Guild Wars: Ghosts of Ascalon (8 page)

“And yet, you survived,” said Riona, smiling. It was not a friendly smile. “Why am I not surprised?”

Dougal stared back into the angry eyes and said, “We were wrong. I apologize on behalf of the dead. Now you need me. Why?”

Riona bit her lip. “I need you to promise you won’t run when I tell you,” said Riona, and her expression softened just a bit.

“Would you believe me if I did?”asked Dougal.

“No,” said Riona, “but I need you to promise anyway.”

Dougal thought a moment, then said, “You need something in Ascalon. The Vigil needs something in Ascalon. You need someone to go there.”

“Are you going to promise?”

“I don’t understand how you ended up with the Vigil,” said Dougal. “Their leader is—”

“I know what their leader is,” said Riona. “I was looking for a purpose. For a chance to change myself, to change the world. I found it there.”

“Riona,” said Dougal, leaning forward, dropping his voice as if sharing a confidence. “They think they can defeat the Elder Dragons.”

“Don’t worry, they aren’t asking you to fight a dragon, Elder or otherwise.”

“Then what are they asking me to do?” Dougal took a pull on his ale.

“Go to Ascalon City,” she said.

Dougal looked over the rim of the glass. “And do what?”

“That we’ll talk about once we get to Lion’s Arch.”

Dougal thought for a moment and said, “I’ll need a sword.”

“You always were a horrible swordsman,” said Riona.

“I’ve gotten better,” said Dougal.

The two sat there for a moment, each daring the other to break the silence.

“Fine. Finish your drink,” said Riona. “I’ll get you a damned sword.”

They returned their glasses to the vendor and weaved their way through the crowds. Riona kept shooting Dougal looks as if she anticipated him to melt away into the masses of carnival-goers.

Dougal had to admit that he considered escaping, ditching her in the bustle of the festival, recovering the Golem’s Eye from its precarious hiding place, and quietly heading for some small village far from Divinity’s Reach. Although Riona’s offer was intriguing, the idea of returning to Ascalon City was insane. He had barely escaped with his life before. But the chance to make good on previous failed promises …

“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 him about Clagg and Breaker and you and Gyda and where Blimm’s tomb was and where you hid the gem by the entrance,” she said. “They had forgotten about Blimm’s tomb and were happy I told them where to find it. That’s something that is strange to me: I hadn’t thought about it before, that knowledge can die. It makes sense, when you think about it: someone who knows something dies without telling anyone else, then the knowledge is lost. But, to a sylvari, it is odd.”

Killeen did not notice that Dougal was now cradling his face in his hands and that Riona was chuckling. “So,” began Dougal, “you told them where I hid the gem …”

“Yes,” said Killeen, smiling. “Honesty works out best, I find.” At this, Riona actually laughed. “And that reminds me,” the sylvari said, reaching for her pouch. “I wanted to give you this.”

She produced a small object wrapped in a lace handkerchief, about the size of an asura’s fist. It thunked heavily on the table. Dougal picked it up, and a flash of
red crystal flared in the late-afternoon sun.

“Nice,” said Riona, catching a glimpse as well. “Looks just like the type of thing you would risk your life for. Not magical, is it?”

Dougal pushed the entire gem in his pocket, handkerchief and all. “I’m confused,” he said, shaking his head. “You just told me—”

“That I told our jailers where you hid the gem,” said Killeen. “I didn’t say anything about where I hid it afterwards …”

“Where you …” The pieces of the puzzle fit together in his mind. “I see. When you climbed up my back … .”

“I pulled the gem from where you put it and moved it further up, and quickly sealed it up inside a skull for good measure. When I saw you leaving the jail, I went and retrieved it.”

Now it was Dougal’s turn to laugh. Killeen leaned across the table and, in a conspiratorial tone, said, “So, what is the new job? Is it dragons?”

Riona shook her head. “I’m sorry, Killeen of the Night, but this is a private matter between me and—”

“Ascalon City,” interrupted Dougal, ignoring Riona’s glare. “She wants me to go to Ascalon City for the Vigil. She won’t tell me why yet.”

Killeen leaned back and put her palms together. “Ascalon City is in the center of charr territory, and filled with ghosts.”

“I know,” said Dougal, “I’ve been there.”

Killeen blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know,” she said, and was silent for a moment.

Dougal felt compelled to add, “It did not work out well,” and looked at Riona. For the first time Riona nodded in agreement, her mouth a tight line.

Killeen looked up and said, “All right. Count me in.”

Riona looked up in shock and stammered, “I’m sorry, that’s impossible.”

“Why?” said Killeen. “You’re taking
him.
” She motioned at Dougal with the glass and Dougal felt vaguely insulted.

“Ascalon City is filled with ghosts …” Riona began, repeating Killeen’s words as if explaining something to a child.

“She’s a necromancer,” said Dougal. “That argument doesn’t have a lot of traction.”

“Indeed, Riona Grady of the Vigil,” said Killeen. “My people are less than twenty-five years old. None of us have died, save by violence, poison, and disease. We don’t know much about what it is like to die. I find the dead, and the undead—and ghosts and everything similar—to be fascinating. If you are going to Ascalon City, I am in.”

Riona looked at Dougal, who smiled. “You should have heard her in the crypts,” said Dougal. “She was practically poetic.”

“I’m sorry,” said Riona, spreading her fingers out toward Killeen, “that’s just impossible.”

“She’s in,” said Dougal.

Riona goggled at him, an angry color returning to her cheeks. “
You
don’t get to decide.”

“Of course I get to decide,” said Dougal. “If she doesn’t go, I don’t come to Lion’s Arch. You march me back to Captain Logan Thackeray and his Lieutenant Groban and I spend the next few years repairing docks on Lake Doric. Which, you might think, is poetic justice. And you get to go back to the Vigil and explain how you let the one man who’s been to Ascalon City and lived to tell the tale get away, and your entire plan, whatever it is, falls apart.” Dougal leaned back on his bench. “Your choice.”

Riona was flush with rage now, and for a moment Dougal feared that he had pushed her too far. The new sins were quickly overwhelming the old. She choked out a few words and, glaring at Dougal, finished her ale in a single pull.

“Fine,” she said. “Killeen, born of the Cycle of Night, would you care to join us, at least as far as Lion’s Arch?”

“I’d be honored,” said Killeen.

“Good,” said Dougal. “And, in return, the answer is yes.”

“Yes?” said Riona.

“I promise not to run when I find out what you really want,” said Dougal. “At least until we get to Lion’s Arch.”

The next morning Dougal surveyed the contents of his life, spread out across his bed. The moleskin pouch containing his tools: picks, wrenches, flats, hooks, and skeleton keys. His knife. The few crumpled and tattered notes he had made about Blimm’s tomb. A change of clothes, including a warm cloak, suitable for sleeping in. A new sword, human-made and rough, inside a fine old scabbard, looted from some ruined temple in the Caledon Forest. And the Golem’s Eye, still bound in Killeen’s handkerchief.

Dougal packed light, as always. Everything he owned fit into the worn leather backpack that he’d had with him since his youth in Ebonhawke. After his mother had died here in Divinity’s Reach, he’d gone to live with his father in the last human outpost in Ascalon, and his aunt Brinna had given him the pack to carry his belongings in. The backpack had long outlived everyone else in his family and proved trustier than any friend.

The night before had been restless and his dreams were plagued with the faces of the dead. Even while he packed, Dougal still considered the merits of bolting. All he would have to do was not meet Riona in
front of Uzolan’s Mechanical Orchestra, as they had agreed. All he had to do was slip out the front gates, or even hide elsewhere in the city, perhaps go to ground in the Canthan district, where she didn’t know anyone. If he ran, he knew that Riona would never find him—at least, not in time. Turn left instead of right when he left his quarters, and he would be gone.

He had buried Ascalon City deep, intent on never returning. Indeed, who would want to go there? The city was wrecked, first by the Searing, then by the Foefire, its inhabitants reduced to ghosts, its walls surrounded by extremely possessive charr.

And yet, he could feel the tug. Of failure. Of the price paid. Of things left undone.

Dougal reached into his shirt, fished out the locket, and looked at it for a long time. He carefully undid the clasp that opened it to reveal a cameo, ivory set against jet, of Vala in profile. Its twin, the one with his portrait, jet on ivory, was lost in Ascalon, along with everything else.

Dougal replaced the locket and carefully packed his gear in the battered backpack, and when he left the building, he turned right, toward the meeting with Riona. A low, thin mist still clung to the streets where the sun had not yet arrived to burn it off.