Edge of Destiny

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Authors: J. Robert King

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Epic, #Fantasy, #Media Tie-In

BOOK: Edge of Destiny
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T
he moment before the
axe-rifles fired, Logan Thackeray
swept his hand out in a fan.

A blue aura bled from his fingertips into the air, solidifying it in a curved wall before the scouts.

“Fire!” the charr centurion roared.

The axe-rifles boomed and vomited smoke and lead. But the shots struck the ethereal membrane and sank into it and were eaten away. Bullets showered rust to the ground.

The leader of the charr stared, his jaw dropping. “You’re full of surprises!”

“I’m Logan Thackeray. I protect those who are mine.”

“I’m Rytlock Brimstone,” the charr shot back. “I kill those who aren’t.”

“I recognize your blade. Did you say
Rurik
Brimstone?”

“Rytlock,” the charr snarled.

Logan shrugged. “I just figured since you stole Prince Rurik’s sword, you probably also stole his name.”

Rytlock lashed the air with the burning blade. “The sword’s mine now.”

“After this fight,” Logan said, whirling his war hammer in a figure eight, “Sohothin will once again be in the hands of a human.”


During
this fight,” Rytlock spat, “Sohothin will once again be in the
guts
of a human.” He looked back at the charr around him. “Turn those damned rifles around and chop them to pieces!”

ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE
GUILD WARS NOVEL SERIES

Ghosts of Ascalon
Matt Forbeck and Jeff Grubb

Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by ArenaNet, Inc. All Rights Reserved. NCsoft, the interlocking NC logo, ArenaNet, Guild Wars, Guild Wars 2, Ghosts of Ascalon, Edge of Destiny, and all associated logos and designs are trademarkes or registered trademarks of NCsoft Corporation.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Pocket Star Books paperback edition January 2011

POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
www.simonspeakers.com
.

Cover art by Kekai Kotaki
Cover design by AJ Thompson
Map cartography by Robert Lazzaretti

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-4165-8960-0
ISBN 978-1-4391-5604-9 (ebook)

To Eli, the ardent player;

To Aidan, the ardent listener; and

To Gabe, who named his hamster Rytlock

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to everyone at ArenaNet, especially Will McDermott, Ree Soesbee, Jeff Grubb, James Phinney, Randy Price, Stephen Hwang, Colin Johanson, David Wilson, and Bobby Stein. A special thanks to Jeff Strain, Patrick Wyatt, and Mike O’Brien, the founders of ArenaNet and creators of
Guild Wars.

Thanks also to Pocket Books and Ed Schlesinger, and to fellow authors Matt Forbeck and Jeff Grubb.

And thanks especially to Jennie and the boys, for putting up with me as I fight dragons.

Time Line

10,000 BE:
 
Last of the Giganticus Lupicus, the Great Giants, disappear from the Tyrian continent.
205 BE:
 
Humans appear on the Tyrian continent.
100 BE:
 
Humans drive the charr out of Ascalon.
1 BE:
 
The Human Gods give magic to the races of Tyria.
0 AE:
 
The Exodus of the Human Gods.
2 AE:
 
Orr becomes an independent nation.
300 AE:
 
Kryta established as a colony of Elona.
358 AE:
 
Kryta becomes an independent nation.
898 AE:
 
The Great Northern Wall is erected.
1070 AE:
 
The Charr Invasion of Ascalon. The Searing.
1071 AE:
 
The Sinking of Orr.
1072 AE:
 
Ascalonian refugees flee to Kryta.
1075 AE:
 
Kormir ascends into godhood.
1078 AE:
 
Primordus, the Elder Fire Dragon, stirs but does not awaken. The asura appear on the surface. The Transformation of the Dwarves.
1080 AE:
 
King Adelbern of Ascalon recalls the Ebon Vanguard; Ebonhawke is established.
1088 AE:
 
Kryta unifies behind Queen Salma.
1090 AE:
 
The charr legions take Ascalon City. The Foefire.
1105 AE:
 
Durmand Priory is established in the Shiverpeaks.
1112 AE:
 
The charr erect the Black Citadel over the ruins of the city of Rin in Ascalon.
1116 AE:
 
Kalla Scorchrazor leads the rebellion against the Flame Legion’s shaman caste.
1120 AE:
 
Primordus awakens.
1165 AE:
 
Jormag, the Elder Ice Dragon, awakens. The norn flee south into the Shiverpeaks.
1180 AE:
 
The centaur prophet Ventari dies by the Pale Tree, leaving behind the Ventari Tablet.
1219 AE:
 
Zhaitan, the Elder Undead Dragon, awakens. Orr rises from the sea. Lion’s Arch floods.
1220 AE:
 
Divinity’s Reach is founded in the Krytan province of Shaemoor.
1230 AE:
 
Corsairs and other pirates occupy the slowly drying ruins of Lion’s Arch.
1302 AE:
 
The sylvari first appear along the Tarnished Coast, sprouting from the Pale Tree.
1319 AE:
 
Eir Stegalkin forms a band of heroes known as Destiny’s Edge.

EDGE OF
DESTINY

Prologue

DREAM AND NIGHTMARE

T
he flames were beautiful. They looked like autumn leaves—red and gold, rattling as the wind tore through them, breaking free and whirling into the sky.

The village was flying away. Thatch and wattle and rafters all were going up in ash.

Caithe watched the village and the villagers burn.

She was too late. Everything was fire.

Still, it was beautiful.

Caithe, sylvari of the Firstborn, dropped down from the boulder where she had crouched and stalked slowly into the burning village. Like all of her people, Caithe was slender and lithe, the child of a great tree in a sacred grove. She was one with the natural world. Even her travel leathers bore the vine motifs of her homeland. Caithe pushed silvery hair back from wide eyes, watching for signs of life in the burning village. Only the flames lived. She listened for voices, but only the fire spoke.

Caithe didn’t fear the fire. She was young and strong, voracious and indomitable and curious—just like fire. It had drawn her here. It was
interesting.

Who had started it? How? Why? What had this village been called?

“I love a bonfire,” came a voice—deep and dark, feminine and familiar.

Caithe turned to see a sylvari woman garbed in a black-orchid gown as if this were some fancy ball. Caithe’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here, Faolain?”

Faolain gave the suffering smile of an addict. “The fires drew me.”

“A moth to a flame.”

“Just like you.”

In fact, Faolain and Caithe were nothing alike. Faolain’s hair was jet-black, as were her nails and her eyes. They had been that way from the moment the two women emerged together from the Pale Tree. Faolain had been all about questions, and Caithe had been all about answers. They were dear to each other and set out together to explore the world. But Caithe’s spirit had grown straight and true like a young tree while Faolain’s had grown twisted like a poison-ivy vine.

“Did you set this fire?” Caithe asked.

Faolain threw back her shock of black hair and breathed smoke through flared nostrils. “A nice idea, but no. It was destroyers—magma monsters.”

Caithe shook her head grimly. “They boil up everywhere.”

“The Elder Dragon Primordus is taking back the world.”

A loud moan came from a burning barn nearby. Caithe rushed to the door, hauled it open, and stared within. The hayloft boiled with black smoke, and the threshing floor was mantled in fire. Against the far wall lay a blackened figure that could hardly have been alive—except that it moaned.

Caithe wove among the flames to reach the man and dropped to her knees. His eyes were gone, his face, too—just cracked bark over oozy muscle. His lips were half-fused. “Burning beast . . . burning beast . . . burning . . .”

“I will help you,” Caithe said.

“Such sweet words,” Faolain whispered, kneeling on the other side of the man. “Hope is like oil on the fires of misery.”

“Is my skin peeled off?” the man groaned. “Is it?”

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