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“Snap their necks!”

“Do they float?”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“You’re both ridiculous,” interrupted the sylvari.

“You survived?” Rytlock yelled. “Damn.”

“I just saved you from the ogres!” she shouted back indignantly.

“You just dropped us into a cesspool a hundred feet below the ground.”

“It’s not a cesspool. It’s an underground river,” Caithe responded. “Can’t you feel the current?”

Rytlock squeezed the hyenas into submission. “Yeah.”

“That’s why I led us down here,” Caithe said. “I can feel the ways of water and wind, the ways of nature. I’ll get us out of here. Follow my voice.”

“I’d have to listen to it.”

Logan stroked toward her and shot back over his shoulder, “How’re the hyenas holding out?”

The truth was, they seemed to be weakening. Rytlock whispered, “Follow the sylvari. She’s young and tasty.”

Whether or not the scavengers understood, they did paddle generally in Caithe’s direction, carrying the charr with them. The chant of the river changed, echoes coming more quickly ahead, and then there was water-smoothed stone underfoot.

Rytlock strode up it, feeling the waters recede. “Finally,” he said, dropping the hyenas into the water and kicking them sharply in the backsides. “Get off with you!” Yipping, they swam away.

“There’s a cave mouth up here,” Caithe called from ahead. “A slight breeze is pouring into the cave, so there must be an opening on the other side.”

“I’m following,” Logan said, feeling his way forward through the darkness. “Keep talking, Caithe.”

“Yeah. Keep talking.” Rytlock was in torment. Not the Realm of Torment, with its fire and severity. That place would’ve been homey. No, this was a uniquely charr torment—with churning water and buoyant hyenas and a pesky human and a starry-eyed sylvari leading a parade of fools.

They stumbled through the passage that Caithe had found, trading the terrors of an underground river for the annoyance of stalactites hitting their faces and stalagmites jamming their toes. And the cave wasn’t entirely dry. Something scuttled on the ground and squashed wetly underfoot with each step.

Ahead, Caithe staggered to a stop. “Oh. Well, that’s something. . . .”

The man and the charr came up behind her. “Whoa.”

They stood at the edge of a gigantic cavern, dimly lit by fading blue stones embedded along the walls. The light of the stones revealed a ruined underground city. Cobbled streets ran between rock-walled buildings, and a crumbling palace stood on a prominence on the far side. Many buildings were missing their roofs, and many windows were marked with soot where fires had burned. Cracked columns shored up the ceiling high above.

An eerie wind meandered past, like the brush of a ghost.

“What is this place?” Rytlock asked.

“It looks dwarven,” Logan said. “Who else would have a whole city that nobody knew about?”

“But what happened to them?”

“Destroyers,” Caithe broke in. “Creatures of living lava—the minions of the dragon Primordus. I’ve seen other villages destroyed this way.”

“Well, when you live in a hole in the ground, you’ve got to expect to run into things like that,” Rytlock said. “The question is whether they’re still here.” He stepped past the other two and marched down toward the city.

“We’re following her, not you,” Logan called.

“When I can see, I follow no one.” Rytlock paused, looking down at his foot and seeing the remains of albino frogs crushed between his claws. “I’m finding my own way out of here.”

As Rytlock marched away into the gloomy ruins, Logan shook his head. “Good riddance.”

“We shouldn’t split up,” Caithe said.

“Not much choice.” He turned to her. “Where to now?”

“It’s strange. I sense a presence here. Something magical.”

“Well, then, lead the way.”

Caithe stepped out ahead of him and strode down the slope. Logan hoisted his war hammer and went along.

The city was indeed built on a dwarven scale: Logan had to duck his head to look through windows. Markings on the walls had the deep-etched angularity of