and dissipated to dust.
The team turned toward the final destroyer.
It stood at the edge of the meadow beneath the tree its comrade had set alight. It planted its massive feet and lifted its brutal arms and roared with the voice of a volcano.
“Here goes.” Logan rushed it.
The destroyer’s hands dropped down.
Logan sprang over them. He bounded off one rock wrist and onto the creature’s shoulder.
It reached up to swat him.
Rytlock’s shoulder crashed into the destroyer’s stomach. Rytlock leaped free as the flaming minion toppled.
Caithe plunged her white stiletto into its neck and twisted, harvesting the monster’s head.
She stepped back. The ropy ends of neck cooled. The beast shuddered and segmented and settled on the ground. In moments, it was a pile of rubble and ash like the other two in the clearing . . . like thousands in the ruined city of the dwarves.
“We’re getting good at this,” Logan said with a laugh.
“Yeah.” Rytlock nodded breathlessly.
Caithe kicked the pile of smoldering stone. “Teamwork.”
The man, the charr, and the sylvari grinned at each other, then turned awkwardly away.
Rytlock looked around. “So, where do you think we are?”
Logan scanned the green glens and hardwood glades, the gentle hillsides sloping down toward golden plains. “It’s not Ascalon. Not since you lot moved in. I’d say Kryta. But we can’t know until the stars come out.”
“I’m hungry,” Rytlock groused, sitting down on a fallen tree.
“Yeah,” Logan agreed, plopping down as well. “Scorpion tail doesn’t stay with you.”
Caithe shook her head. “There may be some grubs for you two in that log. I’ll see what else I can find.” She drew her dagger and stalked off into the brush.
The charr and the man sat on the log, looking out at the green landscape. Long moments passed before either spoke.
Logan said, “This is crazy. We’re supposed to be killing each other.”
“I never do what I’m supposed to do.”
Logan huffed, “Me neither.”
Rytlock cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Taking a deep breath, Logan said, “I’ve got this big brother in Divinity’s Reach. He’s in the Seraph, for gods’ sake. Guarding the queen, even—”
“One of those brothers.”
“Yeah,” Logan said, pointing at him. “He wears armor that shines like a mirror . . . white everything . . . stands by the queen all day. I was supposed to follow him, but a white knight casts a long shadow.”
“Heh. You’re pretty far from that shadow.”
“Huh?”
“Mercenary scout for a supply caravan in the Blazeridges?” Rytlock said. “That’s about as far from your brother as you can get.”
Logan looked at his hands. “Guess so.” They sat awhile in silence before he asked, “You got any brothers?”
“About a dozen,” Rytlock said with a rueful laugh, “and a dozen sisters.”
“Big family.”
Rytlock shook his head. “Charr don’t have families. We have warbands. The bonds are even stronger.”
Logan’s eyes grew wide. “Was that them, back there? That funeral pyre?”
“Course not,” Rytlock snapped. “Those were Iron Legion. I’m Blood Legion.”
“You guys all look alike,” Logan said with a shrug. “So, where’s your warband?”
“Back east somewhere. I left them.”
That comment hung in the air between them. “Why?”
“My reasons are my own.”
Just then, Caithe returned, flopping a brace of dead rabbits down on a nearby rock. “All right, so, I hunted them. You cook them.”
“Sure,” Rytlock said, relieved to end the conversation. “I’m a good cook.”
Logan blasted a laugh. “Yeah, right! Charr cooking?”
“What’s wrong with charr cooking?”
“It’s right in the name!”
“Shut it,” Rytlock advised, “and don’t open it again until there’s roasted rabbit.”
Caithe brushed off her hands and sat beside Logan. They watched as the charr cracked burning branches from the birch and piled them into a campfire.
The team turned toward the final destroyer.
It stood at the edge of the meadow beneath the tree its comrade had set alight. It planted its massive feet and lifted its brutal arms and roared with the voice of a volcano.
“Here goes.” Logan rushed it.
The destroyer’s hands dropped down.
Logan sprang over them. He bounded off one rock wrist and onto the creature’s shoulder.
It reached up to swat him.
Rytlock’s shoulder crashed into the destroyer’s stomach. Rytlock leaped free as the flaming minion toppled.
Caithe plunged her white stiletto into its neck and twisted, harvesting the monster’s head.
She stepped back. The ropy ends of neck cooled. The beast shuddered and segmented and settled on the ground. In moments, it was a pile of rubble and ash like the other two in the clearing . . . like thousands in the ruined city of the dwarves.
“We’re getting good at this,” Logan said with a laugh.
“Yeah.” Rytlock nodded breathlessly.
Caithe kicked the pile of smoldering stone. “Teamwork.”
The man, the charr, and the sylvari grinned at each other, then turned awkwardly away.
Rytlock looked around. “So, where do you think we are?”
Logan scanned the green glens and hardwood glades, the gentle hillsides sloping down toward golden plains. “It’s not Ascalon. Not since you lot moved in. I’d say Kryta. But we can’t know until the stars come out.”
“I’m hungry,” Rytlock groused, sitting down on a fallen tree.
“Yeah,” Logan agreed, plopping down as well. “Scorpion tail doesn’t stay with you.”
Caithe shook her head. “There may be some grubs for you two in that log. I’ll see what else I can find.” She drew her dagger and stalked off into the brush.
The charr and the man sat on the log, looking out at the green landscape. Long moments passed before either spoke.
Logan said, “This is crazy. We’re supposed to be killing each other.”
“I never do what I’m supposed to do.”
Logan huffed, “Me neither.”
Rytlock cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Taking a deep breath, Logan said, “I’ve got this big brother in Divinity’s Reach. He’s in the Seraph, for gods’ sake. Guarding the queen, even—”
“One of those brothers.”
“Yeah,” Logan said, pointing at him. “He wears armor that shines like a mirror . . . white everything . . . stands by the queen all day. I was supposed to follow him, but a white knight casts a long shadow.”
“Heh. You’re pretty far from that shadow.”
“Huh?”
“Mercenary scout for a supply caravan in the Blazeridges?” Rytlock said. “That’s about as far from your brother as you can get.”
Logan looked at his hands. “Guess so.” They sat awhile in silence before he asked, “You got any brothers?”
“About a dozen,” Rytlock said with a rueful laugh, “and a dozen sisters.”
“Big family.”
Rytlock shook his head. “Charr don’t have families. We have warbands. The bonds are even stronger.”
Logan’s eyes grew wide. “Was that them, back there? That funeral pyre?”
“Course not,” Rytlock snapped. “Those were Iron Legion. I’m Blood Legion.”
“You guys all look alike,” Logan said with a shrug. “So, where’s your warband?”
“Back east somewhere. I left them.”
That comment hung in the air between them. “Why?”
“My reasons are my own.”
Just then, Caithe returned, flopping a brace of dead rabbits down on a nearby rock. “All right, so, I hunted them. You cook them.”
“Sure,” Rytlock said, relieved to end the conversation. “I’m a good cook.”
Logan blasted a laugh. “Yeah, right! Charr cooking?”
“What’s wrong with charr cooking?”
“It’s right in the name!”
“Shut it,” Rytlock advised, “and don’t open it again until there’s roasted rabbit.”
Caithe brushed off her hands and sat beside Logan. They watched as the charr cracked burning branches from the birch and piled them into a campfire.
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