Guild Wars_ Ghosts of Ascalon - Matt Forbeck [91]
“A solid if flawed theory,” Kranxx said. “One that I’m happy we can take advantage of.” He’d resumed his place upon Gullik’s shoulders. The norn bore him as easily as ever, immune to any abuse the asura could heap on him, whether physical or verbal. Still, Gullik was mostly silent, his thoughts kept to himself.
They hiked steadily north and westward into the hills, stopping well before the sun kissed the far horizon. At length they came to an old human farm building, partially collapsed along its southern wall but still warm and dry along its northern half. From the detritus scattered about and the ashes in the fireplace, other travelers had used this place as well.
“We should be moving at night again,” said Ember, “two, maybe three nights before we reach the outskirts of Ascalon City itself. We are going to come around through the Loreclaw Expanses on the southern edge of the Ascalon Basin; there are fewer patrols on the south side of the lake. The western edge of the lake may have more patrols, since that is a major artery for the charr military. We will try to avoid them and approach the city from the west.”
Dougal nodded, but no one seemed to be much in the mood to talk. Kranxx broke out some lumpy nutbread he had brought with him and passed it out to have with their cold rations. It was sweet on the tongue and, if anything, made Dougal sadder.
“I’ve lived in Ebonhawke for years,” said the asura, “but that was my first experience with the Dragonbrand. I hope I never have another.”
“The Elder Dragons have warped Tyria,” said Ember, picking out a walnut shard lodged between her teeth with a claw. “If the ghosts of the past, the humans of Ebonhawke, and the Flame Legion were not enough, now Kralkatorrik has drawn this scar through our lands.”
“My people know of the power of dragons,” said the asura. “The first dragon, Primordus, made his home in a great hub of magical power. We built our central transfer chamber, a cluster of powerful asura gates, atop that site. When the dragon’s herald, which the dwarves called the Great Destroyer, woke years ago, it crippled our network and drove us to the surface. As mighty as we may seem now, it’s just a pale shadow of our past.”
Gullik grunted. “I know of what you speak, small one. The norn once ruled the north, until Jormag the Ice Dragon rose from his tomb. We fought him but were overmatched, and were driven from our lands. One of our greatest heroes, Aesgir, battled the Ice Dragon and, with the aid of the Spirits of the Wild, lived to tell the tale. More than that, he brought back the sole trophy we have of our battles against the creature: a single fang from its maw. That tooth is the heart of our settlement at Hoelbrak, and our great heroes test their might against it. For our people have agreed that when someone breaks Jormag’s tooth, it will be a sign for our people to rise once more and defeat the Ice Dragon once and for all.”
“Kralkatorrik, Primordus, Jormag,” said Dougal, “and Zhaitan, who rose in another place of power, from beneath Orr itself, and flooded Lion’s Arch and now makes its lair in the heart of the City of the Gods. And for all we know, there may be more of them. It puts the battles between the charr and humans into perspective.”
“All the more reason that we should succeed,” growled Ember softly, almost to herself. “We all seem to be resting on the edge, and unless we deal with our individual challenges, the dragons will consume us all.”
Dougal nodded. Three hundred years ago humans ruled Tyria. Now, with the centaur raids, the bandits, the rise of the dragons, and the draining war with the charr, the humans have been driven back to a fraction of their lands. Dougal wondered if he was a member of a dying race, like the dwarves, fated to fade from the greater world.
“Do we want to approach the city during the night or the day?” Riona’s question shattered Dougal’s reverie.
“What?