He sharpened three other sticks into spits. Sticking a claw into each rabbit’s pelt, he ripped it away to reveal the meat. Then he slid the spits through the gutted rabbits and propped the skewers in the flames.
“So, you come from a grove?” Logan asked Caithe.
“ The Grove,” Caithe corrected.
“A whole lot of trees.”
“The Pale Tree. I was born out of it. Out of a seedpod. I am one of the Firstborn.”
“Coming out of a tree—” Logan whistled. “Must be weird.”
Caithe’s brows canted. “And your method isn’t?”
They sat for a while, the scent of cooked rabbit coming to them on the air.
At last Logan ventured, “How come you left the Grove?”
“I knew everything there. I left to learn more.”
“Admirable.”
“What do you mean?”
Logan shrugged. “Lots of people stay right where they were born. They don’t want to know anything else. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world.”
Caithe shrugged. “I think Elder Dragons are a bigger problem.”
Logan laughed. “Yeah, I guess they are.”
Caithe looked deadly serious. “They are. We just fought the minions of one of them—Primordus. He was the first one to rise, and he’s still spreading his power through the deep places, like that dwarf city. But there are others. The Ice Dragon Jormag is taking over the northern mountains, and there’s another dragon in the black heart of Orr. Who knows how many more are rising.”
Logan nodded politely. “Not one for small talk, are you?”
Caithe’s eyes were wide and guileless. “Why talk small when there are such big things happening?”
“Perfectly done!” Rytlock announced as he lifted three smoking rabbits from the fire. “Black outside and pink within.”
Logan nodded as he dutifully received his meal, and Caithe did likewise.
Holding his own charred rabbit, Rytlock sat down on the log and began to eat. The charr’s eating habits—gnawing teeth and flying meat and grunts of satisfaction—at first put the other two off. But soon all three were feasting. The rabbit was delicious—a creature alive half an hour ago, slain unknowing, and roasted moments later.
As he bit into a haunch, Logan said, “I’d never guess you could cook.”
Rytlock wiped grease from his chin. “You’d be amazed what I can do.”
The comrades ate in silence as the sky deepened to dusk.
“Kryta,” Logan said at last, staring upward.
Rytlock glanced at him over the picked skeletons. “What?”
“That’s where we are. That constellation overhead puts us two days’ march west of Lion’s Arch.”
The charr’s face darkened. “Long way from Ascalon.”
Logan smiled. “Come on. You’ll like Lion’s Arch. Everybody there’s from somewhere else.”
“Whatever,” Rytlock said. “Surely they’ll have a gate back to the Black Citadel.”
Nodding, Logan glanced at the stone scabbard hanging from Rytlock’s belt. “You can go through such a gate, but you’re not taking Rurik’s sword.”
Rytlock barked a laugh. “I’d like to see you stop me.”
IN THE COLD
E ir ran up to Big Snaff and Big Zojja and pounded their metal hides. Whether because of the blows or the aura of her gray powerstones, the two golems jolted, and the otherworldly light left their eyes.
“Where are we?” came Snaff’s tinny voice.
“You’re in battle with the Dragonspawn,” spat Eir. “Wake up!”
Big Zojja shivered. “Point me at him. I’ll get him.”
They were back, in control. Their eyes no longer glowed with the blue-white aura of the Dragonspawn. Eir turned toward their foe.
The Dragonspawn stood with hands outflung, eyes gushing wrath on Garm.
“No!”
The dire wolf stood enveloped in blue-white energy. Power sluiced past his gaping jaws and coursed over his hackles. It sought entry. It probed for a chink that would let its icy talons reach into his heart, into his mind. But there was no such chink.
Garm had only one alpha, now and forever.
“This is our chance!” Eir
“So, you come from a grove?” Logan asked Caithe.
“ The Grove,” Caithe corrected.
“A whole lot of trees.”
“The Pale Tree. I was born out of it. Out of a seedpod. I am one of the Firstborn.”
“Coming out of a tree—” Logan whistled. “Must be weird.”
Caithe’s brows canted. “And your method isn’t?”
They sat for a while, the scent of cooked rabbit coming to them on the air.
At last Logan ventured, “How come you left the Grove?”
“I knew everything there. I left to learn more.”
“Admirable.”
“What do you mean?”
Logan shrugged. “Lots of people stay right where they were born. They don’t want to know anything else. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world.”
Caithe shrugged. “I think Elder Dragons are a bigger problem.”
Logan laughed. “Yeah, I guess they are.”
Caithe looked deadly serious. “They are. We just fought the minions of one of them—Primordus. He was the first one to rise, and he’s still spreading his power through the deep places, like that dwarf city. But there are others. The Ice Dragon Jormag is taking over the northern mountains, and there’s another dragon in the black heart of Orr. Who knows how many more are rising.”
Logan nodded politely. “Not one for small talk, are you?”
Caithe’s eyes were wide and guileless. “Why talk small when there are such big things happening?”
“Perfectly done!” Rytlock announced as he lifted three smoking rabbits from the fire. “Black outside and pink within.”
Logan nodded as he dutifully received his meal, and Caithe did likewise.
Holding his own charred rabbit, Rytlock sat down on the log and began to eat. The charr’s eating habits—gnawing teeth and flying meat and grunts of satisfaction—at first put the other two off. But soon all three were feasting. The rabbit was delicious—a creature alive half an hour ago, slain unknowing, and roasted moments later.
As he bit into a haunch, Logan said, “I’d never guess you could cook.”
Rytlock wiped grease from his chin. “You’d be amazed what I can do.”
The comrades ate in silence as the sky deepened to dusk.
“Kryta,” Logan said at last, staring upward.
Rytlock glanced at him over the picked skeletons. “What?”
“That’s where we are. That constellation overhead puts us two days’ march west of Lion’s Arch.”
The charr’s face darkened. “Long way from Ascalon.”
Logan smiled. “Come on. You’ll like Lion’s Arch. Everybody there’s from somewhere else.”
“Whatever,” Rytlock said. “Surely they’ll have a gate back to the Black Citadel.”
Nodding, Logan glanced at the stone scabbard hanging from Rytlock’s belt. “You can go through such a gate, but you’re not taking Rurik’s sword.”
Rytlock barked a laugh. “I’d like to see you stop me.”
IN THE COLD
E ir ran up to Big Snaff and Big Zojja and pounded their metal hides. Whether because of the blows or the aura of her gray powerstones, the two golems jolted, and the otherworldly light left their eyes.
“Where are we?” came Snaff’s tinny voice.
“You’re in battle with the Dragonspawn,” spat Eir. “Wake up!”
Big Zojja shivered. “Point me at him. I’ll get him.”
They were back, in control. Their eyes no longer glowed with the blue-white aura of the Dragonspawn. Eir turned toward their foe.
The Dragonspawn stood with hands outflung, eyes gushing wrath on Garm.
“No!”
The dire wolf stood enveloped in blue-white energy. Power sluiced past his gaping jaws and coursed over his hackles. It sought entry. It probed for a chink that would let its icy talons reach into his heart, into his mind. But there was no such chink.
Garm had only one alpha, now and forever.
“This is our chance!” Eir
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