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“Definitely dwarves,” Logan said. He peered into a burned-out building, with charred tables and chairs and a burst beer tun.

Caithe meanwhile stood at the corner of the building, peering down the cross-street. “Yes. Dwarves.”

Logan came to her, rounding the corner to see the undeniable proof—a dwarven skeleton in chain and plate armor lying on a pile of rubble.

Caithe crouched down to look more closely at the rubble pile. The broken stones seemed almost to fit together. “Here’s what killed him.”

“What?” Logan asked. “These stones killed him?”

“These stones are the remains of a destroyer—a monster of elemental magma. A whole hive must have erupted into this chamber and burned every living thing in it.”

“They conquered it only to vanish?”

Caithe nodded grimly. “Destroyers care only about killing. They are forged from the molten heart of their master—Primordus, first of the Elder Dragons to rise. The dwarves forestalled his coming, but at a terrible price. They are all but gone now, and Primordus is rising to destroy all races.”

Logan took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s try to keep things a little lighter, yeah? How about finding this presence of yours down here?”

Caithe lifted her head, listening, and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply and pointed. “This way.”

She set off down the street—a wide, cobbled way that grew wider as they went. Soon, the avenue split around medians, where stone sculptures depicted dwarves—working, fighting, drinking. One tableau showed dwarves in battle against destroyers.

“Just ahead,” Caithe said, hurrying forward.

Logan marched double time up the avenue, which bent around the massive wall of a dwarven palace. On the far side, the avenue entered a great arch against the stone wall. Logan scratched his head. “They must have been carving a new passage when the destroyers attacked.”

“No.” Caithe pointed toward the base of the arch, where a massive blue crystal hung loose from its facing. As a breeze wafted past, the stone swung toward the wall, which sparked slightly. “This is an asura gate. It’s probably from when Primordus was first put back to sleep. Watch.” She knelt beside the stone and pressed it into its housing.

Suddenly, the gate flashed with light.

Logan and Caithe shielded their faces. Only as their eyes adjusted could they see what strobed within the archway.

Visions. Beautiful visions . . . a grassy plain where wild horses ran . . . a deep lagoon encircled by leaning palms . . . a great glacier with snowcapped peaks in blue . . . a sere desert where crystalline statues stood . . .

“Ow!” Caithe said, letting go of the crystal. It was glowing red, and smoke rose from a chunk out of one side. “It’s damaged. Someone smashed it to close the gate.”

“Can we get it to work long enough to get out of here?” Logan asked, pushing the stone into place again.

. . . a deep rain forest . . . a hamlet in a hanging valley . . . a bustling harbor jammed with junks . . . a white city with gleaming spires . . .

“That was Divinity’s Reach!” Logan said, stepping toward the gate. Already, though, the scene had changed to a city-size white tree within a steaming jungle . . .

“And that was the Grove!” Caithe said.

Logan hissed, releasing the crystal and shaking his hand. “That thing’s overloading. We’ll have just one last chance at this before it blows completely. And if we jump through at the wrong time, who knows where we’ll end up.”

“Maybe I can call to the Grove. Maybe the tree can prolong the contact.”

She began to sing:

Oh, come to me, heart of the wyld.

Oh, hear this lost sylvari child,

Away from wood and glade and briar—

Entombed within a world of fire.

Rytlock was still hearing Caithe’s vibrant voice echoing through his head. It was almost as if she were just around the corner.

“That’s it,” Rytlock growled, sliding Sohothin upward. A feeble blue flame flickered around the twisted metal blades and then flared to life, roaring and crackling. “Ah! Light!”

The fire shone across the ruined