Guild Wars_ Edge of Destiny - J. Robert King [105]
“Kralkatorrik is coming,” Glint announced in her sanctum. “Fighting him will not be like fighting me. Your golems and weapons cannot harm him. There is only one thing that can.”
With a grace that belied her size, Glint slid past the companions and reached the other side of the sanctum. She snatched up the crystal spear that hung there and swung it twice before her. It moaned hollowly as it cut the air.
“This spear was carved from one of Kralkatorrik’s own spines,” Glint explained. “It can pierce his hide, can find his heart.” She thrust it out to Rytlock. “Take it!”
Rytlock stared for a moment at the spear, then clamped his claws around it.
“You must strike the killing blow, right here.” Glint motioned to her side, tapping a groove between her ribs. “You must be running when you deliver the stroke, with all your weight behind the lance. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“I will battle him in the air. I will drive him down toward you. He may be on the ground for only a moment. That is when you must strike.”
Snaff piped, “I can help you keep Kralkatorrik on the ground.”
“How, little one? Fighting Kralkatorrik is like fighting a sandstorm.”
Snaff grinned. “Yes. I have some experience with sand. One of my best friends was made of the stuff.”
“This is no time to brag,” Zojja said.
“I’m not bragging,” Snaff tutted. To the dragon, he said, “I’m an expert in creating powerstone portals into minds. They are portals, except that you don’t walk through them with your body, but with your mind. No one else has even attempted this kind of work.”
“And how will you survive in the mind of an Elder Dragon?” Glint asked. “It has no reason. It has only hunger. Rage. Greed.”
Snaff nodded. “I play to the hunger, rage, and greed. I become the itch that must be scratched.”
“How?” Glint asked bluntly.
Snaff strode over beneath the emerald tree. “What are these green gemstones hanging here?”
“They are petrified drops of blood from Kralkatorrik—blood from his last battle. For thousands of years, I have gathered them from the sands of the desert and hung them on that tree, keeping them from mortal hands. They are magically potent.”
“They’re like powerstones,” Snaff said avidly, “but tied to the life force of Kralkatorrik.” He plucked an emerald leaf from the tree. “Do you know what I can do with these?”
Glint seemed almost to smile. “What?”
“That one golem I mentioned—Sandy—was made out of billions of grains of sand and thousands of powerstone chips. I controlled Sandy with a powerstone laurel, which sent thoughts from my brain into tiny gemstones within him.”
“But you don’t have time to build a golem,” Logan objected.
“I don’t need to build one. With these crystallized drops of blood—thousands of them—I could take hold of your former master.”
Glint’s eyes grew wide.
“We’ll pack these blood droplets into exploding arrowheads, and each one that pierces his hide will fill him with thousands of powerstone fragments. They’ll be salted through him by the time I need to take over his mind.”
Glint shook her head. “You cannot match the will of an Elder Dragon.”
Zojja set her hands on her hips. “He stared down Jormag. He can stare down this one, too.”
“He can do it,” Eir assured Glint, “but we’re going to need more than powerstone arrows. We need to get more of these emeralds attached to the dragon sooner.” She snapped her fingers. “Those laurels you make, Snaff—could you make something like that for the dragon?”
Snaff’s eyes lit. “Yes. Yes, I could! It’ll take a rib out of the cockpit of my Big, but I could fashion a powerstone piece—maybe a yoke or torc—that could clamp onto the dragon.”
“And Glint,” Eir said, “could you fasten the yoke about Kralkatorrik?”
“He would not submit to that.”
Eir strode toward her. “Then battle him. For millennia, you have wanted to stop your master. Now, you can do it. Battle him in the skies and place on him a powerstone laurel—a yoke that will give us access to his mind.”
Glint’s eyes narrowed as if she saw the fight in the sky. “It will take time. You will be overrun by his minions