Guild Wars_ Edge of Destiny - J. Robert King [84]
Caithe scrabbled back.
In moments, Morgus Lethe was stripped to bone. Then the bones, too, were eaten away. At that point, the worms fell to the planks, twitching.
“It’s ending,” Magnus said, reaching out to take Caithe’s hand. “Zhaitan’s champion is destroyed. . . .”
Caithe reached down to pluck her blades from the writhing ruins of Lethe. “What now?”
“Now, we must fight our way back to our ship,” Magnus said.
Side by side, Caithe and Magnus battled the hosts of Lethe. Caithe’s stilettos split more heads, emptying them on the deck, while Magnus’s axe harvested them whole.
They headed toward the rail, but it was too late. The ship was sinking.
“Down we go,” Magnus said.
The ship plunged into the water, dumping Caithe and Magnus throat-deep in sloshing waves.
Worse, the undead hordes that had been crawling up the sides of the Cormorant now fell into the water around them. Caithe and Magnus swam and fought, slicing their foes apart, a job made easier because the undead had lost much of their will.
The hosts of Zhaitan sought the abyss as living things seek the air.
At last, Caithe and Magnus reached the Cormorant. Caithe grasped a line that hung in the water and pulled herself out of the soup. Magnus followed.
The deck of the Cormorant was ravaged. Rotting corpses lay interspersed with the freshly dead.
“What a mess,” Caithe said as she stepped over the rail.
“Caithe! You’re alive,” called Eir from the aft deck. She was ruddy-faced, red hair torn wildly from its braids, but she smiled with triumph.
Caithe climbed the aft stairs. “Not just alive. Victorious!”
“Yes,” added Logan, “though some of us feel less than victorious.” He glanced at Rytlock, who was vomiting over the aft rail.
Only then did Caithe notice Snaff and Zojja, who stood in swooning concentration beside Eir. They were bringing up the two barques. Both were smeared with undead and scratched from stem to stern.
Magnus the Bloody Handed stepped up and bowed to them all. “You have done it. You have slain another dragon champion.”
“Yes,” Caithe said. “Him and his followers. Do you see?” She gestured beyond the aft rail of the Cormorant, where the whirlpool closed. The once tormented sea settled into its regular rhythm, the waves rising and falling like breath.
Magnus nodded, his face lined with deep gratitude. “Now Destiny’s Edge has purchased its own billet. All of you are free.”
The Ship’s Council of Lion’s Arch announced a feast for Destiny’s Edge, slayers of Morgus Lethe. Every captain wanted to host the banquet, and every dignitary wanted to attend—with supporters and family and friends. As a result, no ship was big enough, and measures had to be taken to keep out undesirables.
In the end, the feast took place in the middle of the Grand Harbor aboard not one but seven ships, connected via gangplanks and swinging lines. Each ship sought to outdo the others. Every deck was holystoned, every bit of brass polished, every rail festooned. Lanterns blazed upon the spars, sending a warm and manifold light down over the elegantly garbed partygoers.
Even Eir and her companions wore new clothes—greatcoats in dazzling white. They were gifts from Magnus the Bloody Handed, tailored from the first shipment of fine wool to pass the erstwhile lair of Morgus Lethe. Each coat designated its wearer an honorary member of the Ship’s Council.
“I think we look dashing,” Logan said, “as white as Seraph.”
“I think we look like waiters,” Rytlock griped. His brawny shoulders bristled beneath the yards of white cloth, and his horns continuously snagged the coat. “I can’t move!”
“Luckily, all you have to do is shake hands.”
It was true. From the beginning of the party until well into the evening, Destiny’s Edge stood as a long line of dignitaries filed past and shook their hands.
The companions coped with varying degrees of success. Eir and Logan were the most gracious, nodding and thanking people.