Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (37 page)

Her voice murmured sadly into his ear, “Good-bye, Cobiah. I’ll see you soon.”

The lie was a cutting reminder of a day on the docks when he’d made his sister the same promise. Cobiah bowed his head and he unashamedly let tears roll down his cheeks. “Good-bye, my friend.”

In the quiet aftermath of the fighting, Yomm’s voice rang out from a hidden cubby at the back of the room. “Hey, everybody!” he yelled. “Guess what? I found the bomb!”

—

“From the sacred text of Lyssa, goddess of love:
The road may be long, but you can walk it together. / There may be storms, but you can shelter one another. / The cold may come in winter, but you can be each other’s warmth. / Each companion to the other: two souls, united. / May no weapon sever the bond that holds your hands together, / And may no word sever the love that keeps your hearts as one.
”

The priest tied a red wedding cord around the couple’s wrists and made the sign of the goddess over their joined hands. “I now pronounce you, Cobiah and Isaye, married in the eyes of the Six Gods and within the laws of Lion’s Arch. Congratulations.”

Isaye pulled Cobiah’s face down to hers, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Hello, husband,” she murmured. The crisp morning wind ruffled the long sheath of her white dress. Her dark hair, long and unbound, rippled like a banner, and summer flowers had been braided into a thin circlet atop her head.

“Hello, wife,” he said in turn, his heart light with pride. Standing tall in one of the new captain’s uniforms designed for Lion’s Arch, Cobiah beamed down at her with joy.

A great cheer went up from the crowd gathered on the docks. Guns were fired into the air, both pistols and a few of the carronades from ships in the harbor, echoing like celebratory thunder across the sparkling waters of the bay. Sailors waved their hats and citizens waved flags in bright shades of blue and gold.

Waving to salute the crowd, Cobiah continued to hold Isaye’s hand as he addressed them. “The city of Lion’s Arch stands as a monument to the resiliency of the people of Tyria—no matter what race and no matter what their background. Although the city was destroyed, it has been rebuilt. Where lives were lost, new families will be raised, and new futures will be found.

“On behalf of myself and my wife, Isaye, I want to thank all of you for being part of our joyous day.” Cobiah smiled. “It was in the spirit of cooperation that Lion’s Arch was founded. Our hope was to create a safe haven for all races, but we must also ensure that the city is prosperous. I am proud to announce that we will be breaking ground on a new project: a bank to help our citizens raise money, store valuable items, and further our city’s future.” The crowd applauded warmly. Cobiah could see Yomm beaming from the porch of his shop.

After the speeches were over, Cobiah made his way through the crowd, shaking hand after hand. Isaye stayed behind to help with the great feast that had been planned in the city plaza. It seemed as though everyone in the city wanted to give him their best wishes, stopping him every few feet to pat him on the back or invite him to stop by their shops, eager to gain his attention. Word of the fight at the pavilion had also spread over the last few weeks, and the story had grown larger with each retelling. He’d saved the city from a takeover. He’d defended the captains against an assassin sent by King Baede. He’d stood up to an angel of Balthazar, come to force the city to return to Kryta. On the day of his wedding, especially, everyone wanted to shake his hand.

It didn’t matter if Cobiah had wanted this future. He was the master of this ship, and he couldn’t leave Lion’s Arch midsail. He’d become indelibly linked to the city’s
spirit of freedom and hope for independence. A symbol of its future. Some of the citizens had even begun calling him “Commodore.” He was flattered by their trust, and he planned to live up to it. He’d moved all of his belongings from the ship into the house he was building for himself and Isaye. It was a tall manor built from the hull of a ship, with sails in the Lion’s Arch style and a wide view of the inner harbor. They could raise a family there. The thought made Cobiah smile, but it faded when he reached one of the gangplanks on the dock.

The ship moored there was the
Pride
, and she was readying to sail without him. Cobiah cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Ahoy, the ship! Permission to come aboard?”

Aysom leaned over the rail and waved enthusiastically. “Permission granted, Commodore! Come aboard; Cap’n Fassur’s been waiting for you.”

“When do you set out?”

“Soon,” Fassur answered, shifting uncomfortably. “The tugs are already here to take us into the harbor. We sail on the next tide.”

“You’ll do well. You’re ready for command, Fassur. You have been for years. I’m just glad you didn’t have to kill me to take my place. There are some charr traditions I’m not eager to take part in.”

Fassur chuckled but quickly sobered. “It’ll be tough without our little mesmer. I still can’t believe . . . I mean . . . I knew Macha was unhappy, but I never would have guessed . . .” Awkwardly, the charr shook himself as if to dismiss a bad feeling.

“She made her choice. We can’t focus on it. We just have to move on.” Cobiah reached out and clapped the big charr’s shoulder, changing the subject. “Take care of my ship, Legionnaire. Take care of my crew. I expect
them all to return in one piece, with profit enough to share.”

Fassur laughed. “You’ll get a share, Commodore. I promise you that. I may be the
Pride
’s commander, but you’ll always be master of her heart.” He seized Cobiah’s wrist in a fierce clasp, his claws wrapping gently around Cobiah’s forearm. “Steel won’t yield, my friend.”

“Steel won’t yield,” Cobiah repeated, giving Fassur the traditional handclasp of the Iron Legion. “I’ll see you when you return.” With a sigh, Cobiah stepped away. He walked down the gangplank, calling a fond farewell to the sailors aboard the clipper, and leaned on the dock railing as the
Pride
lowered her sails to half-mast and cast away her lines. Slowly, gracefully, the clipper slid into the harbor, a blue-and-gold flag with the new symbol of Lion’s Arch fluttering above the crow’s nest on her highest mast.

“She’s always been a handsome ship.” A burly, rust-colored charr leaned next to him on the dock’s crossbar, his leopard spots dark against the unruly softness of his fur. “Scarred up here and there, but like any charr woman, that just makes her prettier. Too bad her captain’s so ill tempered.”

Cobiah started in surprise. “Sykox! You didn’t go with the others?”

“Bah.” The engineer shrugged humbly. “Fassur’s got a good crew, both human and charr. I even think he talked Grimm Svaard into going with them. The ship’s engine is running so well, an Iron Legion apprentice with two wrenches and a hammer could manage it, and anyway, I’m needed here. They’re building a bank, you know,” he said conspiratorially. “I bet it’s going to have a
vault
. With turny-cogs and leveraged suspension, weight-balanced for a door as heavy as three dolyaks, and probably even
some sort of mechanical locking device.” He smiled dreamily. “Somebody is going to have to build that beast of a thing. Can’t trust just anyone to do it.”

“That’s true.” Grateful, Cobiah ruffled the charr’s orange mane.

“Anyway, you’re still the
Pride
’s representative on the Captain’s Council, so you’re going to need a second.”

“I thought you hated council meetings.”

“Yeah, I used to. But I heard they’ve gotten more interesting lately. They have brunches
and
combat.” Sykox winked.

Cobiah couldn’t help laughing out loud. “Thank you.”

The afternoon sun was bright, and the smell of the sea tingled in Cobiah’s nose. He could feel the spray in the air, invigorating and fresh. Cobiah took a deep breath and felt the tension in his body drain away. Back on the beach, peals of laughter caught Cobiah’s attention. Isaye was taking a moment away from her work with the feast. She had her white bridal gown pulled up around her knees, and she was chasing waves back and forth with some of the town’s children. She noticed Cobiah staring from the pier and stopped to wave at him with a wide, delighted smile. It was a beautiful image, and Cobiah waved back.

The charr rumbled with contentment. “Tyria’s begun a new era, Coby, and I’d wager it’ll be a good one. Lion’s Arch needs a firm hand on her rudder, but she’ll come through like a galleon with the wind at her back. You’ll see.”

“Do you really think so?” Together, they watched as city tugs towed the
Pride
out past the island in the bay. Her sails unfurled to catch the wind, and Cobiah could hear the faint chug-chug-chugging of her valiant engine, making a wake behind her through the waves.

“I do.” Sykox nodded. “I really do.”

The wind, it howled, and the thunder boomed

Thought the storm might just prevail, O

But we shouldered on ’til the break of day

And we tamed that fearsome gale

Held to courage and to honor

And we lived to tell the tale, O.

—“Weather the Storm”

A
gale swept over Sorrow’s Bay and into Sanctum Harbor. It whistled through the arches of the Gangplank Bridge—a wide stone structure that crossed the narrow strait between the city’s outer and inner harbors—and darted toward the Postern Ward like a child playing hide-and-seek. It smelled of heavy rains and sodden canvas as well as the salt of the open sea. Somewhere offshore, there were storms, but the sky above the bustling streets of Lion’s Arch was free of clouds.

Twenty years had made quite a difference to the growing city. The docks around Gate Hub Plaza were filled with ships, and the Trader’s Forum bustled with shopkeeps, mercenaries seeking work, and traders bringing their wares from Kryta, the Shiverpeaks, and even as far away as the Black Citadel of the charr. Within the last few years, the asura had finally resolved their embargo on the city and built magical gates to link Lion’s Arch to the other major cities of the continent. With the gates, the city had truly begun to flourish.

As the trade poured in, so did the gold. Lion’s Arch had swelled to four times her original girth and population but kept her own sense of style. The old ships
converted into wharf buildings were iconic to the city, and had more than doubled in number, housing trade stores, shops, warehouses, and businesses within their still-watertight bellies. Tall white lighthouses looked over the cliffsides where the harbor blended into Sorrow’s Bay. Beyond that, at the edge of the ocean, the Claw Island fortress stood ringed in sunset’s golden light.

With nearly every race in Tyria contributing to the city’s structure, Lion’s Arch cut a distinctive silhouette against the sky. Among the ship-buildings stood thatched human houses, rigid-looking charr metalworks, and asuran laboratories shining with magical power, all surrounded by the lush tropical forests of the Tarnished Coast. Norn tents dotted the landscape on the shore, and guards dressed in Lionguard tabards patrolled the thoroughfares for miles around, keeping travel safe. They’d even begun to build a series of “havens,” or traveler’s waypoints, along the country roads.

The Captain’s Council had become a hub of activity centered around the prominent ship-building where they now met. The council had outgrown its small pavilion, and as its numbers increased, so had the city’s laws—and its need for guidance. Cobiah walked down the great hall of the building, smiling and tipping his tri-cornered hat to the citizenry. “Good day, madam,” he said to one. Another he greeted by name, remembering the man’s employment and the recent issue he’d brought forward. One and all, the citizens puffed up as he shook their hands, proud to be remembered by such an important figure.

“Commodore Marriner?” A youth of perhaps fourteen pushed his way through the crowd. The boy had sandy-brown hair and wore the hallmark of a city messenger, a blue sash emblazoned with the city sigil: a lion’s head in
a compass wheel, over a scimitar and an anchor crossed together. “Commander Sykox is looking for you, sir. The scout ship
Gabrian’s Comet
has returned. The commander said you’d want to know right away.” The boy saluted stiffly, his eyes shining with the significance of his duty.

“I do indeed,” answered Cobiah. He took off his hat and ran a handkerchief over his forehead, wiping away a trace of sweat that lingered from the hall’s stagnant air. He stood straight and tall, arching his back to stretch stiff muscles, and pushed a lock of still-thick gray hair out of his sharp blue eyes. Although wrinkles distinguished his features, Cobiah was still handsome. He smiled down at the eager lad. “Is Sykox at the quarter house?”

“No, sir. He’s waiting on the Gangplank Bridge. Said you might want to get the measure of the tide while you were down there.”

Cobiah chuckled. “Measure of the tide, hmm? Thank you, Benedict. On your way.” As the boy scampered off, Cobiah put his hat back on and turned southward toward the massive stone bridge. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked with a rolling step, considering the implications of Sykox’s message. Ships docked and sailed based on the turn of the tides, but as a man who spent his time captaining keels of trade moved by sails of paperwork, the tides were rarely Cobiah’s concern.