Guild Wars_ Ghosts of Ascalon - Matt Forbeck [22]
“A new shipment came in from Claypool,” said the merchant, a squat man who, despite being surrounded by sharp blades, was in severe need of a shave. “Finest kind, fresh from the forge.”
Riona’s brows bunched up. “You must be kidding. Look at that pocking. The grip wobbles. And the edge isn’t even true.”
The merchant gave an irritated shrug. “You’re not expecting Seraph quality, are you? And the really good stuff all gets shipped out to those Ebonhawke soreheads.”
“What do you mean by that?” said Riona, her eyes narrowing.
“Ascalon is dead and buried,” said the merchant. “Let the charr have it: it’s blasted and filled with ghosts, anyway, from what I hear. Sending men and supplies to Ebonhawke—supplies we can use here at home to fight centaurs and bandits, mind you—is a waste of money. Good gold chasing after bad.”
As the merchant spoke, Dougal noticed Riona’s visage grow darker and her hand drifting to the grip of her own sword. “This will do nicely,” he said quickly. “Pay the man, Riona.”
“I’d rather—” started Riona, her jaw clenched.
“Pay the man,” said Dougal. “Let’s move on.”
The two walked away from the merchant, Riona muttering, “That traitorous moron! And this is what people think of us in Divinity’s Reach.”
“Ebonhawke is far away, like Orr and the dragons,” said Dougal. “You can understand if they worry more about centaurs raiding their caravans and bandits robbing their fields. You’re right about one thing, though.” He flicked the blade back and forth a few times. The other pedestrians watched him cautiously as he executed some textbook moves. “This blade is miserable.”
“Told you,” said Riona.
“Most modern blades are. Modern human blades, anyway.” He sheathed the sword. “Such is life in our dragon-haunted times.”
Someone called out Dougal’s name from behind him.
“Now what?” said Riona, but Dougal saw a green face flickering among the crowds, a verdant arm raised overhead.
He smiled and shot a glance at Riona, who scowled at the approaching newcomer. The fact that the sylvari’s appearance frustrated Riona made him feel even better. And Killeen looked fully recovered from her sojourn in the crypts beneath Divinity’s Reach.
“Riona Grady, member of the Vigil, may I present—” he began.
“Killeen, born of the Cycle of Night,” she said, holding out a hand in the human fashion.
Riona scowled and nodded, leaving the hand unclasped. “It is good to meet you, Killeen of the Night, but I am afraid Dougal and I have business to discuss—”
“Would you like an ale?” Dougal broke in. “There is a tent not more than twenty feet from here that does a passable brown lager.”
The look Riona shot him would have slain a devourer at ten paces, and Dougal allowed himself a smile. New sins for her to be angry about might help heal the old.
“It’s very nice,” said Killeen a little later, sipping the ale. “Is that butternut squash in the mix?”
Dougal shrugged amiably while Riona, leaning back in her bench, kept her arms crossed. She said, “I don’t know many sylvari.” From her tone it was clear that she would prefer to know one fewer.
“And I don’t know much about the Vigil,” said Killeen, “other than they are a group made up of members from many races, nations, and guilds. They are dedicated to resisting the depredations of the Elder Dragons by force of arms. Are you hiring Dougal to fight dragons?”
“I’m glad you’re not still in jail,” said Dougal, realizing that this was the first time he’d thought about Killeen since they had been arrested.
“I spent the night there, and then a pleasant human with a mustache asked me questions, and I answered them, and they let me go.” She sipped the ale again.
Dougal thought about what Lieutenant Groban had said about one of their group confessing. “You?” he managed. “You told him?”
“Of course. I told