands to come into the light so that all three of us could stand here and be surrounded by devourers."

  "Devourers!" Logan blurted, just before the first giant scorpion scuttled into view.

  It was a devourer, all right, its armor as thick as plates and its two tails curved in deadly arcs above its back. The creature ambled up just behind Caithe.

  "There's a swarm," she said in a lecturing voice, "which means we'll all be fighting. Now, I've seen you two fight-too much power, too little care-which means you'll win, but not before the ogres get here, which means we all lose."

  Claws clicked the ground behind Logan. He spun to see another devourer creeping up on him.

  "I've got one, too," Rytlock announced, raking his sword out before him. The darkness beyond shivered with scaly claws and venomous stingers. "Hate these things. They're attracted by the smell of death. It's their food."

  "But the pyres," Logan said. "We burned the dead!"

  "So they want their food cooked."

  "Too many!" Logan hissed as a pair of devourers scuttled up to him. He swung his hammer, and their tails darted down to spurt venom into the air.

  Rytlock's sword was even worse, drawing the great scorpions like a candle flame.

  "Put away your weapons," the sylvari said easily. "Devourers have better weapons than you. You need to dictate the battle. Draw the monster in. Get it to strike, but when you want it to."

  Whirling around, Caithe flung her arms toward the sky and set her feet wide apart, becoming a living X before the giant scorpion. It scudded forward, its scales shivering with anticipation. The two poisonous tails quivered, and drops of venom hung from their ends. The devourer snapped its pincers and clicked its feet, watching for an opening. Suddenly, both poisonous tails lunged toward Caithe.

  She flung her hands back from the stingers, which jetted poison. Then, with catlike reflexes, she grabbed the tops of the stingers.

  "What are you doing?" Logan shouted.

  The sylvari only smiled again as those muscular tails lifted her up over of the devourer's snapping claws and carapaced back. Caithe raised a spike-heeled boot and brought it down on the base of the scorpion's tails. Her heel punched through the thick armor and into the nerve core. The two great tails wilted, slumping to the ground.

  "Every creature's got weak points," Caithe said as she drew a knife from her belt and stabbed the beast's brain. "Learn the weak points, and you can lockpick them. For these devourers, the weak point is where the two tails diverge."

  A half dozen devourers swelled out of the darkness.

  The man and the charr traded annoyed looks and launched into battle.

  Logan brought his hammer down on the back of a devourer-except that the beast shied back, and the hammer rooted in the ground. Logan dropped it and pivoted to run, but the devourer surged up to trip him. Pincers grabbed his ankles and pitched him backward. Logan landed on the scorpion, back-to-back, his hands reaching up to catch the twin stingers before they could sink into his stomach. Gobs of venom slid down his arms as the muscular tails struggled to break his grip. The venom made his hands slick, and he was losing hold.

  "Weak points," said a voice, and Logan looked up between the tails to see the smiling sylvari. She kicked her heel into the divergence of the spines. The tails slumped. Caithe leaned over Logan and jabbed between his legs to stab the scorpion's brain. Smiling grimly, she helped Logan to his feet. "Try it my way."

  With his hammer mired beneath a dead devourer, he had little choice. As another giant scorpion approached, Logan lifted his arms and spread his legs as Caithe had done. When the tails struck, he reared his hands back, caught hold of the tails, and rode them up to the weak point. A solid stomp wilted the stingers, and another crushed the brain of the beast.

  Caithe had already finished off half a dozen the same way-and Rytlock had burned two others to sooty husks. The last three devourers surrounded the charr, though.

  "Let's give him a hand," Caithe said.

  Logan dragged his hammer free and rushed to aid his onetime foe. He pounded the spine of one devourer, crushing it and wilting the deadly tails. Caithe meanwhile plunged her dagger into the back of another.

  But the final scorpion bounded at the charr, grabbing his legs and knocking
him to the ground.

  Rytlock rammed his sword into a joint in the carapace. The scorpion's eyes grew fire-bright, then cloudy white, then cracked like hard-boiled eggs. Smoke oozed from the shell in a hundred places.

  "Smells like thundershrimp," Logan said.

  "Never had it," Rytlock snorted, crawling on his elbows out of the grip of the thing's dead pincers. Next moment, the creature burst into flame. Rising to his feet, Rytlock heaved a satisfied sigh. "Well, that's three for me. How many for you, Logan?"

  Reluctantly the man said, "Two. But one was yours. You owe me."

  "Stop it."

  "I killed seven," Caithe said. She went among the devourer bodies, slicing off the tails. When she finished, she cut off the stingers and leaned the tails against the pyre to cook. Kneeling, she dug a hole and positioned a stinger in it, point up.

  "What are you doing?" Logan asked.

  "Burying their stingers."

  "Why?"

  "The ogres won't be able to run as well on stung feet." She nodded to the two warriors. "Well, lend a hand."

  The man and the charr bent, digging as well. In a few minutes, the three had set their devourer-tail traps. Caithe smiled dazzlingly. "We need to go. I can hear them."

  "Hear who?"

  "The ogres." She cupped a hand to her ear. The man and the charr listened. Beyond the crackle of sizzling fat and the chorus of distant locusts came the thunder of boots on ground. Occasionally, a cackle or yip announced that hyenas ran with the party. Then a deep-bellied horn sounded. "That would be Chief Kronon and his hunters."

  "How does he know about the chiefling?" Logan wondered.

  "He doesn't-yet. Let's go." Caithe snatched up one of the roasted scorpion tails, peeled off the charred scales, and took a bite of the white flesh within. "They're delicious, but don't eat the venom glands." She set off at a light-footed run from the canyon.

  The man and the charr watched as she disappeared into the darkness. Rytlock growled, "Why should we trust her?"

  Logan shot him a disbelieving look. "Why should I trust you?" He snatched up his own scorpion tail and jogged after the sylvari.