Guild Wars_ Edge of Destiny - J. Robert King [110]
“Thank you,” Logan said fiercely, ripping his arms free of Rytlock and leaping through the portal. He seemed to hang for a moment above the sands, but then vanished, and the portal vanished with him.
“What just happened?” shouted Rytlock, his claws swiping the air. “Why did you say that?”
Eir said numbly, “I wanted him to stay. . . .”
“Well, he didn’t. He’s gone.”
“He’s gone,” Eir repeated stonily.
The others were gathering now, stunned.
Eir straightened. “We can’t change that now. We have our plan.”
“Logan was crucial to the plan! It’s all about keeping Snaff safe long enough that I can strike the blow. I can’t guard Snaff while I’m running with the spear.”
“We’ll have to guard Snaff without him.”
“There are three entrances to the sanctum. We need Logan!” Rytlock shot back. “He’s our best defender. He’s always beside me!”
“He’s not beside you now,” Eir snapped. “Snaff, get that powerstone yoke ready—now. Rytlock, Caithe, and Garm—prepare your positions. Kralkatorrik will find this place and find all of us. Get ready to defend!”
Logan dropped through the portable portal device, seeing Rytlock and Eir disappear above him. Once he had plunged through the floor of Glint’s sanctuary, the portal closed up, becoming as small as a spinning coin.
Logan grunted as he hit ground. He tucked and rolled across the sand dune.
The pocket portal dropped in the sand beside him. Logan gripped it, hot as it was with the energies it had expended, and slid it into his pocket.
Only then did he look up to see the horror before him.
Ebonhawke rose from the sandy wastes to the north, her curtain wall shattered, her keep battered, and her courtyards roaring with the sounds of battle.
The queen was in there.
If I call, you must come to me.
Logan ran, heart pounding. The sand yanked at his legs, but he tore up the dune, heading for that break in the wall, three feet wide from top to bottom.
But the breach was not unguarded. As Logan ran forward, Vanguard archers stepped from it, their bows raised and arrows drawn. “Halt! Who goes?”
Logan staggered to a stop, panting, and lifted his hands. “I am Logan Thackeray, brother of Dylan Thackeray—”
“The Logan Thackeray?” one of the guards said, squinting. “Slayer of dragon champions?”
“Yes.”
Both archers now lowered their weapons. “Are we in need of you! There are giant ogres and hyenas within. They gutted the charr army to reach us and are fighting inside our walls.”
“The queen summoned me. I must go to her!”
“Come along!” they shouted, gesturing him forward. “She’s in the keep.”
Logan ran to the cleft and pushed past the archers, who slapped him on the back as he went. More Vanguard within greeted him, their blood-spattered faces tinged with hope. Logan rushed past them and into the courtyard.
It was in chaos. Stone-skinned hyenas ran rampant through it, tearing apart the Ebon Vanguard. Crystalline ogres climbed the walls. Warriors poured arrows down on their heads, and some jabbed between crystals, but most bounded away. An ogre with hairlike stone spikes topped the wall, swung his arm, and knocked five archers over, into the bailey.
These crystalline horrors were the minions of Kralkatorrik.
Hoisting his war hammer, Logan ran on toward the keep.
A contingent of Seraph stood around the base of it, battling hyenas.
Logan heaved his hammer overhead and brought it down on the skull of one beast. It crashed to the ground.
“Thanks,” said a breathless Seraph.
“Let me pass,” Logan ordered, pushing through the ranks to reach the banded-iron door beyond.
The sight that greeted him there was horrifying.
Dylan lay beside the door, mantled in blood, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.
“No!” Logan shouted. He dropped to his knees beside his brother. “Dylan, no!”
Those wide eyes turned. What was left of that bloodied chest shuddered with a bubbling breath. “Logan . . .”
“You’re alive.”
“Not much longer . . .”
Blue aura erupted from Logan’s fingers, and he touched the wounds in his brother’s chest. They glowed, flesh beginning to knit,